剑桥风云

首先抒发一下形而下的东西：这片子最吸引我的就是tom hollander，他演的Guy Burgess 是至今为止看到过最喜欢的一个...他在戏里...实在是迷人到我见犹怜，若我是男人，定要去跟他搞基（啊这是怎样一种可怕的择偶观）然后是形而上的东西：其实我对所谓的贵族精神、兄弟会、布鲁姆斯伯里文化圈就像对外星球上的元素周期表一样缺乏了解的兴趣，那其实是一个和我们完全无关的世界不是么。

剑桥太美，若是我，这种从一个庭院到另一个庭院再到另一个庭院的生活真真不错，我情愿在那里读一辈子书不出来。

只是我真羡慕这种人生，不用工作也可以生存，可以做自己最喜欢的事，而且一旦做了，就要做到最好，活着可以没有安全感，但是一定要有信念...啊这是怎样单纯又浓郁的人生。

当然我这样的格局，很难理解剑桥出来的人怎么会为了人类大同的理想选择做叛国者，帮助苏维埃背叛英格兰...大概只有太祖那句最高指示可以解释：知识越多越反动。

当然像我们这样生活在一个拥有最先进生产力的天朝的兵蚁，生活的原则往往残忍而简单，那就是“搵食不易，事事小心”。

你没有选择的权利，你只有不选择的权利。

《剑桥间谍》，也就是间谍史上最著名的“剑桥五杰”，电视剧里选取了其中四人的故事。

电视剧以五杰中后来名气最大的Kim Philby为主角，从他被苏联间谍机构看中招募开始说起，直到五杰中的一员Donald Maclean因美国原子物理泄密事件被暴露，由另一位间谍Guy Burgess护送至苏联止。

四个小时，四集电视剧，从30年代到60年代，几十年，人在变，世界在变，唯一不变的是剑桥教堂传来的那首赞美诗，第一集开篇，苏联方面联络人在教堂联络Guy Burgess时就在唱它，60年代，Guy和Donald离开后，五杰中唯一的那位暴露又没有离开英国的Anthony Blunt回到剑桥时，依然是它在空气中飘散。

金•菲尔比是一个真实存在的间谍，他活了76岁。

这名出生在印度的英国人毕业于剑桥，他和另外四人是历史上著名的”Cambridge Spies”，他们的经历在2003年被BBC演绎成四集连续剧。

现实生活中的金•菲尔比在苏联去世，作为苏联人的英雄，他成了克格勃的训练顾问，菲尔比的晚年可说是过得不错的。

他的同伴们并未像他这样成功地融入苏维埃社会，同样逃亡到苏联的两个人基本都郁郁而终，另一个留在英国的也没能拥有幸福的垂暮之年。

剑桥出身的四个男子，如老话所说，“共同的理想让他们走到了一起”，为理想而成为间谍或者说叛国者，究竟该算一种高尚的行为还是应被指责，没人能给出答案。

西方世界的间谍史上因此有了带着沉重分量的一个词，“剑桥五杰”。

BBC的诠释虽然不尽如史实，也还是在很大程度上重演了二战前后所发生的那些往事，片中只涉及了五杰中的四人。

金•菲尔比曾在英国秘密情报局(SIS)工作，该部门就是军情六处的前身。

他曾被派驻华盛顿，并把同样供职于SIS的盖•伯吉斯也安插到华盛顿，从剑桥时代他就熟悉盖的放浪形骸：酒与性以及对自由的渴望充斥着这个剑桥生的生活。

BBC电视剧中有一段尤为让人印象深刻——盖在毕业那天脱光衣服站在康桥上大喊：“向旧日子告别！

”随即“嗵”一声跳入水中。

接着，另外三个年轻人也仿效他裸身一跃而下，四个人乍看狂放的行为背后有某种热血的躁动。

其余三人正是安东尼•布兰特、唐纳德•马克林，以及金•菲尔比，构成克格勃历史上最优秀间谍的剑桥成员们。

在真实生活中而非电影里当一名间谍，意味着在危险中工作，心力交瘁并不得不保持最灵敏的警觉性。

而且他们也不可能去见心理医生。

盖被调到华盛顿的根本原因是菲尔比必须照看酗酒日益严重的他。

唐纳德也同样陷入了精神危机——他在二战期间驻法国工作，闪电般和一个美国姑娘结了婚。

1944年，他携妻子到了华盛顿，作为使馆的第一秘书，他所过目的许多机要文件都被克格勃知悉殆尽。

乍看最为幸福踏实的这一位，却因为间谍工作的副作用导致了严重的心理压力。

并且他不幸最早身份败露，要不是身居高位的金获知了拘捕消息，唐纳德将不可避免成为自己信仰的殉道者。

不幸之后的幸运在于他成功逃离，和盖一起到了苏联。

那之后盖在苏联害着严重的思乡病，小情小调的同性恋男子盖，余生仍然从伦敦的裁缝店定制西装。

唐纳德的妻子离开了他跟了菲尔比，在BBC系列里这段移情别恋被描写得哀婉动人，至于真实生活是怎样情形，我们无从得知。

唐纳德终身相信社会主义，终身耿直，说话不畏权贵，在苏联是个不完全受欢迎的人物。

最后暴露身份并始终不曾离开英国的安东尼是王室的一员。

他在菲尔比们逃往苏联后很多年仍然默默地担任着皇家收藏品管理人的角色，并对所有抨击盖的人毫不客气地予以还击。

他说盖“不仅是一个我所打过交道的、在智力上最发达的人。

而且还是一个勉力十足的活生生的人。

”盖当年用了这样一段话来打动安东尼加入他的理想：“你的行为以某种方式与你的言语相一致的时刻到了。

这就是所谓的‘真情时刻’。

” 在那个时代，间谍们更多地为信仰踏入遍布深渊的世界。

今天的间谍信奉的是理想还是金钱呢？

也许只有他们自己才知道。

*本文已刊载于《开啦》，请勿转载，谢谢。

苏联搞了那么多间谍有什么用，到头来还是解体了，俄罗斯什么实力不用我说了吧。

国家比拼还得是国家实力光明正大的比拼。

内心强大的人大多很宽容，国家也一样，留在英国的那位结局不就是个证明。

英国容忍了他存在。

幸好在苏联解体前都去世了，不然看着自己叛国为之热血奋斗过的理想最后轻轻一碰就到了，这种残酷真的是外人无法体会到。

至于那位早早去世的，想来才并不适合当间谍，他太理想主义了。

看到有人写他要求驻在伦敦的克格勃帮他买某家裁缝店的衣服，那人自己出了回忆录抱怨拿着他写的书单满伦敦逛书店买书，不禁一笑，这可真是贵族式生活。

可惜了.....早早酗酒去世那三位都很主流了，那位菲尔金恐怕最现实，早早放弃理想，成为职业间谍了吧，个人猜测。

“许多人可能会说，自杀可能是"光荣的"出路……但我认为，恰恰相反，那是一种懦弱的解决方式。

”-- Blunt回忆录在1930年代中期对于我和当时的很多人来说共产主义俄国是反对法西斯主义的唯一堡垒在那时西方国家对德国采取了暧昧的妥协的立场我被Guy说服为了反对法西斯主义我加入了他的苏联间谍组织这是一个出于良知的决定反对的是纳粹我选择了良心-- Blunt回忆录华丽丽的分割线---英语底子好的同学可以看这个The True Memoirs of Anthony Blunt Summary: A year after Guy's death, Anthony remembers his friend - and their folly - as best he can. Notes:Inspired by slowascent's Yuletide Letter and her love of the seven deadly sins, especially the sin of pride. Work Text:August 30th, 1964Guy went mad a bit, after Julian died. Perhaps I should have seen it then. It was the sort of madness that was too easy to dismiss, and it might have been that I wanted to dismiss it. We four friends had spent many years making excuses for one another, but I had known Guy the longest and excused the most. Friends since the beginning, I suppose I found it harder than most to admit he might be going so terribly wrong. He'd always had his excesses, little foibles and quirks. It is how things begin, isn't it? With Guy it was always matter of degrees, each action seems less harsh in the light of what came before. I wanted to believe that he wasn't off the rails, that it was simply more of his usual. More fool myself, and that is something not easily admitted.He'd always been a bit madcap, hadn't he? We were so different, he and I, for all that our lives and upbringings had been so similar. It was likely what drew us together, at least it was why I noticed him at Cambridge. When you moved in the same circles as Guy, it was hard not to notice him. Loud and flamboyant, the sort to speak his mind - no, not speak it, for the word speak implies some sort of decorum. Guy shouted it from rooftops and pulpits. Discretion was not his friend. Whereas things in my life were so careful and controlled, compartmentalised, Jackie said the same thing to me so many years later. That I had boxes and found it all too easy to simply shut something away. Shouldn't I have? My compartmentalisation kept us safe, so many times. When Guy went off on his tangents - even when we were both Apostles - I was the one that stood sure and true. I was the one that remained calm when so many simply reacted and acted. The mark of an English gentleman, that deep-rooted stoicism, wasn't it? I epitomised that very thing and always had. I couldn't be any other way. Even when Guy told others he was a friend of Stalin whilst drunk at parties, I would be the one smiling benignly at Guy's little joke. I was always able to pretend it was a joke, but guy never was. He always felt things so strongly. He threw himself into all of it, holding nothing of himself back. I warned him of the danger of it, but Guy was never the sort to listen to such advice.Julian was the first warning, or he should have been. He'd almost gone to him, after that party we were at. Raining. It was already raining Julian had said, the crowd having gone quiet in that convenient way that it did. Inconvenient, actually, where Julian was concerned. That night Guy had been drunker than most nights. An accomplishment when one thinks about it seriously. He'd been so determined to leave the house, to find Julian. To explain to him privately that we hadn't changed. That we were working for Moscow and our rejection of socialism was part of the cover. I stopped him. I was the one that wouldn't let him go. Perhaps I was the one that made it so hard for Guy when Julian died. Had I let him go that night... There's little time for regret in our lives, if any. I refuse to doubt my decisions then. At the time they were the right ones. Guy couldn't have let Julian know any more than we could have let anyone know. It was the point of it, wasn't it? Distancing ourselves from the movement in order to have more use.It wasn't a friendship without troubles, even when we were at Cambridge. Guy was brilliant, and if I were utterly and brutally honest, I'd say he was smarter than I was. Yet he squandered it shamefully throwing away a brilliance in a way that always bothered me. There was so much he could have done. There was no doubt he'd have been that much more valuable an asset had he not drank and caroused so. It wasn't like anyone could have altered that. When we were still in school it was the norm, just a bit of boys being boys. Once we had graduated, well, there was never any stopping Guy, nor changing Guy.I realise now I couldn't have. I never thought it at the time, I thought I had him under control. Yes, he said things no one should, especially one in our position. Guy would get drunk and say the most obscene things. Few ever paid them any mind. He was known as a bit of a drinker and if he declared himself a spy at a party, who would think his words the truth? Should I have noticed it then? I told myself there was nothing to notice. Guy would be Guy, I excused it over and over, always taking note but doing little. I would say a word here and there, nothing more than suggestions or mild admonishments. They were laughed off. Why wouldn't they be laughed off? I never could have seriously admonished Guy and somehow he knew that.. Too many things we laughed off and brushed away. Pride is such a funny thing, isn't it? Not that I would have called my perceived control of Guy pride, I still have issues with referring to it as such. It seemed so reasonable then. We were friends, friends before anything else, before everything else. Shouldn't a man be capable of keeping an eye on his friends, be capable of keeping them in line? A better friend might have seen that it wasn't the simple thing I told myself it was/ Frankly, Guy was out of control long before I cared to admit it.So many at school knew what we were, even if I'd never been as open as he was. I refer to the communism, that is, not the homosexuality -- though I am sure many knew that as well, such an ill-kept secret as it was in those days. There was no shame in being a communist, not as a student. Being an anti-fascist was a point of pride for many, and later in life it was seen as a sort of undergraduate rash. It was an ailment that one had the good sense to recover from. We were Apostles the, an informal fellowship of students who gathered for many reasons. Many of us homosexuals, all of us anti-fascists, that sort of movement was nearly expected when we were students. Just as it was expected we would move on from it after college to join the establishment. Only, we never did recover from it, we only seemed to. It was all part of the master plan. One couldn't be an effective spy if one was known to have socialist tendencies. It was logical, sensible, the most useful thing that we could have done: distance ourselves from our own pasts. But it hurt Guy deeply, having to pretend that he'd rejected Communism, especially to Julian.I would swear it all changed when Julian died. I'd rather not use the word died, it sounds so innocuous, as if he were elderly and passed on in his sleep. Julian was killed, yet another death at the hands of those same fascists we all hated. There were times that it seemed Julian had the simpler and easier task. There was elegance in our roles – an excitement - that didn't exist in Julian's open devotion to the cause. I told myself that. We all did, I'm sure, that we were fighting the longer fight, the more important one. What would have changed for us if we could have done what he did? If we could have been open in our fight against the forces that tried to devour Europe?He knew, you know. He knew that Julian and I had been together. I knew of his affection for Julian but it didn't stop me. Guy never saw how they would have been the end of each other, fanned flames burning too quickly. Their passion, however different and sometimes misguided, would have been the end of them both. That isn't to say there was anything noble about my affair with Julian. I was fond of him, yes, but never in love. Love was such a dangerous thing. As dangerous as happiness, moreso when they came together. The four of us - any spies really - couldn't afford such luxuries, not and perform our chosen task and be safe.I should have seen it. I should have seen it after Julian's death but I wouldn't allow myself to. Pride, hubris, call it what you will. Perhaps even something so much simpler: the loyalty of four friends to one another. Beyond any cause or any devotion, those friends were the things that I had to keep safe and that I held to be most important. Do you know I believed it? I believed that I, Anthony Blunt, could keep us safe. I thought that I could protect each of us against the world. What an utter fool I was. There was nothing and no one that could protect us from ourselves, we were always our own worst enemies. Guy and Donald were both problems, but it was Guy that mattered most to me. Kim and Donald; Guy and myself. It was how things had always been and how they would always be.I never knew if he was hurt by Jackie's defection, as it might have been called. Jackie wasn't as important to Guy as Julian had been. I always felt that he was more a distraction to Guy, something to keep him occupied when he couldn't be bothered venturing out to one of his less than reputable locales. Perhaps that alone should have warned me away. Once his distraction was gone - once his distraction was mine - he became ever the more on edge. I've said already how brilliant he was. Brilliant and mad -- no, lost is a better word then mad. Guy needed our cause, he needed to believe. Julian, to him, had been an ideal, the personification of a concept and a belief. Not only someone he loved, but his beacon in an otherwise dark world. What Guy felt he should be and how he should be. When Julian was killed it all changed. He clung to the cause, wrapping himself in it as one would a blanket on the coldest of nights.I should have seen. I should have seen and I should have stopped it, long before I became so tired. There is a part of me that believes, still, this end could have been avoided. If I had acted earlier or made more of an effort that we could have all been safe. Guy deserved more than a warm coat and a sad life lived out away from the country he loved so. I never wrote him once he'd been exiled. The letters might have been intercepted after all. I couldn't have, and maintained my own secrets. Sad that those secrets that in the end were made public. In the end, we were all betrayed. When we became agents at Cambridge, we were such idealists, and we believed. It was exciting. Did I ever say that? There was this whiff of adventure that came with being a spy. It was a life that I could never have imagined otherwise. A life I could never have had otherwise. When did it stop being such an adventure? When did watching over my friends become such a task and a trial? The years took their toll. I would say that it was inevitable, but I am not fond of admitting inevitability. I'm not fond of admitting my own faults, nor am I fond of admitting my own part in our downfall. Yet fond or not, it is there. My hubris led us as much to our downfall as their excess did.Silly, isn't it? To think that we shared secrets that changed the world, and yet it was the simplest things that affected us. Julian's death. Jackie. Stalin making a pact with Hitler in order to buy himself time. The last... Were it not for Kim and myself, I think we would have lost Guy then. He would have self-destructed or done something truly foolish. He was always on the edge, you realise. When I heard of what he did in Washington, driving drunk, appearing at that dinner at Kim's house, I knew just how far Guy had gone. That he'd lost his belief in some way, and had gone over the edge, seeking his own downfall. Only his self-destruction would pull in those associated with him. It would pull in Donald, Kim and myself. Or it may have been that he was already gone long before Washington and that even to this day I'm fooling myself. I'm letting that same pride colour my memories. It's a difficult thing see things clearly that are in the past. Our visions are filtered to show the events in the light they find most favourable. In some ways our memories are like paintings. They are creations of our own mind that relates to the world but does not truly reflect it. We see that world in the painting through the filter of the artist with our own perceptions layered atop that. A difficult thing to consider when it's something as personal as our own own past. Am I remembering correctly, interpreting the events the way they occurred? Or have my perceptions shaped my very memories? Do I remember things the way I wish them to be? I can no longer tell.

关于剑桥的故事太多太多, 从此地走出的名人也载满史册。

一直没有想起去英国前看了一半的《剑桥风云》。

那时候迷迷糊糊地下了这四集片，满心期待，也算是为行程做准备吧。

十分钟之后发现是政治片，虽然情节吸引人，但还是到半即废，现在想想确实符合自己性格……直到有那么一个晴朗凉爽的日子，穿过国王学院，踏上旁边草地石刻《再别康桥》的某座不起眼的石桥，听人提起，这就是Guy Burgess, Philby那帮人当年"裸蹦"之桥，才金光回闪，顿有种神奇的穿越感…… Goodbye, Cambridge! Goodbye old life!红彤彤的理想，真正能实现的又有多少人?这部英剧间接告诉我们，因为历史和现实的残酷，答案是很少。

但是这不能磨灭埋没在历史洪流中这些勇士的贡献。

即便是剑桥五杰这样相对有名的人，我们也对其真正生活了解甚少，一些迷题争论也无从考究。

感谢这样一部严谨认真的剧，给我们或多或少展示了故事的一面……四个面相姣好的演员中，我最爱饰演Guy Burgess的Tom Hollander。

虽然媒体评论大多是类似于“他是由于身高原因不得不将戏路限制在搞笑这一特质之上”，我还得为此人叫冤，像Guy这种人物，虽然幽默讨喜，终究还是悲剧性结局……第二，除去舞台剧表演经验，对于伯吉斯的演绎也是Hollander的成名作之一吧？

说回剧本身，如果说Philby一行人牺牲之物都浮于水面，那么Burgess的牺牲和痛苦则是更深沉而抽象的。

他牺牲的也许就是自己又爱又恨的英格兰和宁静的后半生吧。

苏联浑浑噩噩，疾病缠身的结局让人慨叹命运的不公。

神秘放浪、口无遮拦、忠于同伴和深爱的人（他从来没忘记Julian），四人中感情最丰富，同时也最理智清醒的他没有像Philby那样得到实在的结果，船上对祖国的告别是他能得到的最后一点慰藉。

那一刻，真正是对年轻、对自己的根、对无所作为的告别。

我常想，如果将guy在苏联的后半生拍成一部富有浪漫主义色彩的悲剧，也未尝不可。

多少伟大的灵魂不是在郁郁寡欢中化为灰烬？

但是理想主义留下了不能磨灭的遗产，它成了一种氛围，几乎随处可见。

过了两天，又经此桥，看到一人站在桥上，面对剑桥一片夏日的绿色，满对清冽的River Cam，脱了上衣大喊一声：Goodbye, Cambridge! Goodbye Old Life! 随后一跃而进，旁人欢呼。

这也是当初四人跃下桥的回响吧。

Two actors played Guy Burgess brilliantly:　　Rupert Everet (Another Country)http://www.douban.com/subject/1297147/The movie ends with a lonely and much older Guy in a cold USSR apartment far away from home, missing his old friends and long-gone school days terribly.　　Tom Hollander (Cambridge Spies)http://www.douban.com/subject/1441871/Guy's last scene was on deck with Donald Maclean, watching the land of England fading into the horizon, on their way to USSR and never to see their country again.

Through the first epidode we've experienced the beautiful life in Cambridge and the four roles' typical personalities.And we have to capture their mainly hearted theme through the dialogues of their daily life.They are living a life for finding a job outside the Cambridge world,what's that should be like?In this period of time,any conspiracies?

影片本身很棒，不过与史实或许有些差异。

我认为他们早年出于无知和冲动，投身间谍工作，但他们都是聪明人，在获得了大量政治情报之后，他们不难得出客观的结论。

但是已经骑虎难下了。

英国人对待历史的态度还是比较客观的，片子并没有把他们拍成十恶不赦的卖国贼，而是把他们描绘成一群忠于朋友的人。

聪明理性，充满感情。

很难想象我们能拍出这样的片子。

另外，字幕的翻译有些问题，还好大多能看懂。

　　对于政治和战争的感觉就是，老年人谈话，年轻人流血。

　　这是偶然看见的一句话，转过来。

　　我很喜欢那个英国人在窗口凝望时候的那种忧愁，没有家恨，却有国仇，或者说国愁。

他看着大英帝国的腐化堕落，觉得新兴的苏联是可以带领世界走向光明的力量，或者说，他只是希望作为一种新的力量的使用者或者说，创造者。

　　当他渴望新的力量冉冉而生的时候，我想，这就是少年的通病了：天地微尘，我将使得星辰逆转。

　　贺衷寒何尝不是想 少年的中国没有学校，他的学校是山川和大地　　近藤勇带着众家儿郎在黑夜中逆风拔刀，他们何尝不是想 我以我血荐轩辕 呢　　金乌沉暗，我们有的是炽热滚烫的鲜血染红他！

　　可是呢。

　　这里我要提一下我非常喜欢那个他们之前的苏联方面的联络人：　　Marcel Iures，完全陌生的演员，但我觉得他有那么种文艺气质，可以演洛丽塔里那个孱弱的作家，可以演流亡华沙的钢琴家，岁月已经完全洗去了他的火气，只留下了沧桑变成一种嘲笑的遗迹。

　　我随意搜索了一下，我不佩服自己都不行了，果然，他就是《战略专家》里那个钢琴家。

　　那是个美国沙文主义可笑到极点的片子，可是他在开头演了一个钢琴家，演一个被美国人炸得一片废墟失去家人的钢琴家，有个细节，他教授钢琴的时候，说：　　你要弹出艺术的感觉就一定要懂得忧伤，那种非常沉重的忧伤。

　　这个里面，当某人兴奋地说要为苏联人打倒希特勒做什么的事情，他微微摇着头流露出不为人知的苦笑，之后他怯懦于刺杀弗朗哥的任务的时候，他惆怅地说：　　你我都知道被召回莫斯科意味着什么？

那个任务是可笑的，不过，别去想他了，总得有人为之承担后果。

　　跳看了结尾，只看了上半部，看着三个少年跳入冰冷的河流，他们的身体里咆哮着烈火战车。

　　这个是个男同片，大把白花花的男人屁股，玩女人的部分拍的很简略，诅咒这个有同性恋传统的学府啊，不过好像类似这种集团：三青团，新选组都是男风炽烈 的地方，为什么不玩女人呢，女人多好玩。