Black Bag

Here we are again in the Fassbenderverse. I seem to be spending a lot of time in it lately. Both coincidently and not. Thing is, I don’t actually enjoy his acting that much. The weird quiet calm he brings to roles that makes him feel almost generic in his often one-note chill. Which I suppose is a good thing for a counterintelligence officer — blending into the wallpaper and all that. Though he’s trusted enough with these types of roles to get Fincher and Soderbergh to be their go-to. So I suppose this stiff-jawed, posh, pristine neat freak character that he has embodied is intentional and preferred. It’s just doesn’t light my world on fire. But, after watching him do this act most recently in The Agency, here he is again playing a government spook in cashmere turtlenecks and colored-lens sunglasses. When he’s not also playing an assassin in cashmere and fashion shades.

The question then becomes, who can match Fassbender in his spidery WASPiness? Who can be both his partner and his foil, while somehow matching that physicality and cool, cold demeanor? Why Cate Blanchett, of course! The match becomes even more obvious as the movie progresses. Two people, both intelligence officers, both in command and both very serious about their jobs. And very serious about each other. Though Fassbender’s George T. Woodhouse is just that much more serious. A man who despises lying in all forms, yet lies when he needs to. Whereas Blanchett’s Kathryn St. Jean is totally fine with lying and also lies. But, like, not always or for fun. Though they both claim to never lie to each other. Unless… It’s all about perception. And this is where we start our tale. At a tense dinner thrown by the couple where George has invited the members of his team to suss out which one of them leaked the plans for a top secret piece of software that could be super-dangerous if it got out in the wild. If it wasn’t his own wife who is the leaker. In order to spark the conversation and loosen lips, he drugs the guests’ food, which leads to the spy version of My Dinner With Andre. A movie I’ve never actually seen, but assume includes a bunch of talk about cheating and sex, revelations about work and general in-fighting and accusatory arguing about who is most likely to be a traitor. I should probably double-check that. But, anyway, that’s what happens in Black Bag.

So, what does “black bag” mean? It’s the code phrase these spy types use with loved ones and collegues when they want to hide things from them. It’s the universal way they can sweep things under the rug and avoid culpability. Or responsibility. The way to obfuscate without the need to lie. The code term for “it’s top secret, I can’t talk about it.” Where were you last week? Black bag. Why didn’t you come home last night? Black bag. Did you murder that dude? Black bag. Are you having sex with that woman right there? Black bag. Which makes it very easy for George to stick to his not lying thing. And everyone else around him as well. Which, of course, means they’re all lying to themselves. But whatever. This whole thing plays like a… well, like a play. A decent, entertaining play, but there are definitely elements of escalating Cat on a Hot Tin Roof vibes. It’s all very much a writer’s version of a spy story. One that, rather than turn into car chases and explosions and shootouts (mostly), deals with personalities and imperfect tech. Conversations and themes of loyalty over country. Did I mention Pierce Brosnan plays their boss? Because he too is everywhere lately — including his over-the-top turn on MobLand.

The rest of the movie is a cat and mouse game of spy satellites, intense rowboats conversations (along with Chekhov’s pond) and Fassbender doing his uptight act while Blanchett slinks around him like a very expensive cat. There’s some international intrigue, spycraft and some modern politics around the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Because, honestly, why do we call it a war? Why do we ever call anything where one country invades another country and that invaded country does its best to defend itself against an aggressor a war? I don’t know much, but that feels weird. Mr. Hipster’s “why don’t you just Google that shit” minute is over now. But while the plot is complicated enough to make it feel like some attention and effort was put into it, it’s not as convoluted as these things can go. Even someone as distracted and tired as me was able to follow it. Even with low-talking Brits. The acting was pretty top notch — as you’d expect — with Marisa Abela from Industry turning in a very charming and engaging performance, and Tom Burke being his usual fun, hard-to-look-away-from, degenerate weirdo. It’s all incredibly professional, controlled and tight. Certainly less experimental and by-the-seat-of-his-pants, shoot-on-an-iphone thing Soderbergh had been playing around with. It’s a pretty classic-feeling movie. It’s not mind-blowing, but it’s bendy and well paced. It helps, of course, when you have whatever stars you want for your “little” movie. Good times.