Blame it on Ian Flemming, who led the world to believe that spying, especially for British intelligence, was glamorous business. After all, James Bond wore sharp clothes, drove flash cars and drank in the swankiest lounges on earth. The British television series “Callan” depicted the spy trade in a dimmer light. Closer to the ambivalent perspective of John LeCarre’s Cold War novels, the spy called Callan lived in a threadbare London flat. His only friend was a Cockney criminal called Lonely. He walked to his assignments or took the bus. Callan spiked his tea with whisky and didn’t bother shaking or stirring. He had only one thing in common with Bond: a license to kill.
“Callan, Set 1” (out July 7 on DVD) collects episodes from the series, circa 1970. Callan (played by Edward Woodward) is wracked with pain, conscience and suspicion. He’d like to get out of the “department” (an agency so cryptic that it has no name) but his handlers find him too “useful” to let go. Reasoning that Callan runs on the energy of controlled anger against authority, defying the powers that be while ultimately doing their bidding, the agency’s unctuous head plays mind games to keep his favorite assassin motivated. The secretive department operates out of nondescript, almost shabby digs, suggesting than in the age after empire, Britain’s spies simply had to make do.
One of the compelling aspects of the series is the imperfection of the department’s best laid plans. They kill the wrong people, perjure themselves in court, fail to entirely protect their assets. They muddle along under cover of night and fog, not unlike the real intelligence agencies then and now.
