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mme_hardySpies of Warsaw is about a Frenchman spying in Warsaw in 1937. I got stuck in the first Alan Furst book awhile back -- should give it a retry -- but I could have sworn I remembered its being about a Polish spy. (Edit: My mistake; I'm thinking of a different Furst novel.) Ah, well. SoW, although gloriously photographed in Poland, isn't about living in Poland, or about Poles. It's about David Tennant being a moderately glamorous spy.
Which is the problem. David Tennant, take him for all in all, looks like an Angry Bird. He has three basic expressions: watchful, scowling, and a charming cheeky grin. He can produce variations on all of these on demand. However, he he can't do suave or diplomatic to save his life, which is a limitation when playing a character who is a French military officer under cover as a diplomat. Tennant glowers through diplomatic events in a way that would get him recalled to Paris post-haste. He has nothing resembling a military bearing; he slouches, carries one shoulder slightly higher than the other, and rolls from foot to foot when he walks. A character refers to him as carrying himself "as if he had a stick up his arse", a line that should have been cut immediately after casting. (If you want to see what a military bearing looks like, take a peek at Basil Rathbone or David Niven.)
But what about the plot, Mrs. H? It's a very, very conventional spy plot. Glamorous French aristocrat and WWI veteran is in Warsaw before WWII, sees what is coming -- he drops a hint about the Germans invading through trees and is brushed off with a reference to the Maginot Line -- but is hamstrung by unsympathetic superiors. (A total waste of Burn Gorman, alas.) He runs agents -- for once, an accurate portrayal in a glamor-spy role -- who wind up dead or betrayed. He has a doomed romance with a White Russian refugee who is living with a Russian socialist journalist. He sneaks through the streets of Warsaw.
And you've seen it all before. Which is a pity. As I mentioned, the cinematography is superb, and I'd love to see a Furst dramatization that covers the despair and sense of abandonment of the Polish military. Failing that, I would like to see a mid-20th-century drama in which THE STARS WEAR HATS IN THE GODDAMNED STREET. Ahem. Sorry about that. I have Issues. While we're on the subject, I don't think Tennant's uniform is properly tailored; his epaulettes roll toward the front of his shoulders.
Nobody in the French hierarchy makes the least attempt at French body language or indeed at matching one another's British accents. It's a drama about British spies who happen to be wearing French uniforms and dropping the occasional reference to France. As per usual, the German officers have a military bearing and are speaking German with subtitles.
What we have here is a bad case of imaginary toads in real gardens.
Which is the problem. David Tennant, take him for all in all, looks like an Angry Bird. He has three basic expressions: watchful, scowling, and a charming cheeky grin. He can produce variations on all of these on demand. However, he he can't do suave or diplomatic to save his life, which is a limitation when playing a character who is a French military officer under cover as a diplomat. Tennant glowers through diplomatic events in a way that would get him recalled to Paris post-haste. He has nothing resembling a military bearing; he slouches, carries one shoulder slightly higher than the other, and rolls from foot to foot when he walks. A character refers to him as carrying himself "as if he had a stick up his arse", a line that should have been cut immediately after casting. (If you want to see what a military bearing looks like, take a peek at Basil Rathbone or David Niven.)
But what about the plot, Mrs. H? It's a very, very conventional spy plot. Glamorous French aristocrat and WWI veteran is in Warsaw before WWII, sees what is coming -- he drops a hint about the Germans invading through trees and is brushed off with a reference to the Maginot Line -- but is hamstrung by unsympathetic superiors. (A total waste of Burn Gorman, alas.) He runs agents -- for once, an accurate portrayal in a glamor-spy role -- who wind up dead or betrayed. He has a doomed romance with a White Russian refugee who is living with a Russian socialist journalist. He sneaks through the streets of Warsaw.
And you've seen it all before. Which is a pity. As I mentioned, the cinematography is superb, and I'd love to see a Furst dramatization that covers the despair and sense of abandonment of the Polish military. Failing that, I would like to see a mid-20th-century drama in which THE STARS WEAR HATS IN THE GODDAMNED STREET. Ahem. Sorry about that. I have Issues. While we're on the subject, I don't think Tennant's uniform is properly tailored; his epaulettes roll toward the front of his shoulders.
Nobody in the French hierarchy makes the least attempt at French body language or indeed at matching one another's British accents. It's a drama about British spies who happen to be wearing French uniforms and dropping the occasional reference to France. As per usual, the German officers have a military bearing and are speaking German with subtitles.
What we have here is a bad case of imaginary toads in real gardens.
