BLACK BAG: Espionage and Marriage Are the Same Thing

Times have changed. Watching how the Brangelina duo exchange empty looks while bullets fly through their refined home isn't sexy anymore, I would even say it isn't even entertaining. People don't enjoy those delightful scenes of mediatic stupidity anymore and now follow intelligence… but not the artificial kind, that's a topic for another debate. Maybe I have to talk solely for myself and not lump everyone together, but I'm basing myself on a hunch when I say that some filmmakers stopped underestimating—thank you very much for that—the audience in these times. Sure, there are dozens of movies that make a fool of us with their pseudo-intellectualism, but cinema evolves. Or transforms. Or maybe both.

In what it looks like an unstoppable series of one yearly release—or sometimes even two—since 2017, Steven Soderbergh collaborated with an extremely inspired David Koepp—the scriptwriter of Jurassic Park, Carlito's Way, Mission: Impossible and Spider-Man, among other modern classics—to bring to life a formula that, from the first taste of its main ingredients, can pleasantly appeal to the palate of any fan of spy cinema. Cate Blanchett and Michael Fassbender play their version of Mr. and Mrs. Smith in a race against time in which espionage and marriage—yes, exactly like this article's title—follow parallel paths that inevitably change their nature until crossing at a certain point.

I'm not shooting from the hip here; I understand the concept and was able to assimilate it perfectly. Actually, at this point, I probably relate much more to this thoughtful, meticulous Fassbender than to any other character. I'm not married but, after 13 years of being with the same person and embracing commitment every day, it could be said I informally am. Even though many times some people find it kind of tedious and exhausting to say "I'm married," it luckily isn't my case since I can assert my partner and I are in our best moment. This is quite unexpected in the current time but, after watching this perfect romantic/dramatic orchestra, it made me reflect on how trust turns out to be THAT absolute factor that determines quality over quantity in romantic relationships.

In this thriller produced under Soderbergh's precise lens, the conflict seems to be triggered by an extremely redundant moment in which George Woodhouse (Fassbender), a legendary British intelligence officer and polygraph expert, finds a movie ticket in the garbage can of his wife's dresser. After some fuss and conversations that also SEEM redundant, he invites his wife to watch that same movie she saw only a few days ago. With an unsettling calm, she goes with him as if it were the first time she was watching the movie on the big screen. From this fracture in their marriage, the perfectionist agent starts to mistrust all her moves, words and even love. The thing is, Black Bag disguises intelligence with a layer of feelings in which everything that makes us analytical beings out of necessity is blurred. The heart and brain, so different and necessary, merge. But, like in every great spy thriller, nothing is as it seems.

Everything is a matter of cause and effect. Soderbergh slaps us from the beginning with an even greater conflict than the one mentioned before. The storyline is simple. George finds out that, on a list of five possible suspects for stealing a highly-confidential malware, there appears none other than his wife's name and surname, Kathryn St. Jean. What could have been meaningless dialogues dragged out unnecessarily or ridiculous persecutions transforms into George's methodical investigation to find the traitor. Fassbender is a master of dramatic restraint. He proved it with his short screen time in Inglourious Basterds with his famous "Drei Gläser!" and his inert but convincing hitman role in The Killer—probably the most similar to this one. Here, he keeps proving, with a sky-high restraint, why he's the perfect actor for these kinds of roles.

With just two scenes in which six characters around a table slowly remove every sense of morality, the director manages to build tension from the unexpected, almost like putting us in the role of spies. George's peers give no hint of what they could be hiding but, behind the scenes—literally and symbolically—this good Samaritan controls the strings without them suspecting a thing. He carries the movie firmly on his shoulders and shows us the necessary path to understand how the complex mechanics of being a secret service agent work. A government/corporate apparatus that clearly isn't made for everyone, which is proven thanks to the small but effective brushstrokes, typical of Soderbergh, imbued into the supporting characters.

On the one hand, we have Freddie—Tom Burke presenting the rudest part of his repertory—a drunk agent who IS in his position thanks to the power of his speeches. On the other hand, we have the therapist Zoe—Naomie Harris in a "I'm not acting, this is actually me" mood—a woman who USES her position to get information from her colleagues. Finally, we have two young talented and completely opposite people: James is the typical greedy man who disguises his sinister intentions with elegance and Clarissa is the beginner who doesn't understand the macabre nature she submitted to by taking on a job of such magnitude.

And in the end, like in all great endings, there's one question left in the atmosphere, leaving us with an existentialist doubt. Or maybe with a reflection that functions as a mirror of our own lives. If marriage and espionage are the same thing, how do we carve the body of trust with those we love? Should we slowly carve small pieces until we find the truth or should we fiercely cut parts due to the impulses evoked by romantic nature?

Published on ABRIL 26, 2025, 22:47 PM | UTC-GMT -3

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