The Spy Who Came In From The Cold ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Alec Leamas is a worn-down British intelligence officer during the height of the Cold War who is preparing to leave a long career of espionage behind him, until spymaster George Smiley presents him with one final, very dangerous assignment. Leamas is then pulled back into a web of betrayal and manipulation. Sent undercover into East Germany, he must take on the new identity of a disgraced agent in order to ensnare an enemy operative. This mission becomes far more complex when he forms a connection to Liz Gold, a librarian whose love and compassion threaten to unravel everything he's worked so hard to accomplish.

This show is a bit like sitting down for a classy martini, lots of atmosphere, a smooth surface, and the occasional bitter note that tells you you’re definitely not watching James Bond. It’s moody, restrained, and steeped in Cold War tension, often favouring quiet menace over outright spectacle.

Let’s start with the good stuff. Rory Keenan gives a terrifically weary Alec Leamas. World-weary, stiff-upper-lipped, and just the right amount of rugged, he chews through the Cold War gloom with admirable commitment and authority. There’s a heaviness to him that feels earned, like a man who has been worn down by the job long before the play even begins. Agnes O’Casey’s Liz Gold brings a surprising warmth and softness to the story, offering a necessary contrast to the surrounding cynicism, while John Ramm’s George Smiley is the calm eye in this storm of suspicion and cigarette smoke, quietly commanding and endlessly watchable.

Visually, Max Jones’s in-the-round set is smartly minimalist and, for the most part, extremely effective. The space transforms seamlessly from stark interrogation rooms to bleak interiors and shadowy public spaces with the lightest suggestion of props. The floor in particular is a real highlight, doing a lot of the visual storytelling work and grounding the action effectively. Four balcony-style platforms surround the space; while they don’t always add a great deal, they do contribute something to the overall shape and scale of the production and help frame the action. And the impressive reveal of a certain piece towards the end of the show was a jaw dropping moment.

Lighting designer Azusa Ono keeps things deliberately simple, but this restraint works in the show’s favour. The lighting quietly sculpts the space, guiding focus without drawing attention to itself, and supports the noir-like tone beautifully. Similarly, the sound design by Elizabeth Purnell is neatly balanced and atmospheric, never overpowering the dialogue but subtly reinforcing the sense of unease and paranoia that runs throughout. Composer Paul Englishby’s score adds texture rather than bombast, enhancing the mood without pushing it. Transitions between scenes are particularly slick, flowing smoothly despite the complexity of the narrative and the number of locations we move through. Fight choreography and movement direction by Lucy Cullingford and Bret Yount inject moments of physical clarity and tension into what is otherwise a very text-heavy piece.

Here’s where the martini analogy slips into a dry ending: the pacing. Act One in particular feels like it takes itself very seriously, sometimes a little too much so. Instead of propelling us forward, many scenes drag on longer than necessary, lingering on moments that don’t always reward the extra time. Then, just as you settle into a scene, the play jumps ahead, leaving gaps in information and context. It can feel as though we spend too long on one detail, only to rush past another that might have benefitted from more focus. That elongated chase sequence? Yes, it’s impressively staged and well executed, but it goes on far longer than it needs to, ultimately diluting its impact.

More critically, the heart of the story, the emotional arc between Leamas and Liz, doesn’t entirely grip you in the way it should. The production clearly wants you to care deeply about these two broken people, but the script doesn’t always allow enough space for that emotional investment to properly take hold. Their relationship feels underexplored, meaning that when the story reaches its tragic conclusion, the sadness doesn’t quite land. What should be a devastating gut punch ends up feeling more like a polite nudge, largely because you were rarely given the chance to fully care in the first place.

This production has lots to like, clever direction, strong performances across the board, a minimalist but highly effective set, and a moody, well-balanced soundscape. However, it occasionally gets bogged down in its own Cold War fog, with pacing issues over and underdeveloped scenes that prevent it from fully delivering on its potential. Just don’t be surprised if you leave still pondering the unanswered questions… and perhaps wishing for that second martini. 🍸