Naomie Harris and Ewan McGregor in Our Kind of Traitor (Jaap Buitendijk/Roadside Attractions)

This spy thriller, adapted from a John le Carré 2010 novel of the same name, succeeds in spite of the fact that it’s a rather mediocre story. The incredibly talented cast brings vigor and tension to an otherwise plodding script. The cinematographer, Anthony Dod Mantle, makes such striking use of color and contrast that it’s possible to forget that there’s any dialogue at all. The film is absolutely worth seeing, if, perhaps, not worth hearing.

As the film opens, Brits Perry (Ewan McGregor) and Gail (Naomie Harris) are on a romantic getaway in Marrakesh, except that it’s not very romantic. They seem most keen to get away from the other. After being ditched at dinner, Perry falls into the orbit of Dima (Stellan Skarsgard), a gregarious Russian mobster who seems oddly eager to befriend the meek professor. They go to a number of parties, each lit in sickly warm tones—fireplace orange tainted by an unsettling green. Eventually, Dima reveals that he needs Perry to deliver a flash drive to British intelligence. He claims that he and his family are in grave danger, and if Perry doesn’t act, they’ll all die.

What follows is a series of tense negotiations and covert maneuvers, each placing Perry and Gail in harm’s way, and in the process, revealing the value of their damaged relationship. However, between these tense moments is a lot of waiting and talking. Much of the film takes place in safe houses and small rooms where characters explain the situation to each other. However, even these low moments are elevated by the gifted cast. McGregor does much with very little, fleshing out Perry with pauses and postures, while Harris speaks volumes with a glance. Skarsgard accomplishes the impossible, making Dima and Perry’s instant bond believable with sheer bravado.

The performances are so graceful that it’s tempting to overlook some of the more bizarre plot turns. After an adversary learns the location of Perry and Gail’s safe house, only three or four men are sent to take care of the problem. Even then, the mooks are dispatched with surprising ease. Later, a conclusive explosion tugs at the characters’ emotions, but no one bothers to explain how or why the explosion took place.

Perhaps the “how” is beside the point. In a cinematic landscape clogged with CGI booms, it’s refreshing to see an explosion measured in human cost rather than pyrotechnic awe. The real success of the film is in emphasizing character and nuance in a genre that’s often ruled by plot points and stunt men. Don’t get me wrong; action-packed thrillers can be a lot of fun, too. But as a le Carré adaptation, this brand of emotional suspense is much closer to the mark.