Anton Corbijn's third feature is a solemn thriller that connects topical geo-social politics with the mundanity of everyday spycraft. It occupies the same brown-drenched bureaucratic landscape as an earlier John Le Carre adaptation, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. But while Tomas Alfredson's film was all about its dreary '70s setting, A Most Wanted Man brings the dreariness into the realm of post-9/11 (or 11/09, to give it a region-appropriate designation).
The plot is typically detailed and dense. Not so much twisty as, well, untrusting. A young Chechen man named Karpov (Grigoriy Dobrygin) washes up in Hamburg, seeking asylum. He's an illegal immigrant promised a vast sum of dirty money by his late father. It's money he doesn't want. Gunther Bachmann (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and his espionage team, via an idealistic lawyer (Rachel McAdams), arrange for Karpov to donate the inheritance to a high-profile Muslim philanthropist, in order to entrap the latter as he siphons the funds into a terrorist organisation. Naturally, things get messy, and the movie spends most of its time in a very grey area indeed.
After Control and The American, Corbijn is exploring another talented, troubled man, adrift and alone in a thankless world. The film belongs to Seymour Hoffman, transforming yet again, embodying the chain-smoking, coffee-spiking, yet professional spy at the story's heart. We know few facts about Bachmann, yet we feel like we know him (which is perhaps the definition of a great screen character). He's taciturn and monotone; haggard and stooped yet quietly confident, as if he's seen it all and won enough times to keep going. Just.
So, it's an actor's movie. Robin Wright revels in a snaky supporting role, representing the brutal pragmatism of the U.S., and Rachel McAdams makes the most of a gruelling role as a woman trying to do good in a world that rewards evil equally often.
Corbijn's film doesn't give away the magician's tricks – we are usually one step behind Gunther and his crew, watching as their plans unfold and succeed or fail before our eyes. It keeps the narrative ticking along, albeit slowly.
The pace isn't my main problem – it's the insufficient sense of danger. I don't think this is to do with the lack of car chases or scarily efficient murders. What's lacking is the shadow of imminent loss. A better film starring Seymour Hoffman such as The Ides of March managed this, so why not A Most Wanted Man? Perhaps it's more generic than it first appears. I mean, once the main players are introduced, it's fairly predictable how things will turn out; who the real bad guys will be. It feels like there's a killer moment – a scene of real cinematic distinction – missing from the movie.
And what about Karpov? I never got a handle on his plight. I was never moved by his agonising principles. It's as if Corbijn is so focused on nailing the minutiae of espionage that he forgot about the subtleties of the heart.
Slow, precise, atmospheric – all good things, although this is less emotionally involving than Control and not as bold and distinctive as The American. It's a mature, well-written, ensemble film, but one which lacks the oppressive dread and nail-biting urgency to be truly memorable.
We will, however, remember its supremely talented star. In the final shot, we realise how appropriate a swansong this is for the great, big man: understated, ambiguous, and secretly sad.
The plot is typically detailed and dense. Not so much twisty as, well, untrusting. A young Chechen man named Karpov (Grigoriy Dobrygin) washes up in Hamburg, seeking asylum. He's an illegal immigrant promised a vast sum of dirty money by his late father. It's money he doesn't want. Gunther Bachmann (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and his espionage team, via an idealistic lawyer (Rachel McAdams), arrange for Karpov to donate the inheritance to a high-profile Muslim philanthropist, in order to entrap the latter as he siphons the funds into a terrorist organisation. Naturally, things get messy, and the movie spends most of its time in a very grey area indeed.
After Control and The American, Corbijn is exploring another talented, troubled man, adrift and alone in a thankless world. The film belongs to Seymour Hoffman, transforming yet again, embodying the chain-smoking, coffee-spiking, yet professional spy at the story's heart. We know few facts about Bachmann, yet we feel like we know him (which is perhaps the definition of a great screen character). He's taciturn and monotone; haggard and stooped yet quietly confident, as if he's seen it all and won enough times to keep going. Just.
So, it's an actor's movie. Robin Wright revels in a snaky supporting role, representing the brutal pragmatism of the U.S., and Rachel McAdams makes the most of a gruelling role as a woman trying to do good in a world that rewards evil equally often.
Corbijn's film doesn't give away the magician's tricks – we are usually one step behind Gunther and his crew, watching as their plans unfold and succeed or fail before our eyes. It keeps the narrative ticking along, albeit slowly.
The pace isn't my main problem – it's the insufficient sense of danger. I don't think this is to do with the lack of car chases or scarily efficient murders. What's lacking is the shadow of imminent loss. A better film starring Seymour Hoffman such as The Ides of March managed this, so why not A Most Wanted Man? Perhaps it's more generic than it first appears. I mean, once the main players are introduced, it's fairly predictable how things will turn out; who the real bad guys will be. It feels like there's a killer moment – a scene of real cinematic distinction – missing from the movie.
And what about Karpov? I never got a handle on his plight. I was never moved by his agonising principles. It's as if Corbijn is so focused on nailing the minutiae of espionage that he forgot about the subtleties of the heart.
Slow, precise, atmospheric – all good things, although this is less emotionally involving than Control and not as bold and distinctive as The American. It's a mature, well-written, ensemble film, but one which lacks the oppressive dread and nail-biting urgency to be truly memorable.
We will, however, remember its supremely talented star. In the final shot, we realise how appropriate a swansong this is for the great, big man: understated, ambiguous, and secretly sad.