Incredible as it may seem, this slick and stylish production marks the first ever time that a John Le Carré novel has been adapted for the stage. Television and film, with their greater scope for moody establishing of atmosphere and swift switches of international location, have had this mainstay of the spy genre to themselves for too long and now the live artform is staking a robust claim. David Eldridge’s classy fillet of an adaptation is meticulously mounted by director Jeremy Herrin, creating a loweringly sinister atmosphere of espionage double-dealing against a muted colour palette.
The simple truth is that the majority of plays could do with being somewhat shorter than they are. This one, however, is a rare exception of a work that would benefit from being padded out a little more fully, especially in the early scenes that carefully lay the sprung trap of the plot. I am a great fan of Le Carré’s 1963 novel and thus benefitted from that hinterland of knowledge to plug any gaps, yet I wonder whether those who haven’t read it will be lightly bewildered at times.
Mat Betteridge as Karl Riemeck and Rory Keenan as Alec Leamas in ‘The Spy Who Came In From The Cold’ (Photo: Johan Persson)
Mat Betteridge as Karl Riemeck and Rory Keenan as Alec Leamas in ‘The Spy Who Came In From The Cold’ (Photo: Johan Persson)
Eldridge’s clever conceit is to offer us the culturally familiar figure of George Smiley (John Ramm) as narrator, who establishes the milieu at once. Berlin, the recently wall-divided city from which our (anti)hero Alec Leamas (Rory Keenan, excellent in his ramshackle charm) has just returned as M16 bureau chief, is a place “where one wrong move could turn a Cold War hot”. Leamas is worn out and run down, but Control (Ian Drysdale, perfectly softly spoken and chilling) has one last undercover mission for this disillusioned man who saw all his Berlin agents shot and killed by Mundt (Gunnar Cauthery), the inscrutable head of the East German secret service.
As Le Carré fans well know, the murky game of international espionage involves an uncomfortable amount of collateral damage and we soon start to wonder about who, exactly, might be double-crossing whom. Bright young idealist Liz Gold (Agnes O’Casey) unwisely falls for Leamas, which ups the stakes of the operation precipitously. Designer Max Jones offers a playing floor that is a map of Western Europe and a bank of stage seating on which inscrutable members of the accomplished ensemble lurk in the shadows of scenes.
Smiley himself looks on from a Checkpoint Charlie-style watchtower balcony and his words, warnings and wisdom interwoven, echo continually around Leamas’s increasingly fevered brain. Smiley and other high-ups at spy HQ the “Circus” know far more than they are letting on and the thrill of secrecy, for us if not poor Leamas, is compelling. This is a fine start to what I envisage will be Le Carré’s long stage sojourn.