FAmilularity generates contempt, perhaps especially in weddings. How do you keep a close fresh partnership? Perhaps married to spies, like those of Steven Soderbergh’s silky spy caper Black bag, have the answer.
George Woodhouse (Michael Fassbender), an experienced agent at the National Cyber Security Center British, receives a list of five colleagues suspected of being mole, capable of activating a cyber-ver designed to wreak nuclear ravages. No problem there – with the exception of his wife, compatriot high -level spy Kathryn St. Jean (Cate Blanchett), to whom he is devoted, is on the list. The confidence between these two is unshakable; George is not too worried. His first blow is to invite the four other suspects to the couple’s house for dinner, better to find the traitor. “Avoid the Chana Masala,” he informs his supernaturally self-posted wife nonchalantly when she slips into a column of liquid charming before the arrival of the guests. This particular dish is dosed with truth serum, to better make the languages beat around the dinner table.
The potential traitors – played by Tom Burke, Naomie Harris, Regee -Jean Page and Marisa Abela – are also at two sets of couples. Because, as one of them deplores, who other can really take out a spy? But if the party, a chic gathers around a table with low lighting in the couple Architectural digestion– Presented from the London house, gives juicy cyberspy gossip – It is a crowd that will tell you what they really think of Edward Snowden – that doesn’t say much about what his wife could do. Both talk about their work at home, but only to a certain point. Any question too delicate to answer is encountered with a two -words code wanted, politely, to ensure that the other is backing up: “black bag”. And this is the answer that George receives when he questions Kathryn about disturbing evidence that he finds, after the party, while emptying the trash. (It is a spy spouse who not only makes the whole kitchen, but also all the storage.) Meanwhile, Kathryn purred an invitation from the room. George may be wild about her, but his confidence in her is shaken.
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The great thing in the way Soderbergh makes films – generally quickly, and for relatively little money – is that it seems to have a lot of fun doing it. The result is that his photos do not feel difficult or too serious. It is Black bag In a satin gold cloud. The script is David Koepp (writer of the best Mission: Impossible, The iteration of Brian de Palma 1996), and it is filled with shimmering red bodies and liberal lashes of Techno-Pylacious Bogon. (An agent complies another work with butter superlatives: “It is a very sexy piece of code.”) The image is sensual and dispersed, almost as a Sade song in the form of a film, although in some respects, it is a responsibility. Black bag is finished before you feel that you really understood; Maybe it’s more a appetizer rather than a whole meal.
But then, do you prefer to have a small well-designed piece served on a perfect square of porcelain, or a puree of nonsense that bothers you before you even finished it? Black bag succeeds on his cold mind and on the nervous and nervous appeal of his two stars. Blanchett travels the film with the Lioness Grace; Fassbender means that George’s robotic use of logic seems to be an aphrodisiac. Like all married couples, George and Kathryn have their business, these little daily troubles, occasional doubt about what the other can think or do, in their private hours. But in the melee, they are a united forehead. What God has joined without any man putting. This is also worth for small cyber-temps.
