The plot, it’s worth noting, is a little janky. Would British intelligence really draft a rookie into such an elaborate sting operation? Would Roper, consistently informed by various MI6 sources that there’s a mole in his shop, not suspect the new guy whom he barely knows and oddly found working in a seafood restaurant several thousand miles away from his previous career? Probably not, and none of it really matters because the whole is executed so enticingly. The director Susanne Bier (best-known for her remarkable 2006 Danish drama After the Wedding) makes a case for why Hollywood should poach her immediately, taking the necessary components of spy movies—countless languorous shots of exotic locales, high-level corruption, monstrously charming villains, an ethically ambiguous hero—and forming them into something even better.

Beyond the obvious, though, Bier finds something fascinating in the relationship between Pine and Roper. Laurie is habitually charming as the arms dealer, but his performance is undercut with persuasive menace that belies his interactions with the younger man. There’s something paternalistic about his adoption of this scrappy murderer who’s oddly good with kids (MI6 gave Pine a hefty criminal record to preempt Roper’s background check): He seems to radiate pride when Pine is fitted for his handmade suits, and when Pine masterfully smooths over a row when Corkoran makes a scene in a Monte Carlo restaurant. Hiddleston’s Pine, by contrast, is enigmatic throughout, and his allegiances (at least thus far) seem impossible to parse. Yes, his army background means he’s revolted by the human cost of Roper’s business, but he also seems drawn to the exuberant way in which Roper lives his life. Violence comes easily to Pine, and Hiddleston’s implacable energy adds to the sense of anxiety that suffuses the series.

Bier mimics his character’s appeal aesthetically: Roper’s life comes in shades of vivid blue and green, from his architecturally dazzling Mallorca base to the opulent hotels he frequents in Madrid and Monaco. Burr meanwhile is relegated to an office in London so chilly that her breath condenses in front of her face. Scenes within MI6 seem grey and washed-out by comparison (the supporting cast includes Outlander’s Tobias Menzies, Homeland’s David Harewood, and Men Behaving Badly’s Neil Morrissey). But Colman anchors the show’s morality in the fourth episode when she delivers an extraordinary speech revealing why she’s so intent on bringing Roper down, and reminds viewers that his breezy charm hides a capacity for singular cruelty.

With two episodes left, it remains to be seen whether Pine will succeed in reeling Roper in. But the show—rumored to be the BBC’s most-expensive series ever—is evidence of how television has increasingly shown itself to be superior to film when it comes to storytelling, from ambition and scope to sheer visual flair. On the heels of last year’s Spectre, which offered up a laughably weak plot and a pallid performance from Daniel Craig, The Night Manager not only manages to redeem the good old-fashioned spy story, but to make it sing.

We want to hear what you think about this article. Submit a letter to the editor or write to letters@theatlantic.com.