In Smiley's People, we see retired British spy Georges Smiley (Alec Guiness) come out of retirement to hunt down the elusive ‘Karla’, the Russian spymaster. By the end of the movie, Smiley discovers that Grigoriev (Michael Lonsdale), a KGB attaché to the Russian embassy in Berne, Switzerland, regularly visits a young girl who lives in a posh mental institution in the Bernese Oberland. By staking out the bank where Grigoriev picks up the money every week, he finds out who is this mysterious girl and how that information can help him flush out his archennmy.

The remarkable Michael Londsale, who plays the Swiss banker Ernst Manfredi in the Holcroft Covenant, has a very different role in this movie where he plays the part of self-conscious Russian spy Grigoriev.

We learn by the end of the book [spoiler warning] that Grigoriev was himself coerced by a fake priest into opening an account under a false name with a false Swiss passport. He chose a bank in Thun to reduce chances of being spotted by the many spies in Bern:

First, said the priest, Grigoriev was to open a Swiss bank account. The priest handed him a thousand Swiss francs in one hundred notes and told him to use them as the first payment. He should open the account not in Berne, where he was known, nor in Zurich, where there was a Soviet trade bank.

‘The Vozhod,’ Grigoriev explained gratuitously. ‘This bank is used for many official and unofficial transactions.’

Not in Zurich, then, but in the small town of Thun, a few kilometres outside Berne. He should open the account under the name of Glaser, a Swiss subject: ‘But I am a Soviet diplomat!’ Grigoriev had objected. ‘I am not Glaser, I am Grigoriev!’

Undeterred, the priest handed him a Swiss passport in the name of Adolf Glaser. Every month, said the priest, the account would be credited with several thousand Swiss francs, sometimes even ten or fifteen. Grigoriev would now be told what use to make of them. It was very secret, the priest repeated patiently, and to the secrecy belonged both a reward, and a threat.

The Swiss bank in this movie, “Kantonalbank von Bern” is extremely realistic. The real cantonal bank is called “Berner Kantonalbank” and has a branch in the same city block in Thun. Obviously, this is an everyday bank that regular Swiss people use, not a red-carpeted marble wedding cake specialising in foreign millionaires. But the look and feel of the bank is very much realistic and we at Micheloud & Cie think the scene may have been shot in a real bank although we are still investigating this point. Please note that in the book the bank is called the Bernese Standard Bank of Thun, a rather American sounding name a less realistic than the one in the movie.

Inside the bank, KGB agent Grigoriev goes to the counter and asks for "Ten thousand [Swiss] francs, as usual ". Problem is, this time the bank has been staked out by a number of British agent. Two blond girls dressed up like Norvegian hikers manage to look over Grigoriev's shoulder to get his account number. Georges Smiley is sitting opposite the bank in the train station buffet and watches the scene:

Two girls in hiking kit were entering the double doors of the bank. A moment later and Toby had followed them in. He’s packing the bank, thought Smiley. He’ll man every counter two-deep. After Toby, a young couple, arm in arm, then a stubby woman with two shopping bags. The yellow mail van had not budged: nobody moves a mail van. He noticed a public phone box, and two figures huddled into it, perhaps sheltering from the rain. Two people are less conspicuous than one, they liked to say at Sarratt, and three are less conspicuous than a pair. An empty tour coach passed. A clock struck twelve and, right on cue, a black Mercedes lurched out of the fog, its dipped headlights glittering on the cobble. Bumping clumsily on to the kerb, it stopped outside the bank, six feet from Toby’s mail van. Soviet Embassy car numbers end with 73, Toby had said. She drops him and drives round the block a couple of times till he comes out. But today, in the filthy weather, the Grigorievs had apparently decided to flout the parking laws and Karla’s laws too, and rely on their CD plates to keep them out of trouble. The passenger door opened and a stocky figure in a dark suit and spectacles scampered for the bank entrance, carrying a briefcase. Smiley had just time to record the thick grey hair and rimless spectacles of Grigoriev’s photographs before a lorry masked his view. When it moved on, Grigoriev had disappeared, but Smiley had a clear sight of the formidable bulk of Grigorieva herself, with her red hair and learner-driver scowl, seated alone at the steering-wheel. George, believe me, that’s a very distorting woman. Seeing her now, her jaw set, her bullish glare, Smiley was able for the first time, if cautiously, to share Toby’s optimism. If fear was the essential concomitant of a successful burn, Grigorieva was certainly someone to be afraid of.

In his mind’s eye, Smiley now imagined the scene that was playing inside the bank, exactly as he and Toby had planned. The bank was a small one, a team of seven could flood it. Toby had opened a private account for himself: Herr Jacobi, a few thousand francs. Toby would take one counter and occupy it with small transactions. The foreign-exchange desk was also no problem. Two of Toby’s people, armed with a spread of currencies, could keep them on the run for minutes. He imagined the hubbub of Toby’s hilarity, causing Grigoriev to raise his voice. He imagined the two girl hikers doing a double act, one rucksack dumped carelessly at Grigoriev’s feet, recording whatever he happened to say to the cashier; and the hidden cameras snapping away from toggle bags, rucksacks, brief-cases, bedrolls, or wherever they were stowed. ‘It’s the same as the firing-squad, George,’ Toby explained, when Smiley said he was worried about the shutter noise. ‘Everybody hears the click except the quarry.’

The bank doors slid open. Two businessmen emerged, adjusting their raincoats as if they had been to the lavatory. The stubby woman with the two shopping bags followed them out, and Toby came after her, chatting volubly to the girl hikers. Next came Grigoriev himself. Oblivious of everything, he hopped into the black Mercedes and planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek before she had time to turn away. He saw her mouth show critism of him, and Grigoriev’s placatory smile as he replied. Yes, Smiley thought, he certainly has something to be guilty about; yes, he thought, remembering he watchers’ affection for him: yes, I understand that too. But the Grigorievs did not leave; not yet. Grigoriev had hardly closed his door before a tall, vaguely familiar woman in a green Loden coat came striding down the pavement, tapped fiercely on the passenger window and delivered herself of what seemed to be a homily upon the sins of parking on pavements. Grigoriev was embarrassed. Grigorieva leaned across him and bawled at her – Smiley even heard the word Diplomat in heavy German rise above the sound of the traffic – but the woman remained where she was, her handbag under her arm, still swearing at them as they drove away. She’ll have snapped them in the car with the bank doors in the background, he thought. They photograph through perforations: half a dozen pinholes and the lens can see perfectly.

Toby had returned and was sitting beside him at the table. He had lit a small cigar. Smiley could feel him trembling like a dog after the chase.

‘Grigoriev drew his normal ten thousand,’ he said. His English had become a little rash. ‘Same as last week, same as the week before. We got it, George, the whole scene.

In this movie the Swiss account serves as a nodal point where the mysterious girl in the Swiss sanatorium and her caretaker Grigoriev meet every week the secret hand that feeds them. Finding out the account number becomes the key to unlocking the mystery and catching the biggest fish ever. The British spies waste no time once they have caught Grigoriev at the bank with his fake passport. They make the pass at him:

Placing himself directly in front of Grigoriev, he smiled and lifted his hat. Grigoriev returned the smile – uncertainly, as one might to a diplomatic colleague half-remembered – and lifted his hat in return.

‘How are you today, Counsellor?’ Toby asked in Russian, in a tone of quiet jocularity.

More mystified than ever, Grigoriev said thank you, he was well.

‘I hope you enjoyed your little excursion to the country on Friday,’ said Toby in the same easy, but very quiet voice, as he slipped his arm through Grigoriev’s. ‘The old city of Thun is not sufficiently appreciated, I believe, by members of our distinguished diplomatic community here. In my view it is to be recommended both for its antiquity, and its banking facilities. Do you not agree?’

This opening sally was long enough, and disturbing enough, to carry Grigoriev unresisting to the crowd’s edge. Skordeno and de Silsky were packing close behind.

‘My name is Kurt Siebel, sir,’ Toby confided in Grigoriev’s ear, his hand still on his arm. ‘I am chief investigator to the Bernese Standard Bank of Thun. We have certain questions relating to Dr Adolf Glaser’s private account with us. You would do well to pretend you know me.’ They were still moving. Behind them, the watchers followed in a staggered line, like rugger players poised to block a sudden dash. ‘Please do not be alarmed,’ Toby continued, counting the steps as Grigoriev kept up his progress. ‘If you could spare us an hour, sir, I am sure we could arrange matters without troubling your domestic or professional position. Please.’ [...]

‘ There are irregularities, Counsellor. Grave irregularities. We have a dossier upon your good self which makes lamentable reading. If I placed it before the Swiss police, not all the diplomatic protests in the world would protect you from the most acute public embarrassment, I need hardly mention the consequence to your professional career. Please. I said please. [...]

‘Then, Counsellor, since we cannot afford to delay, I must ask you to study the incriminating photographs on the table behind you,’ Smiley said, with the same studied dullness.

‘Photographs? What photographs? How can you incriminate a diplomat? I demand to telephone my Ambassador immediately!’

‘I would advise the Counsellor to look at the photographs first,’ said Smiley, in a glum, regionless German. ‘When he has looked at the photographs, he is free to telephone whomever he wants. Kindly start and the left to right.’

A blackmailed man has the dignity of all our weaknesses, Smiley thought, covertly watching Grigoriev shuffling along the table as if he were inspecting one more diplomatic buffet. A blackmailed man is any one of us caught in the door as we try to escape the trap. Smiley had arranged the layout of the pictures himself; he had imagined, in Grigoriev’s mind, an orchestrated succession of disasters. The Grigorievs parking their Mercedes outside the bank. Grigorieva, with her perpetual scowl of discontent, waiting alone in the driving seat, clutching the wheel in case anyone tried to take it from her.

Grigoriev and little Natasha in long shot, sitting very close to each other on a bench. Grigoriev inside the bank, several pictures, culminating in a superb over-the-shoulder shot of Grigoriev signing a cashier’s receipt, the full name Adolf Glaser clearly typed on the line above his signature.

We must remember that the movie is based on a British novelist John Le Carré's book, and that he studied for one year at Berne University in his youth. The Swiss bank scene is already very realistic in the book. We recommend you read the book which is of very high quality. John Le Carré's style in this book is highly original and elaborate, of a much higher order than the style of most of the other spy thrillers we reviewed and the storyline, both in the movie and in the book, is very fulfilling for the reader.