What is it about George Smiley that makes him translate so well onto the screen? The man doesn’t fight, he doesn’t gamble, and he barely seems to notice women (apart from the wife who continually cuckolds him) — in fact the only hobby that appears to brighten him up a bit is a homely interest in old books. For a spy novel this is not what you might call ‘a winning formula’ — although, of course, clearly it is.
Actually, John le Carré invention of Smiley as the ‘anti-Bond’ was a conception near to genius, a literary masterstroke that proved spies didn’t have to dodge bullets to be thrilling. But the idea that such a character might make good reading and good watching seems less fanciful than downright preposterous. Here is a character who affords his directors no car chases, no (or at least, very little) sex appeal, and is never once seen brandishing a gun concealed cleverly inside a fountain pen.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in