Sidney J Furie (1965)

The Ipcress File, adapted from Len Deighton’s novel (by Bill Canaway and James Doran), may have been designed as an unglamorous contrast to the James Bond pictures of the early 1960s – although Harry Saltzman produced both – but I was more grateful for its difference from the verbose, moralistic bellyaching of John le Carré:  at least Michael Caine’s Harry Palmer is laconic.  Half a century on from its release, Sidney Furie’s film has (limited) appeal – thanks to its star, John Barry’s enjoyable music, and the variations played on what feel like staple features of espionage drama.  For example, it’s obvious that one of the old school bosses at the Ministry of Defence, Colonel Ross and Major Dalby, will prove to be a double agent.  The fun arrives in the last five minutes, when Palmer establishes who the traitor is:  although the audience already knows the answer, this was-it-Bill-or-was-it-Ben sequence is amusing.  Furie and his DoP, Otto Heller, assemble an odd concoction of travelogue footage of central London; almost literally kitchen sink images of Harry Palmer’s flat; and sharply-angled shots of characters’ heads and shoulders, typically photographed from below, against a blank wall or ceiling.  The lack of depth and flexibility of the visuals fits with the flat, deliberate acting – and Michael Caine’s idiosyncratic speech rhythms are aligned with the wooden delivery of the likes of Nigel Green (the major), Guy Doleman (the colonel), Frank Gatliff (a baddie, to cut a long story short) and Sue Lloyd (the token, and barely animated, female eye candy).  The better people in the supporting cast include Gordon Jackson (although he’s pretty well wasted, as a colleague of Palmer), Stanley Meadows (a Scotland Yard inspector) and Aubrey Richards (a scientist whose kidnap is the plot catalyst).  There are some mildly subversive facets to Caine/Palmer – a combination of the actor’s accent, and the character’s bolshy personality, culinary abilities and liking for Mozart.  The funniest bit comes when Palmer is being brainwashed:  Michael Caine, in his responses to his kidnappers’ repeat-after-me instructions, doesn’t sound in the least as if he’s really succumbing to hypnotism.  The film is a period piece in its reminder of how important phone boxes once were to spies – or, at least, to spies on screen.

30 December 2014