By Brett Blake 2015 has proved to be something of a min-Renaissance for the spy genre. KINGSMAN: THE SECRET SERVICE, SPY, and MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE - ROGUE NATION kicked off the year, and November’s upcoming James Bond opus, SPECTRE, will close it out, but before we get there, we have THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E. Far from being just an also-ran, mid-August dumping ground release, Guy Ritchie’s latest is a ridiculous amount of fun, a swinging, charming, 1960s-set espionage tale that offers a trio of winning lead performances and a glamorous, affectionate homage to the golden era of spy cinema. Based on the television series of the same name, the film follows Napoleon Solo (Henry Cavill), a CIA operative in the early 1960s who finds himself teamed up with one of the KGB’s finest, Illya Kuryakin (Armie Hammer), on a mission to stop a mysterious criminal organization - headed by Victoria Vinciguerra (Elizabeth Debicki) - from procuring a nuclear weapon and unleashing mayhem across the globe. Solo and Kuryakin find themselves enlisting the aid of Gabby Teller (Alicia Vikander), a German mechanic whose father may-or-may-not be involved in Vinciguerra’s shady and nefarious dealings. All manner of colorful and sophisticated espionage hijinks then ensue. The narrative presents a plot that has literally been seen in dozens of spy films gone by (including any number of the entries in the James Bond series), but the plot here is almost an afterthought by design (and that is not meant to sound like a complaint); it exists solely to provide an excuse to watch the cast bounce off each other, and to present a gorgeously idealized version of the 1960s. This is an incredibly stylish production, one that luxuriates in the aesthetic of the ‘60s. From costumes to cars, hairstyles to locales, the movie is the ultimate love letter to the peppy spy yarns and European-set caper films of the era without ever coming close to tipping over into full-blown spoof territory. The 1960s of THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E. didn’t really exist outside of the cinema of that decade, and it’s truly wonderful to see flair, panache, and glamour presented unapologetically and without a wink at the audience. As Napoleon Solo, Henry Cavill exudes movie star charisma; he’s playing a very specific “type” that should be recognizable to anyone even slightly familiar with the genre, but he brings a great sense of detached cool to the part that is intensely watchable. He’s ably matched by Armie Hammer’s Illya Kuryakin; Hammer has a distinctive and formidable physicality that nicely contrasts with the character’s (at times humorous) stoicism, which is something that makes him an endearing figure and not the stick-in-the-mud the part could have been in other hands. Both Hammer and Cavill are very nearly upstaged by Alicia Vikander’s work in the film, which is incredibly vibrant and appealing. Vikander - who will soon be a major star (you heard it here first) if her 2015 output so far is any indication - is clearly having a terrific time, is game for anything, and is not above allowing herself to be both a little vulnerable and a little goofy while onscreen, which is rarer than you might think. The supporting players make their mark effectively enough (Elizabeth Debicki is a striking presence and hits exactly the right note as the villainess of the story, while Hugh Grant pops up in an extended cameo which uses his sense of humor to dry effect), but the movie belongs to our lead trio, and their chemistry together is incredibly enjoyable to watch. Director Guy Ritchie stages the action in nifty ways, but honestly, those looking for some kind of overblown extravaganza will probably come away feeling the movie’s a bit lacking. There are chases and shootouts and fisticuffs, to be sure, but none of these sequences dominate the proceedings. If you come away from the movie having enjoyed it, chances are it won’t be because of the memorable action, but because of the character moments and the aesthetic choices made by the filmmakers. It’s a movie where the most direct pleasure comes from soaking in its vibe; for example, the movie’s best scene involves a character listening to some music and enjoying a glass of wine while an action sequence unfolds in the background. To cut away from what should be a big setpiece might be frustrating for some, but the quiet and delightful moment we get in exchange more than makes up for it. Perhaps the single strongest element of the movie - beyond even the actors’ chemistry, beyond even the production and costume design - is the musical score from Daniel Pemberton. Drawing from a number of classic influences as varied as Lalo Schifrin, Ennio Morricone, Neal Hefti, and even the snappy ‘60s jazz sound of such giants as Henry Mancini, Jerry Goldsmith (who himself had a hand in the music for the original TV show), and John Williams, Pemberton’s music for U.N.C.L.E. is nothing less than an utterly charming, swaggering blast from the musical past. Rather than just sounding like a pastiche, however, the score feels totally fresh (and, indeed, refreshing); in an age where blockbusters are often overscored with droning nonsense or bombast, Pemberton reminds us that jazzy overtones were once the classiest and most sophisticated fit for an espionage yarn, and that approach still works tremendously. It’s shamelessly fun music, and one of the year’s best scores. Nobody - not even its biggest defenders - would argue that THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E. is high art, or a particularly important or deep work of cinema. It is a confection of a film, a breezy and light offering that should delight both fans of the spy genre and devotees of all things 1960s. I can think of many worse ways to close out a summer at the movies than this. It’s simply a lot of fun.
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