Our Man in Havana (1959)

Introduction

Directed by the legendary Carol Reed and based on the novel by Graham Greene, Our Man in Havana (1959) is a sly, stylish espionage comedy that mixes light-hearted farce with deeper undercurrents of cynicism and existential unease. Shot on location in pre-revolutionary Havana, the film is not only a clever satire of the spy genre but also a fascinating snapshot of a world teetering on the edge of dramatic political change. Although it’s often overshadowed by Reed and Greene’s earlier collaboration, The Third Man (1949), Our Man in Havana deserves recognition as a sharp, funny, and at times surprisingly dark piece of mid-century British cinema.

Plot Overview

Set in the vibrant, crumbling streets of 1950s Havana, the story follows James Wormold (played by Alec Guinness), a mild-mannered British expatriate who owns a struggling vacuum cleaner shop. Life is simple — if financially precarious — until Wormold is approached by Hawthorne (Noël Coward), a representative of the British Secret Service, who recruits him to be their "man" in Havana.

Desperate for money (largely to support the lavish tastes of his teenage daughter, Milly), Wormold begins fabricating intelligence reports. He even invents an entire network of fictitious agents, complete with made-up espionage activities and suspicious-looking diagrams (in reality, designs for vacuum cleaner parts).

The British government, far from suspicious, laps up his reports eagerly. But when headquarters starts sending real agents to assist him — and when counterintelligence forces start to take notice — Wormold finds himself caught in a deadly game that spirals far beyond his control.

Direction and Cinematic Style

Carol Reed, famed for his nuanced handling of mood and tension, brings a light, almost breezy touch to much of Our Man in Havana, particularly in the first half. The film’s comedic elements — Wormold’s befuddled improvisations, the bureaucratic absurdity of British intelligence — are played with a gentle, deadpan wit.

However, Reed also laces the film with shadows of real danger. As Wormold’s inventions begin to have very real-world consequences, the tone shifts subtly but unmistakably toward menace. The Havana streets — captured in gorgeous black-and-white by cinematographer Oswald Morris — seem at once lively and ominous, alive with unseen watchers and political tension.

The location shooting is a major asset. Filmed just months before Fidel Castro’s revolution, Our Man in Havana offers a visually rich document of the old Cuba: colonial architecture, crowded cafés, dusty plazas, and the pervasive sense of faded grandeur. Reed uses the setting brilliantly, grounding the often absurd story in an authentic atmosphere of decay and simmering unrest.

Performances

Alec Guinness is perfectly cast as Wormold. Few actors could have so skilfully balanced the character’s haplessness, dignity, and growing moral horror. Guinness gives a performance full of quiet humour and subtle pathos — you can see the gears turning in Wormold’s mind as he weaves his increasingly complex web of lies, and later, his real fear when the web begins to tighten.

Maureen O’Hara, as Beatrice Severn, Wormold’s contact and love interest, brings intelligence and charm to what could have been a thankless role. She’s no mere romantic foil; Beatrice is savvy, sceptical, and resourceful, matching Wormold in wit and courage.

Noël Coward as Hawthorne is a particular delight: droll, ruthless, and effortlessly superior. His scenes, though few, are among the film’s highlights.

Other supporting players are equally strong:

Ralph Richardson as the absurdly gullible “C”, head of British Intelligence, captures the bureaucratic blindness the film satirizes so sharply.

Burl Ives as Dr. Hasselbacher, Wormold’s loyal but doomed German friend, adds a layer of bittersweetness to the story.

Ernie Kovacs, as the sleazy and menacing Cuban police captain Segura, brings an edge of real threat to the proceedings.

Themes and Social Commentary

On its surface, Our Man in Havana is a playful jab at the spy genre, puncturing the glamour and competence typically associated with espionage stories. Wormold’s success as a "spy" comes entirely through fabrication, highlighting the absurdities of Cold War paranoia and the bureaucratic hunger for intelligence — real or imagined.

Yet Greene’s and Reed’s satire is tinged with a darker, more existential flavour. Wormold’s lies, initially harmless, create ripples that lead to real suffering and death. The film suggests that in a world governed by suspicion, secrecy, and ideological gamesmanship, truth and falsehood become dangerously interchangeable.

There's also a critique of imperialism lurking beneath the humour: the British government’s clumsy meddling in foreign affairs, their willingness to believe comforting narratives over inconvenient realities, speaks volumes about the declining influence and judgment of post war Britain.

Tone and Pacing

The first half of the film plays almost as a comedy of manners, full of sly verbal humour and farcical situations. However, as the stakes increase, the film subtly shifts into darker territory. Reed handles this tonal transition masterfully — the growing sense of danger creeps in almost unnoticed, until the viewer (like Wormold himself) realizes the deadly seriousness of the game being played.

Some modern viewers might find the pacing a bit deliberate by today's standards, particularly in the earlier scenes. But the film’s leisurely build-up is crucial in setting up the emotional punch of its latter half.

Legacy

Our Man in Havana was reasonably successful upon release, though it has remained somewhat in the shadow of The Third Man. Over time, however, it has been re-evaluated as a key film in the development of the "anti-spy" genre — a forerunner to later, more overtly subversive works like The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1965) or even comedic takes like The Tailor of Panama (2001).

It is also a precious cinematic document of pre-revolutionary Cuba, a place that would soon be closed off from much of the Western world.

Conclusion

Our Man in Havana is a deft, witty, and surprisingly haunting film that blends espionage satire with genuine human drama. Anchored by Alec Guinness’s brilliant performance and Carol Reed’s atmospheric direction, it’s a work that charms on the surface while quietly unsettling underneath.

Though lighter in tone than The Third Man, it shares with that masterpiece a deep scepticism about human institutions and a rueful sense of the tragic absurdity of the modern world.

For lovers of intelligent, character-driven films — and for anyone fascinated by Cold War-era storytelling — Our Man in Havana remains an essential and highly rewarding watch.