Mostly right on target, this 60's spy drama is set in a gritty-looking London, with James Mason, in an excellent and emotional (more than usual, for him) performance, facing betrayal on international, state and personal levels. Long scenes of people speaking intelligent dialogue with each other fills one with a nostalgia for this superb method of film-making - lost in similar movies made today, where vertiginous camera-work and fast cuts are relied upon to supply the thrills. Realistic violence - where victims are actually hurt after minimal fisticuffs - also raises the level above current fare.
Simone Signoret provides an aching gravitas to her role. Maximilian Schell is not just handsome and suave, but plumbs the depths of his character. The great Harry Andrews is authoritative as a retired, and amusingly narcoleptic, policeman. Harriet Andersson makes the best of a thankless role (somewhat extraneously plotted,as a not very successful parallel to Signoret's role) as Mason's much younger wife; a line such as "Why don't you just call me a nymphomaniac slut?" was probably considered frank and "adult" in 1967, but just makes one wince today. Aside from that, the story is nuanced, suspenseful (even though the culprit is rather obvious) and - importantly for this genre - coherent.
Quincy Jones' score, lushly orchestrated, with Brazilian inflections (Astrud Gilberto sings a recurring melody), is beautiful in itself and a treat to listen to, but jarringly inappropriate for the film.
Simone Signoret provides an aching gravitas to her role. Maximilian Schell is not just handsome and suave, but plumbs the depths of his character. The great Harry Andrews is authoritative as a retired, and amusingly narcoleptic, policeman. Harriet Andersson makes the best of a thankless role (somewhat extraneously plotted,as a not very successful parallel to Signoret's role) as Mason's much younger wife; a line such as "Why don't you just call me a nymphomaniac slut?" was probably considered frank and "adult" in 1967, but just makes one wince today. Aside from that, the story is nuanced, suspenseful (even though the culprit is rather obvious) and - importantly for this genre - coherent.
Quincy Jones' score, lushly orchestrated, with Brazilian inflections (Astrud Gilberto sings a recurring melody), is beautiful in itself and a treat to listen to, but jarringly inappropriate for the film.