The Game aka The Trials and Tribulations of Joe

What better show to blog about on Valentines Day than The Game, a miniseries that sees the lives of spies shaped, changed, even destroyed by love.

Possibly taking the covert theme too far, this fantastic miniseries about an MI5 operative during the Cold War almost slipped under my radar. The Game is an odd beast, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. 

The show's opener is a kicker. Lead protagonist Joe is in the midst of defecting. I know, not what you'd expect of a hero (or even an antihero), right? But Joe is In Love (capitals warranted). The brutal scene that follows elicits instant sympathy, planting the audience firmly on Team Joe. 

Not the perfect date...

Cut to a much colder Joe back at the office, where we're privy to MI5 in action. Before you get any ideas, this spy zone is the opposite of a James Bond film. More like The Office: Covert Affairs, a daggy staff meeting in a daggy building, where everyone calls the boss Daddy ('cause that isn't creepy).

Come to Papa.

Magnificent casting renders this series topnotch; the understated performances could teach a few Yank productions a thing or two about onscreen subtlety. Tom Hughes holds his own with Brian Cox, Jonathan Aris, Victoria Hamilton, Judy Parfitt, Rachael Stirling, Paul Ritter, and Shaun Dooley, which is no mean feat. My only casting criticism would be Chloe Pirrie, who seems to be overacting, even for a "bumbling" character like Wendy. Then again, she is playing opposite the best in the game (pun intended), who manage to convey complex cocktails of emotion with barely a blink.

When tech didn't fit in your pocket.

The tech is clumsy and old-fashioned, a startling reminder of how much the digital world has developed since this period. On some level, each character seems determined yet disillusioned (or in the process of becoming disillusioned) regarding the machinations of international espionage. Lies, cultivated misconceptions, negotiations, and illusions of power, control, and trust are all driving forces.

For those who claim the show is "too slow", well, I can only feel sorry for you. There is so much happening psychologically that I was riveted and genuinely confused by the criticism. Everyone is weaving webs, the sub-plots as tangled and interesting as the more dominant narrative elements. 

The attitudes of the period to Bobby's sexuality
are empathically addressed.

The espionage storylines unfold in a time-honored convoluted way, with false trails, traitors, and shocking revelations galore. Hindsight is a strange creature; watching the characters fret about imminent attack from the USSR–covert or overt–seems disarmingly quaint, until you realize the actions of people such as these are what rendered possible threats negligible in the first place.

The cinematography is beautiful: colors muted, shots instilled with an odd coldness (even the uber-beige sets lack warmth). Every now and again the actors' faces fill the screen poignantly, frames that could be reproduced as a series of portraits capturing the turmoil of repressed emotions. There's a strange kind of elegance to even the grittiest of scenes. Kudos to assorted episode directors Niall MacCormick and Daniel O'Hara, as well as cinematographers Sam McCurdy and Urszula Pontikos.

No mobile?! My mind couldn't believe it when the spies had to find a phone box. 

As for the conclusion... not to go near spoilers, but while you know a twist is coming, the twist on top of the twist is what had me nodding and saying "bravo" to the television. Joe's mental state at the end of the series is also beautifully written/outlined. Happily Ever After is an alien, almost laughable concept for this crew–given their various professional and personal situations–but the true tragedy is that deep down they still yearn for connection, despite living in a state of cynical vigilance bordering on paranoia.

International timekeeping prior to apps.

One of the elements I admired most about the script was that the primary sexualized spy character was not a woman, but a man. Joe's ability to seduce is openly acknowledged as part of his professional skill set, a psychologically horrifying scenario for someone recovering from perceived romantic loss. Instead of offering this as a conquering, hero-type trait, the referenced sex scenes become a convoluted form of torture that add to the lead's disassociated state. Nice writing from Toby Whithouse (along with Sarah Dollard and Debbie O'Malley for some episodes).

If you haven't seen the series yet, find the time. I caught it at the end of last year, making The Game a late but solid contender for one of the best shows released in 2014. Looking forward to a second season.