The Bureau’, France’s Superior Answer to Slow Horses

The Bureau (Le Bureau des Légen­des) in ques­tion is France’s DGSE, a mix­ture of the British MI6 and America’s CIA. They’re the agency in charge of field­ing for­eign agents in areas of strate­gic inter­est to France, prin­ci­pal­ly through­out the Mid­dle East and across North Africa. 

Ignore the expen­sive and whol­ly un-nec­es­sary Hol­ly­wood remake, The Agency, notwith­stand­ing the pres­ence of the always watch­able Michael Fass­binder, and go direct­ly to the orig­i­nal, of which there are 5 sea­sons, first shown between 2015–2020.

What’s so impres­sive about the series is that it rings so clear­ly and tri­umphant­ly true. Obvi­ous­ly, that’s due in part to the fact that’s it’s based on the tes­ti­mo­ny of whis­tle blow­ers who’d pre­vi­ous­ly worked there. 

But it’s impos­si­ble not to sus­pect that if any indi­vid­ual is respon­si­ble for its pal­pa­ble sense of ver­ité, it’s the show’s star, Math­ieu Kasso­vitz.

Kasso­vitz had pre­vi­ous­ly writ­ten and direct­ed the impos­si­bly grip­ping La Haine, which some­how man­aged to cap­ture the bristling ten­sions sim­mer­ing in the ban­lieues, and the racism that that was fuelled by, in a way that out­siders rarely suc­ceed in doing.

The Bureau is a lot more sedate than that, but it has that same sense of hav­ing been made by peo­ple who real­ly under­stand the ter­rain they’re surveying. 

As the Econ­o­mist not­ed, it fea­tures no spe­cial effects and few stunts, but what it gives you instead is a win­dow into the world of inter­na­tion­al espi­onage, where life is as mun­dane and pet­ty as it is in all offices. But where the con­se­quences of actions that are fuelled by base desires are gen­uine­ly unimag­in­ably high. 

The shows believ­abil­i­ty is fur­ther enhanced by the sub­plots, which are set in Syr­ia, Alge­ria and Iran. Where most shows would begin with an estab­lish­ing shot of a minaret, framed by the moun­tains above Tehran, with a title that reads ‘Iran’, before return­ing to a set some­where in the south of France, the Bureau is as focused on life in Syr­ia and Iran as it is on France.

And they’re as metic­u­lous in their research into life lived there, in the field, as they are about what the pen push­ers get up to back at head­quar­ters in Paris.

It’s won­der­ful­ly refresh­ing to watch some­thing that pre­sumes that you’re as intel­li­gent, and as curi­ous, as every­body involved in the show itself is. And sim­ply assumes that you can appre­ci­ate the rel­e­vance of what’s said and done, in the con­text of where it all happens. 

For all of which, it couldn’t pos­si­bly be more French. If Call My Agent was a very specif­i­cal­ly French response to Friends, this is their reac­tion to hav­ing seen the Wire.

Wide­ly described as not mere­ly one of the best French TV series ever, but more prop­er­ly as sim­ply one of the best TV series of the last few decades, if all of this is news to you, as it was for me a few months ago, you’re in for a treat. Enjoy.

Watch the trail­er below:

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HBO’s “Fantasmas” from Julio Torres

The best way to enjoy Fan­tas­mas is by know­ing as lit­tle about it before­hand as pos­si­ble. For­tu­nate­ly it’s well nigh impos­si­ble to sumarise so noth­ing you’ll read here will in any way spoil your expe­ri­ence of watch­ing it. 

Osten­si­bly, we’re in a dystopi­an future where every­thing we over 30 something’s had feared has appar­ent­ly come to pass. Every­thing you do is done via your mobile and every­one leads lone­ly lives lived in con­junc­tion with their robot friend come but­ler in exis­ten­tial isolation. 

This is the vista that for­mer Sat­ur­day Night Live per­former Julio Tor­res presents us with as we fol­low what seems to be a video diary of what has become his life. 

He’s an out of work actor slash etc with a per­son­al man­ag­er who is actu­al­ly just role play­ing as his man­ag­er, but is it doing it so con­vinc­ing­ly that she seems to believe that she real­ly is his man­ag­er, and she spends her days try­ing to con­vince him to shell his soul so that he can final­ly afford to pay the rent. 

But the key to life in this world is your Proof of Exis­tence stamp, and he’s res­olute­ly deter­mined not to cave in to the man and get one, so that he can par­take in all of the activ­i­ties that are expect­ed of you here.

It’s both a cel­e­bra­tion of and a pas­tiche of a Gen Z world times a hun­dred that’s only loose­ly con­nect­ed by this nar­ra­tive, and is real­ly just a suc­ces­sion of bril­liant­ly realised skits per­formed by a hand­ful of celebri­ty actors, who are all clear­ly in on the joke, includ­ing Steve Busce­mi, Amy Sedaris, Paul Dano, Emma Stone (who also pro­duces, again, as she did on The Curse, mak­ing her as impres­sive a pro­duc­er as she is an actress) and Natasha Lyonne.

This is the most refresh­ing­ly orig­i­nal and con­sis­tent­ly daz­zling show on tele­vi­sion, and feels like the brighter and slight­ly lighter com­pan­ion piece to Apple’s Sev­er­ance. But looks can be deceiv­ing. Fan­tas­mas is a close as you’re going to get to a show that’s gen­uine­ly Beck­et­t­ian. Enjoy. 

Watch the trail­er for Fan­tas­mas here:

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Season 3 of the sumptuous “My Brilliant Friend”

The Rai/HBO adap­ta­tion of Ele­na Fer­rante’s revered quar­tet of Neapoli­tan nov­els returns for its third sea­son (it’s been out, truth­ful­ly, for a while now), and if any­thing it’s even more impres­sive than sea­sons one and two.

My Bril­liant Friend, which is both the title of the first nov­el and of the over­all series, fol­lows Lenu (as in Ele­na) and Lila as they move through child­hood into adult­hood and maturity. 

With one leav­ing the squalor and cor­rup­tion of the impov­er­ished neigh­bour­hood in Naples where they grow up to become a suc­cess­ful nov­el­ist. And the oth­er stay­ing behind to stand in defi­ance against every­thing that bares down on her in those unfor­giv­ing environs. 

And through all the men, and sex, and births and betray­als and suc­cess and fail­ure, the one thing that holds firm is the depth of their fierce friend­ship, forged as it was in fire of youth.

Ferrante’s tetral­o­gy occu­pies a curi­ous space. Like the nov­els of Bret Eas­t­on Ellis and Philip Roth, they’re clear­ly and unapolo­get­i­cal­ly lit­er­ary, but they’re far too suc­cess­ful to be classed as pure­ly lit­er­ary. The clos­est com­par­i­son is prob­a­bly Tom Wolfe’s Bon­fire of the Van­i­ties

Remark­ably, the tele­vi­sion series not only does jus­tice to the orig­i­nal, if any­thing it improves on it. And it’ll be inter­est­ing to see what they do to cor­rect the fact that, between our­selves, the fourth of the nov­els isn’t quite as unput­down­able as the pre­vi­ous three, and rather drifts off.

What My Bril­liant Friend does so suc­cess­ful­ly is to use the close up of its inti­mate por­traits of two female friends and set them against the back­drop of every­thing that was hap­pen­ing in Italy. As it moves from the con­ser­vatism of the 50s, to the vibran­cy of the 60s and the agi­ta­tion of the 70s. 

What the tele­vi­sion series does, even more impres­sive­ly, is to present us with an unro­man­ti­cised pic­ture of how harsh life can be for all too ordi­nary peo­ple liv­ing on the periph­ery. But to do so by mould­ing exquis­ite­ly craft­ed images with metic­u­lous­ly com­bined sounds. The result is both vis­cer­al­ly real, and at once glo­ri­ous­ly cin­e­mat­ic and defi­ant­ly romantic. 

My Bril­liant Friend proves that not every­thing that has hap­pened in the world of film and tele­vi­sion is all bad. A cen­tu­ry ago, you would have had to go to a bespoke, art house cin­e­ma to find fare such as this. Films deter­mined to zoom in on the very local but to do so in widescreen tech­ni­colour cinemascope.

Like the Sici­ly we’re pre­sent­ed with in Tornatore’s Cin­e­ma Par­adiso, or the Provence of Claude Berri’s Jean de Flo­rette and Manon des Sources, or with De Sica’s pair of rov­ing, work­ing class lovers in Sun­flower (reviewed by me ear­li­er here).

Today, it’s not only read­i­ly avail­able on a tele­vi­sion near you, there are four sea­sons of eight episodes each. And each one is com­plete­ly and com­pelling­ly believ­able and at once tri­umphant­ly and glo­ri­ous­ly escapist.

Watch the trail­er to My Bril­liant Friend here

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The Curse”, almost unwatchable, completely unmissable

The Curse, a 10 part com­e­dy dra­ma, or dram­e­dy if you will, is the ulti­mate in car-crash tele­vi­sion. It’s hor­ren­dous­ly uncom­fort­able to have to watch, and yet you can’t take your eyes off of it. 

Cre­at­ed, writ­ten and pro­duced by a com­bi­na­tion of its three prin­ci­pals, the series revolves around the mar­riage of Emma Stone and Nathan Field­er, and the real­i­ty TV show his col­lege friend Ben­ny Safdie is mak­ing about them and the work they do. 

Stone and Field­er are a patch­work quilt of every con­ceiv­able lib­er­al urge. They buy up prop­er­ties in under-ser­viced, periph­er­al sub­urbs – i.e. the ones where black and brown skinned peo­ple eke out their mea­gre exis­tences — and replace exist­ing dwellings with eco-friend­ly, ultra-mod­ern and over-priced monstrosities. 

Their end­less talk of invest­ing in local com­mu­ni­ties and nur­tur­ing indige­nous tal­ent does noth­ing to hide the fact that all they are in fact engaged in is a rapa­cious gen­tri­fi­ca­tion scheme designed to make them a shed-load of mon­ey, that they’re try­ing for­lorn­ly to dress up in lib­er­al frills and bows.

The Safdie broth­ers’ Good Time.

As the episodes progress, each aspect of their arche­typ­al­ly lib­er­al façade is unmasked to reveal a mon­strous mess of neu­ro­sis fed on an entrenched sense of enti­tled privilege.

And through­out all of which, it’s – at least ini­tial­ly – unclear whether Safdie intends glee­ful­ly expos­ing this in the real­i­ty show he’s mak­ing around their exploits. Or whether he too is caught up in the glare of their ambi­tion and the vor­tex of their solipsism. 

Could he con­ceiv­ably turn out to be even more self-cen­tred than they are? Or is there the chance that some­thing inter­est­ing might actu­al­ly result from what he’s shooting?

We are then very much on the same ter­rain that Ricky Ger­vais mapped out in the orig­i­nal The Office series, and where Curb Your Enthu­si­asm went in some of its ear­li­er episodes. Gen­uine­ly painful to behold, and absolute­ly riveting. 

This is what tele­vi­sion can do when three incred­i­bly gift­ed indi­vid­u­als decide to pool their tal­ents to expose what lies under­ground, beneath the sur­face of the soci­ety we’ve con­struct­ed for our­selves. And the less you know about any of the par­tic­u­lars, the more you’ll get out of watch­ing it. 

Watch the trail­er for The Curse here:

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The 50 Years War: Israel and the Arabs, the 1998 TV Series

Nor­ma Per­cy has pro­duced doc­u­men­taries on some the world’s most volatile regions, with The Death of Yugoslavia (1995), Iran and the West (2009), The Iraq War (2013) and most recent­ly, Putin Vs the West (2023), which was reviewed by me ear­li­er here

But in 1998 she made a six part series on what is sure­ly the most con­test­ed cor­ner of the entire globe; The 50 Years War: Israel and the Arabs.

What Per­cy man­ages to do, some­how, is to per­suade prac­ti­cal­ly every sin­gle one of the prin­ci­ple play­ers to sit down and talk to her, on the record. The rea­son they agree to do so is that she allows them to artic­u­late their views, what­ev­er they are, which she presents in a trans­par­ent and entire­ly neu­tral manner. 

Here, we hear from a host of Israeli defence, for­eign and prime min­is­ters, includ­ing Ben­jamin Netanyahu, Shi­mon Peres and Yitzhak Shamir, a wide range of com­bat­ants, nego­tia­tors and min­sters from both the PLO and a num­ber of its splin­ter groups, from for­mer U.S. pres­i­dents Jim­my Carter, George Bush and Bill Clin­ton, from for­mer KGB oper­a­tives, Jordan’s King Hus­sein and from an array of senior diplo­mat­ic and mil­i­tary fig­ures from every cor­ner of the region.

It’s both com­pre­hen­sive and con­sis­tent­ly illu­mi­nat­ing, with prob­a­bly the most sur­pris­ing rev­e­la­tion being the fact that it was in fact the Rus­sians who’d qui­et­ly trig­gered the Six-Day War in June of 1967.

They’d looked at how stretched the Amer­i­cans were over in Viet­nam, and had con­clud­ed that open­ing up a sec­ond war front in the Mid­dle East could be the final nail in their cof­fin. So they put a great deal of effort into con­vinc­ing every­one in the region that the Israelis were amass­ing troops on their bor­der with Syr­ia. Which, plain­ly, they were not. 

They even went so far as to try and con­vince the Israelis that that was what they were doing, even though they knew per­fect­ly well that they were mak­ing the whole thing up!

Then, in the after­math of that war, after Yass­er Arafat and the PLO had plant­ed them­selves in Jor­dan, a fac­tion with­in the PLO took it upon them­selves to go to war with their hosts, on the grounds that they clear­ly weren’t being suf­fi­cient­ly sup­port­ive of them. 

And before he knew it, King Hus­sein found him­self under attack from Russ­ian-pro­vid­ed Syr­i­an tanks that were on their way to Jor­dan, fund­ed and sup­port­ed by Egypt, to help their Pales­tin­ian broth­ers with their fight against the Jor­da­ni­ans. Arab against Arab. 

So the King turned to the only mil­i­tary force capa­ble of com­ing to his aid. But the Amer­i­cans insist­ed that they could have noth­ing to do with what was going on. It would have to be the Israelis. So the King of Jor­dan was final­ly res­cued by the arrival of Israeli jets, that sent the Syr­i­an tanks scur­ry­ing back to whence they’d set off from. 

King Hus­sein of Jor­dan, by the way, exudes effort­less grace and charm, and is the most mar­vel­lous adver­tise­ment for breed­ing and the kind of edu­ca­tion that only obscene wealth can pro­vide you with. And the con­trast he pro­vides to the sight of those sim­i­lar­ly schooled clowns who’ve been knock­ing the fur­ni­ture over in West­min­ster for the past decade or so is, to put it mild­ly, stark.

There are, inevitably, one or two gaps. I was sur­prised that there was no ref­er­ence to the way in which the price of oil was used by the Arab coun­tries in the wake of the Yom Kip­pur War in 1973. Notwith­stand­ing which, this is a land­mark tele­vi­sion series. 

But it’s impos­si­ble not to note that, for all the vio­lence, blood­shed and hatred that was then in the air, when the series end­ed in 1998, that was, we now know, a high point in Israeli-Arab relations. 

What­ev­er about the first 50 years, the next 25 would, unimag­in­ably, see a sig­nif­i­cant deterioration.

Very unusu­al­ly, you can see all 6 episodes on YouTube:

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