“Dean Spanley”

Director: Toa Fraser 2008
A lovely film with a superlative cast (Peter O’Toole, Sam Neill, Jeremy Northam, Bryan Brown) that escaped me until discovery via a random search of downloadable movies from Netflix (one reason for the film’s obscurity: Miramax, the American distributor, chose to release it straight to video and cable). Although I watched “Dean Spanley” before reading the book, I’d like to discuss the novel first for reasons I hope become apparent as we move along.
“My Talks With Dean Spanley” by Lord Dunsany appeared in 1936. Lord Who? I suggest you Google the author and his many accomplishments, but here are the opening grafs from Wikepedia:
“Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, 18th Baron of Dunsany (24 July 1878 – 25 October 1957) was an Irish writer and dramatist, notable for his work, mostly in fantasy, published under the name Lord Dunsany. More than eighty books of his work were published, and his oeuvre includes many hundreds of published short stories, as well as successful plays, novels and essays.
“Born to one of the oldest titles in the Irish peerage, Dunsany lived much of his life at perhaps Ireland's longest-inhabited home, Dunsany Castle near Tara, worked with W.B. Yeats and Lady Gregory, received an honorary doctorate from Trinity College, was chess and pistol-shooting champion of Ireland, and traveled and hunted extensively.”
He also fought in the Second Boer War and World War l, in which he served in the trenches and was wounded. A rich, event-filled life.
A mere 149 pages, the novel consists of exactly what the title implies: conversations between the narrator and Dean Spanley, a dignified, somewhat reticent Edwardian clergyman the narrator meets at his club and discovers a shared interest: the transmigration of souls. The narrator also discovers that the Dean enjoys a rare port—Imperial Tokay from Hungary—and under the wine’s influence the Dean regresses to a previous life: as a dog called Wag by his masters, although the dog himself prefers the name Moon-chaser because, as the Dean recalls: “Many’s the time I’ve told him [the moon] to go away and not look at me in that odd manner; and he pretended not to hear me. But he knew all right, and he knew he was odd and strange and in league with magic, and he knew what honest folks thought of him: I’ve told him many a time.”
A shaggy dog story, perhaps, but one told with great charm and insight. In her New York Times review, Katherine Woods praised Dunsany’s work for “its originality and wisdom, its understanding and subtlety and whimsical charm . . . [the book] can be read with the keenest enjoyment again and again and again.”
Quite so, but what a challenge for a screenwriter to turn an essentially plotless novel into a film. Enter the gifted Alan Sharp (b. 1934; credits include “The Hired Hand,” “Ulzana’s Raid,” “Night Moves”), who wrote a brilliant script, expanding the story and adding characters while remaining true to Dunsany’s original premise. Sharp’s script is a perfect example of how gifted writers can transform seemingly unfilmable material into a witty and quite moving film.
Without giving too much away, Sharp’s script provides the narrator (Northam) with a wealthy, cantankerous father (O’Toole in a great performance) who has withdrawn from life after the death of another son in, yes, the Second Boer War. Enter Dean Spanley (Neill) and his canine reminiscences, courtesy of the rare Imperial Tokay supplied by a sly fellow (Brown) who calls himself a “conveyancer.”
There are no special effects or make-up tricks here, and Neill never apes the mannerisms of his former four-legged entity. Rather, he ever-so-slightly relaxes his face, turning the starchy cleric into a blissful storyteller who clearly loved howling at the moon and chasing rabbits (Wag’s favorite prey).
There are several surprises along the way. The actors are at top form. There’s little action, save for dogs gamboling during parts of Spanley’s regressions, but the talk is gentle and evocative. Expertly directed by Fraser. A movie that deserved attention and awards. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

Spy vs. Spy

I’d delayed watching last year’s remake of “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” because I’ve admired the novel (which had commas in its title) since its 1974 publication, and I’m a huge fan of 1979’s nearly six-hour mini-series with Alec Guinness brilliantly interpreting John le Carré’s most memorable creation, George Smiley. I own the DVD, and have watched it at least three times over the years. It’s great television.
When I heard “Tinker, Tailor” would be remade as a feature film with Gary Oldman as Smiley, my immediate question—undoubtedly one considered by le Carré and Guinness admirers everywhere—was the obvious: how do you pack so much complicated intrigue and so many complex characters into a two-hour movie (actually a two-hour twenty-seven minute movie)?
The sad truth, after watching the remake, is that you don’t, no matter how noble the effort.
First, some small reservations:
The film, much of which is set in London and its environs, doesn’t appear to have been shot in England. True, there are shots of London buildings, and maybe one or two exterior scenes (like Smiley’s home in Chelsea), but most locations and some of the sets—like the office of a minister—seem more European than British. Since many of the names in the credits appear Eastern European, and a major incident from the book has been transferred from Czechoslovakia to Hungary, my guess is much of the production took place there, no doubt for budget reasons. The result: the movie lacks a feel for London in the early 70s, when the story takes place.**
In the mini-series, The Circus—le Carré’s name for the headquarters of MI6—was a cramped space with narrow, dark hallways and sudden corners, a perfect place for spies to plot and keep secrets from each other. In the movie, it’s a huge, wide-open space more appropriate for an insurance company of its era, which perhaps explains why Control’s office looks like a decompression chamber, and the room where the heads of The Circus gather resembles an acoustically remodeled boxcar. There are no other places for these guys to get privacy.
In the novel and the mini-series, Smiley meets a former agent named Jerry Westerby to pick Westerby’s brain as Smiley seeks to discover the traitor in The Circus. The wonderful Joss Ackland plays Westerby, stealing his scene with Guinness, no small achievement given Guinness’ talents.
But in the film, the name Jerry Westerby has been given inexplicably to another character from both novel and mini-series: Sam Collins, the agent who was on duty the night news arrived that a field agent had been killed (allegedly) in Czechoslovakia. I know I’m carping here—and only dedicated le Carré fans would care--but le Carré’s sequel to “Tinker, Tailor” is “The Honourable Schoolboy.” Jerry Westerby is the eponymous hero of that book—and Sam Collins plays a major part, as well. Why rename Collins as Westerby for the movie? Senseless.
But here’s the movie’s major problem: unlike the mini-series, in which each of the potential traitors is clearly delineated, the movie fails to establish who these men are. They remain ciphers. When Smiley captures the mole, it means nothing. Any one of the suspects could have been proved treacherous, and the reaction—at least for me—would be: okay, but so what? There is no emotional release.
Which doesn’t mean there are not moments and performances to admire in the remake: Oldman is excellent, and Bernard Cumberbatch, as Smiley acolyte Peter Guillam, gets several affecting scenes, as does Mark Strong as the betrayed agent, Jim Prideaux.
But what a waste of such gifted actors as Colin Firth, Toby Jones, and Ciarán Hinds, who are left victims to cramming so much exposition in such limited time that all they can do is hint at whom their characters are. I’m not sure Hinds, a versatile actor with real presence in any movie he appears, has more than ten lines.
As I watched the remake, I kept wondering what viewers unfamiliar with either novel or mini-series would make out of such a truly Byzantine plot? Not much, I think.
As I said, the film’s a noble attempt. My advice, however: read the novel, watch the mini-series.
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**My good friend Ken Salikof sent along the following information regarding the locations used in the new "Tinker Tailor." It appears they shot more in England than I thought, but to little avail, at least to my eyes:
Principal photography took place between 7 October and 22 December 2010.[11] Studio scenes were shot at a former army barracks in Mill Hill, north London.[5] Blythe House in Kensington Olympia, West London, was used as the exterior for "The Circus."[12] The interior hall of Budapest's Párizsi Udvar served as the location for the café scene, in which Jim Prideaux is shot.[13] Empress Coach Works in Haggerston was used as the location for the Merlin safe house. Other scenes were filmed on Hampstead Heath and in Hampstead Ponds, where Smiley is shown swimming, and in the physics department of Imperial College London. The exterior shots of the Islay Hotel, a run-down hotel described in the film as being near Liverpool Street station, which Smiley uses as a base, were shot in Wilkin Street, London NW5.[citation needed]
The events which take place in Czechoslovakia in the novel were moved to Hungary, because of the country's 20% rebate for film productions. The teams filmed in Budapest for five days. Right before Christmas the team also filmed in Istanbul for nine days.[5]