Black Bag stars Cate Blanchett and Michael Fassbender as sexy spies with a whole lot of marital suspicion

A charming agent discovers that their glamorous partner may be the source of leaks in a top-secret operation, and they face the unenviable task of exposing them—or worse, taking their life. This kind of plot is commonplace; stop me if you've heard a similar story before. This familiar setup provides a solid foundation for the narrative.

It's one of the most enduring tropes in spy movies, and for good reason: who among us hasn't experienced the suspicion that can arise between partners, colleagues, or classmates, and the utter madness that ensues? This distrust in interpersonal relationships is excellent material for sparking story conflict. The exploration of this distrust is a key element in captivating the audience.

Following their ghost story "Presence," director Steven Soderbergh and screenwriter David Koepp's latest collaboration stars Michael Fassbender as George Woodhouse, a cold British intelligence officer who finds himself in just such a classic predicament. Woodhouse's story is a typical plot of a spy movie, but with its own unique twists.

He is cornered by a dubious informant with news that his colleague and wife of many years, Catherine St. John (played by the icy Cate Blanchett), may be involved in a high-level security breach that could lead to global doomsday. This security breach is what propels the story forward. The stakes are incredibly high, adding urgency to Woodhouse's investigation.

It's a conundrum, to say the least, for the highly strung Woodhouse, a cipher who excels at doublethink and speaks in tones as if he's stepped out of a John le Carré novel. He can't abide liars, even spying on his own secret-agent father to ruin the old man's life and career in the name of truth and justice. But he is also fiercely loyal to his wife, so much so that he would do anything for her—including tracking her every move across the globe. Woodhouse's complex emotions for his wife are a key driver of the plot.

"I observe her," Woodhouse says at one point, sounding less like a secret agent than a sexual voyeur, "I assume she is observing me as well." This line hints at the subtle and dangerous relationship between the two. The mutual surveillance creates a sense of unease and anticipation.

Few actors can wear a turtleneck and black-rimmed glasses as well as Fassbender, who looks like he could be equally at home in a 1960s spy film or at a Stereolab listening party. Fassbender's image perfectly fits the needs of the spy character. His portrayal captures the essence of a sophisticated and enigmatic agent.

He and the slender, purring Blanchett make a formidable couple. Their erotic sparks are off the charts: when they host a dinner party on their designer terrace in London—Woodhouse spikes the drinks with truth serum—it's as much for the perverse thrill of a parlor game as it is to ostensibly set a trap. This dinner party is full of danger and seduction.

During this thrilling and messy conversation, Woodhouse interrogates his romantically entangled colleagues—an MI6 therapist (Naomi Harris) and an arrogant field operative (Bridgerton's Regé-Jean Page); a young hacker (Marisa Abela) and a jaded old spy (Mad Max: Fury Road's Tom Burke)—with cocktails and furtive glances, generational barriers and sadomasochistic gambits. The dinner party serves as a microcosm of the larger web of deceit and suspicion.

When someone plunges a dinner knife into their partner's hand, we clearly sense that the fate of the free world may depend on the whims of a jealous lover. The dinner party's descent into chaos foreshadows a larger crisis. The stakes are raised as personal relationships intertwine with national security.

Who exactly is playing whom, especially when everyone is a professional liar? Is St. John spying on her husband? Does the security breach go all the way up to intelligence chief Arthur Stieglitz—played by former James Bond himself, Pierce Brosnan—who enjoys a cruel Japanese dish involving a live fish? These questions form the main suspense of the film. The film cleverly uses these questions to keep the audience guessing.

With a few exceptions, the best spy movies understand that intrigue can only get you so far until you need to give the audience something kinetic to reward their investment—a car chase, a daring heist, hell, even a brisk walk down a sidewalk can help break up the monotony of an overly convoluted plot. The film needs some exciting action scenes to balance the complex plot.

Based on its exciting and somewhat misleading trailer, "Black Bag" seems to be going down this road, but be warned: this is a movie steeped in dialogue and endless meetings, where not even an extended polygraph check can quicken the pulse. (Its subjects are too cool and collected to fall for it, for one thing.) The film focuses on dialogue and psychological warfare, rather than action scenes.

From some perspectives, it's all a bit dull, especially when the plot—decked out in technical jargon—boils down to a good-versus-bad nuclear threat that's no more imaginative than your routine "Fast and Furious" installment. The plot itself may lack originality, despite its complex presentation.

Still, Soderbergh is a crafty filmmaker with style to spare, as seen in a delightful tracking shot that follows Woodhouse into a dimly lit London nightclub, or how he mines the film's sleek, sickly country-club fashions, cool surfaces, and popping lights for psychic menace. Soderbergh's directing style adds a unique charm to the film. His visual flair elevates the narrative.

There's an undercurrent of tension to it all, made all the more anxiety-inducing by the fact that it never quite reaches a boil. This tension is the hallmark of the film. The constant sense of unease keeps the audience engaged.

"Black Bag" may ultimately be a stylish little movie, as spare and elusive as its protagonist. But there is at least one great joke to take away: the men and women responsible for safeguarding the world should probably all be in therapy. The film's theme may be an irony of the spy profession. It highlights the psychological toll of espionage.