I'll make this official: I'm deeply in love with Bill Nighy. Sure, he doesn't have the greatest taste in screenplays, occasionally caught on the prowl for a solid paycheck, but when the British actor is permitted to sink his teeth into top shelf material, he's unstoppable. "Page Eight," written and directed by David Hare, is exactly the type of callous material Nighy requires to reach his full potential. Wrapping his talent around this cold-blooded tale of English spies and their backstabbing business, the actor delivers outstanding work, furtive yet vulnerable, able to articulate the weight of the world with the mere arch of an eyebrow. Of course, he's far from alone here, with Hare drafting some of the best European actors into duty, breathing a rippling sense of antagonism into a tightly leashed tangle with secret documents and hallway paranoia. Although it gives off the appearance of homework, Nighy and his fellow performers give Hare's script a thrilling workout, creating significant tension out of the most routine of encounters.
A longtime intelligence analyst for MI5, Johnny Worricker (Bill Nighy) finds his life and livelihood in danger when friend and director Benedict Baron (Michael Gambon) passes along a secret file carrying damaging information about American torture practices, placing Prime Minister Alec Beasley (Ralph Fiennes) in a precarious international position. Without knowledge of the information's source, Johnny commences his own investigation, well aware of the file's capacity to destroy his career. While his professional life is in flux, a neighbor, Nancy Pierpan (Rachel Weisz), has revealed herself to be a comforting presence, though even she comes loaded with concern, searching for a way to expose her brother's murder at the hands of the Israeli Army. Keeping cool while outside forces prepare to devour him, Johnny uses his training and trusts his instincts, looking to play the spy game efficiently to protect himself and assist Nancy with her grief.
"Page Eight" is a like a James Bond film, if the superspy took a desk job, collected art, and lived for the seductive complexity of jazz music. Hare (who scripted "The Hours") pours his history as a playwright into the feature, structuring the material in a theatrical manner that emphasizes the power of words over the flexing of muscles. It's a difficult road for Johnny, who's dealing with the aftermath of the file's release, Nancy's intrusion into his highly ordered life, and domestic concerns with his estranged daughter, Julianne (Felicity Jones), a painter who specializes in nightmare imagery, much to her father's confusion. While handed every opportunity to lose his cool, Johnny buries his shock in a traditional English manner, playing the ongoing violations of trust and secrecy close to his chest, aware that vulnerability leads to exposure. The character defends himself with words, carefully choosing responses around his potentially deceptive compatriots, while studying small talk for tells, allowing him to differentiate between friend and foe.
Language is a key component to "Page Eight," with layers of significance under every act of communication. Hare loads the dialogue with suspicion and launches numerous barbs, playing into the stressful loss of confidence within the MI5 offices, as the file divides the group, forcing the professionals to retreat to their separate corners until a suitable fall guy is selected. While verbose, "Page Eight" never tires, always enthusiastic to juggle allegiances and redirect compassion, gradually building to reasonable revelations while Hare injects a murder here and a double-cross there to disrupt mood-squashing convention, fearful for Johnny as he maneuvers around a minefield of individuals out to protect their own interests. The feature also enjoys a look at the modern secret agent game, which involves cautious internet searches to verify backstories and the miracle of the cameraphone, doing away with tiny spy cameras stuffed into suit sleeves, putting a 21st century spin on age-old acts of covert inspection, elevating the already unexpected pulse of the picture. It's not exactly a snowballing suspense extravaganza up to 007 standards, but "Page Eight" builds a dependable momentum for a PBS premiere, keeping viewers invested in this razor-sharp web of lies.
With Nighy out front and center, there's little for Hare to do but point a camera and let the man work a scene with extraordinary confidence. Mercifully, the filmmaker does manage to stay out of the way, allowing his exceptional cast to interpret the material in their own inimitable manner, extending to Judy Davis as Johnny's merciless co-worker and Ewan Bremner as the spy's newspaper informant. With casual touches, knowing looks, and old-fashioned immobility, the ensemble provides a well-defined community of individual interests, all looking to Johnny in ways he's rather not understand in full. Hare scripts with a beautiful frost, procedural with a cocktail clink, but the famous faces are largely responsible for the hypnotic quality of the material, always finding interesting angles to play as darkness washes over the plot, exposing friends and enemies, and even a few lonely hearts in need of companionship.
The AVC encoded image (1.78:1 aspect ratio) presentation for "Page Eight" doesn't do the chilled tone of the feature justice. Some banding and inconsistent contrast is detected, but there's a real problem with crush issues, clotting up the darker details of the frame, reducing elegant costumes, dense hairstyles, and evening interactions solid, losing an essential feel for locations and tailoring. Also present is a mild DNR scrub, flattening facial features outside of extreme close-ups, which is a crime considering the range of the ensemble. Skintones are erratic, battling between natural pinks and harsh reds. Colors are in better shape, conveying the variety of professional outfits, capturing shades of blue and grey. Screen texture is a rare event, but the BD has its moments with office and apartment interiors. Again, tight cinematography and bright natural light tends to bring out the nuances of the frame, but it's not a consistent feel.
The 2.0 DTS-HD MA sound mix seems perfectly suited for a picture of furrowed brows and contemplation, rarely kicking out in intensity or dimensional needs. Accents are a major hurdle here, with the track comfortably separating voices, sustaining verbal tension while holding exposition tightly. The conversations are easy to follow, held frontal with a deep impression of dramatic intent. Scoring carries a little wider, with a crisp instrumentation, especially found with the movie's fixation on jazz, supporting the screen events with a loose-fitting offering of aural snap. Low-end is nonexistent. It's a sedate film without interest in sonic theatrics, leaving the clean, unfussy mix here satisfactory.
"Page Eight" doesn't travel down clichés paths of engagement, abstaining from guns and explosives to remain coldly unsettled, observing plans in motion instead of feral acts of defense. It's an elegant storytelling route leading to less of a candied thrill, but it's all carried so magnificently by Hare and his cast. Of course, I'm partial to Nighy, who's damn good in the feature, with his thespian idiosyncrasy making a perfect union with Hare's reserved filmmaking interests. Needless to say, there's plenty more here to embrace, as "Page Eight" provides an interesting twist on customary spy unease. Nevertheless, I doubt few viewers will be able to keep anything but Nighy's multi-layered performance in mind after a viewing.
All countries
