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" There is much to admire about this adaptation of John le Carr\u00C3\u00A9&amp;#039;s espionage novel, including a series of finely turned performances, headed by an unusually quiet and contained Gary Oldman. Every scene is beautifully photographed too by director Tomas Alfredson (the man behind outstanding Swedish vampire film Let the Right One In).  And yet, you may find yourself looking at this stunning showcase of talent as though it were a piece of elaborate code. There&amp;#039;s no doubting that the people who crafted it are very clever, but in the end, they&amp;#039;ve hidden its meaning too well. In the psychedelic early &amp;#039;70s, it&amp;#039;s the men in grey suits who are shaping society against a Cold War backdrop, tucked away at a dingy warehouse in a London alleyway. This is MI6 HQ, ironically nicknamed &amp;#039;The Circus&amp;#039;, with John Hurt as its aging ringmaster, known as Control.  That name is also ironic because the old man is losing his grip after a mission in Hungary sees operative Jim Prideaux (Mark Strong) eating a side-order of lead with his coffee at a caf\u00C3\u00A9 rendezvous. The shooting offers a rare moment of palpable danger - the other most memorable being Strong going slaphappy on an owl. As usual, whenever he&amp;#039;s on-screen, the mood is ominous. A shame that Prideaux is taken out of action early on then. He nurses a grudge in his caravan - worrying the birdlife - while veteran spy, inaptly named George Smiley (Oldman defiantly pursing his lips) tries to identify the mole suspected of putting holes in their operation. Naturally, he&amp;#039;s a meticulous man and Oldman&amp;#039;s portrayal is just as careful and deliberate.  What makes him more watchable are those things that he refuses to show; mostly, the agony of being cheated on by his wife (face, unseen), reflecting the duplicity he is faced with in the wider world. He is continually thwarted - and so is the film - by a refusal to engage with those demons that live deep in the dark. The way Alfredson directs, you might suspect the mole has fangs and a blood habit after all. The air is as eerily thick as it was in Let the Right One In, painted in the same muted colours, drawing attention to blank spaces that seem to close in on the characters.  The plot turns at the same meditative pace and, even when he zooms in, he does so very S-L-O-W-L-Y... This breeds a sense of unease, as though something might leap from the shadows at any moment. But, in this case, you&amp;#039;re left waiting. Only sallow-faced men come and go from dimly lit rooms, explaining the plot to each other in hushed tones, and if you don&amp;#039;t listen closely, you&amp;#039;re left in the dark. That building sense of paranoia you might expect from a Cold War thriller is absent, and past events have no immediacy. Alfredson draws out quieter moments instead, which might have had a more profound effect if he&amp;#039;d also taken the time to emphasise the hidden jealousies and backroom power struggles that give the novel (and 1979 miniseries) a pulse.  Fine actors like Colin Firth, Toby Jones and Kathy Bates are reduced to playing spooks in the ethereal sense, as opposed to fully fleshed-out people. Tom Hardy stands out in a bloody, romantic intrigue in Istanbul, but the segue feels out of place in this emotionally arid landscape. Apparently, stiff upper lips sink ships.   "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.digitalspy.com/movies/review/a337635/tinker-tailor-soldier-spy-review/>