Agent Argylle — clad as always in his tightly tailored velour suit, “smell the fart” grimace and vaguely insane Me, Myself & Irene-inspired flat top — is going through a typical workday.
He’s basking in the sun of a foreign locale, ducking bullets in a fierce gun battle and — in an uncanny replication of Mission Impossible‘s Spanish Steps car chase — grinding a yellow SUV, sideways, down a concrete railing.
Except no, he’s not, because Agent Argylle is not real. In the movie, he’s the main character of Elly Conway’s newest novel, the very real book named for him that you can find on
