In “Bridge of Spies,” Tom Hanks, Steven Spielberg and the Coen brothers accomplish something startling. Here’s a suspenseful espionage tale where the international intrigue isn’t settled with sharpshooters, anti-aircraft missiles or poison needles (though they all appear with frightening effect) but by shrewd negotiation.

They have reached into the frigid Cold War – a part of it that is inherently undramatic – and pulled up an uplifting, witty plum. The fact-based spy story is set in New York and Berlin during the dire days of the late 1950s and early ’60s. It was a time when Americans and Russians were convinced that a sneak attack from the enemy was at best days away. Schoolkids watched unnerving civil defense films, teaching them to duck and cover under their desks in case of nuclear blasts. Our national psyche was a tizzy of tension, uncertainty and endless migraine headaches.

Spielberg delivers the era’s retro feel and look with meticulous attention to period detail: bulbous cars driven by large, beefy guys on the way to big, meaty dinners.

Hanks plays James Donovan, a citizen whose name entered the annals of history, though almost nobody is aware of it. Donovan was a crafty corporate attorney in New York City. Since Hanks is a very good guy at playing very good guys, Donovan is wily but never shifty. He is a decent family man who sticks to the facts, negotiating aggressively, slicing apart his adversary’s claims like a fearless champion fencer. He’s the guy next door if you happen to live in a really nice neighborhood.

When his firm’s senior partners approach him in 1957 to serve the federal government with a pro bono defense, it stirs Donovan’s belief in justice. When they explain that he’ll represent an immigrant accused of being a Russian spy, Donovan declares “I’m an insurance lawyer.” But since it’s geopolitically wise to demonstrate America’s belief in judicial fairness, he accepts the assignment, battling the prosecutor and biased judge like a stubborn so-and-so. It was the sort of act that could make Red Scare vigilantes bring a high-caliber attack to your front porch.

The movie is fine from the start but it rises a notch when Hanks shares the screen with Mark Rylance playing accused Soviet mole Rudolf Abel. Donovan doesn’t befriend Abel, but treats him with full respect, working hard to get him the best judgment possible. Abel is not a particularly spooky spook. Rylance’s muted but deeply emotive performance creates a character who is in his own way as much a polite man of principle as Hanks’ Donovan. Rylance, a Tony and Olivier Award-winner makes Abel dispassionate, mild-mannered and mysteriously fascinating. When he and Hanks work side by side, it’s hard to decide where to look first.

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Of course, this is Hanks’ film, giving him the sort of part he excels in, upright but never dull. He perfectly balances Donovan’s commitment to mounting the best possible defense with a cheeky sense of humor. The Coens, the dynamic duo of sardonic cynicism, tone down their usual irony but keep a supply of pithy banter handy. If Atticus Finch could crack a joke once in a while, he’d be in Donovan’s league.

The film’s espionage focus tightens after the 1960 Russian capture of U2 spy-plane pilot Francis Gary Powers. Having carried the Abel case up to the Supreme Court before Abel was imprisoned, Donovan is recruited by the CIA to pick up the old case again. He’s tasked with flying to East Berlin to negotiate for Powers’ release by exchanging him for Abel. Donovan, learning of American academic Frederic Pryor, wrongly seized by the East Germans on suspicion of espionage, ups the ante and insists on including him in the swap. This triggers a byzantine mediation to free two prisoners held for different purposes from the Kafkaesque court systems of the USSR and GDR, whose abbreviated names Donovan can hardly tell apart.

As the Berlin Wall begins rising from the East’s wartime rubble and sharpshooters take down attempted defectors, the insurance lawyer is invested in a genuine case of life and death.

“Bridge of Spies” boasts an impressive amount of Spielberg magic. There are distorted mirror images of life in the East and West, tense intellectual showdowns and an unforgettable scene of the U2 spy plane being hit by Russian ground-to-air missiles at an altitude of 70,000 feet. Watching the pilot try to bail out of the disintegrating aircraft at supersonic speed is the kind of traumatic action Spielberg created in “Saving Private Ryan.”

The film is much more than a courtroom drama, intelligently reflecting both the current frost in the air between Washington and Moscow and the American past. It’s a salute to nostalgic, idealistic patriotism that Norman Rockwell, Frank Capra and Jimmy Stewart would applaud. With Franz Kafka.


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