The Pigeon Tunnel (now streaming on Apple TV+) is the latest fascinating work from Errol Morris, who’s come a long, long way since winning a bet that resulted in Werner Herzog eating his shoe. He’s become the godfather of modern documentary filmmaking, spearheading the activist-film movement with The Thin Blue Line and elevating the art of the profile doc via the invention of the Interrotron (which allows interview subjects to look at Morris’ face on a Teleprompter, and therefore answer questions while starting directly into the camera). Morris’ profiles plumb the minds of artists, political figures and innovators: Stephen Hawking in A Brief History of Time, Donald Rumsfeld in The Unknown Known, electric chair inventor Fred A. Leuchter, Jr. in Mr. Death, even Steve Bannon in American Dharma. Now it’s John Le Carré’s turn at the Interrotron, as Morris engages the erudite bestselling novelist (The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy) in conversation about how his upbringing informed his work as both a spy for the British government and an author whose influence continues to ripple through the zeitgeist.
The Gist: We do not see Morris in this movie. As ever, his voice is disembodied, always just off screen, even when there’s room in the frame for another face. Also as ever, he sets up multiple cameras so he can film his subject at a variety of angles – there’s no set up, point, and shoot simplicity of method here. It’s all intentional and artful and insightful and intuitive. There are moments in The Pigeon Tunnel when the screen is rendered prismatic, to further enhance the image of his subject, suggesting degrees of multifaceted, beguiling, complex character. When he’s not pointing his camera at a man speaking, we see old photos and letters, slickly shot reenactments, and film clips from the many movies derived from Le Carré’s novels, all set to a rousing and provocative score. This is Errol Morris Filmmaking 101.
Notably, Le Carré is not his given name. He was born David Cromwell to a mother who abandoned the family when he was a toddler, and his father Ronnie, a dyed-in-the-wool shyster who was in and out of jail for a variety of con schemes and other crimes of duplicity. (Note: Cromwell passed away in 2020, after Morris completed interviews.) Ronnie used to take young David to a French casino where men would stand in a rooftop grass patch and fire a shotgun at fluttering pigeons. The birds were bred and kept in a holding area so they could be funneled through a tunnel and fly across the face of the shooting range; those that survived the ordeal would instinctively fly right back to the holding area until the next shooter came along. Grim. This is a metaphor for something, whatever you want it to be. Hence the title of this film, which Cromwell originally used for the title of his memoir.
Speaking in a witty, sophisticated tone with a vast vocabulary and impressive fluidity, Cromwell shares stories of medium-depth about how his father included young David in his shifty schemes. Ronnie essentially taught Cromwell the art of being a liar, a skill that came in handy when Cromwell was recruited to be an agent for MI5 and MI6. He speaks of an assignment in which he infiltrated a communist group by pretending to befriend its leader, and how terrible it made him feel to betray him – but he deemed it necessary. He spun his experiences into spy stories of great depth and intrigue, stories that made him famous and rich, and became celebrated television and film works. He calls them a “strange blend” of fiction and fact, abstractions of truth, an examination of “submerged things” in one’s self, portrayals of “the addiction of betrayal.” Cromwell says, “Characters don’t actually work until they’ve got a bit of you in them. They’re just paper men.”
What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: It’s not quite of the same style as The Pigeon Tunnel or The Fog of War, but this is as good a place as any to implore you to watch Morris’ Fast, Cheap and Out of Control, a profile of four people with highly unusual careers, and an unheralded masterpiece of documentary filmmaking.
Performance Worth Watching: There are only two performances here: Morris’ and Cromwell’s. And Cromwell’s is the more purely performative – he’s erudite and frank, but ultimately guarded. If he was less guarded, The Pigeon Tunnel might not be as compelling a film.
Memorable Dialogue: Cromwell made his spy characters the antithesis of James Bond. He wanted readers to look at these people and say, “Jesus, I hope this isn’t me.”
Sex and Skin: None.
Our Take: The Pigeon Tunnel inevitably rewards those who are familiar with Le Carré novels with nuggets of insight into the origins of these stories – e.g. Cromwell speaks at length about infamous traitor to the Crown Kim Philby, whose story was the inspiration for Smiley, the character from Tinker Tailor and a few other Le Carré works. (He even winkingly refers to Smiley as “the father I never had.”) But those who haven’t cracked his books will still find the documentary viable in its larger ideas, about the gray areas between truth and fiction, and between author and his characters.
Of course, the film isn’t a nuts-and-bolts biography, and those expecting one clearly aren’t familiar with Morris’ M.O. He doesn’t press his subjects, or pry information out of them in a quest for juicy insights – in fact, Cromwell flatly states how he won’t talk about his love life or interpersonal relationships. Save for the odd dynamic he had with his father, of course, and that becomes the doc’s throughline, from Ronnie to David to Smiley and the thing they had in common: the art of deceit. In another interviewer’s hands, this Le Carré doc might’ve been a frustratingly thin bio; Morris allows his loose “interrogation” to follow Cromwell’s lead, and the filmmaker pieces together the footage to cultivate a rich, intently broiling subtext. Most amusingly, despite Cromwell’s well-documented skills at crafting fiction, we absolutely believe everything he says, an irony that’s fertile ground for Morris’ art.
Our Call: STREAM IT. The Pigeon Tunnel is typical of a Morris Interrotron endeavor: a glimpse into a mercurial character who’s abundant with profound insights into life and art. It’s obvious that the filmmaker is as curious – and creative – as ever.
John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan.