The credit crawl for “Our Kind of Traitor” reads like the special at a great restaurant: Ewan McGregor, Naomie Harris, Stellan Skarsgard, and television’s “Homeland,” and “Billions” star, Damian Lewis. It’s directed by Susanna White, (“Billions,” “Masters of Sex”) with a script by Hossein Amini, (“The Two Faces of January”) based on the novel by the greatest living spymaster, John le Carre.

Star McGregor, a bookish professor, and Harris, a sexy-suited international power lawyer, are vacationing in Marrakesh to patch up a leaky marriage. Why not?

This is a movie couple that will now step into the shoes of an endless list of movie couples (Jimmy Stewart, Doris Day, “The Man Who Knew too Much”) who travel abroad and find themselves sucked into a vortex of espionage and danger. What couple hasn’t done that?

Of course, they are befriended by Dima, (a wonderful, bigger than life Stellan Skarsgard) a gregarious, bombastic, fully tattooed behemoth, who, wouldn’t you know, is a money launderer for the Russian Mafia.

One thing, as one thing usually does, leads to another.

After a series of parties, tennis, drinking, birthday party fireworks for Dima’s kids, and Dima gets down to business. It appears that he is the sole owner of a long list of names and numbers he is required to sign over to the Moscow bosses in return for his and his family’s safe journey into exile.

So for backup, he gives Professor Perry a thumb drive of the list to deliver to British MI6 (Lewis).

So having lived through many such le Carre ballets of blood, we prepare ourselves to enjoy corruption, chicanery, espionage and tomfoolery.

We are not disappointed.

I’m more than positive that le Carre’s novel was somewhat more deftly done, but this rendition has its pluses: Damion Lewis’ slick, polished and debonair turn as a rogue MI6 agent, who wants revenge for past hurts, Skarsgard’s splendid Dima, a man haunted by his past, tortured by guilt and deep fear for this family’s safety.

Skarsgard is always good, but rarely given a chance to pull out all the stops, plus engage in some hand-to-hand combat.

McGregor has polished McGregor to a fine glow. He plays troubled intellectual better than anyone.

Harris has little to do as the barrister wife who suffers no fools, but she has a future in her eyes.

White’s direction reflects confidence and style, having worked with Lewis on television, she lets him get away with the well-tailored look of a top MI6 manipulator, that he does so well. He lives alone in an expensive house and walled garden, where he cooks splendid meals and dines alone. There is no partner, there are no pets, not even a goldfish in sight, just Lewis and his French pottery. We’ll see more of him in the future, I’m sure. Thank you, Mr. le Carre.

The indispensable Brit Jeremy Northam strolls through in an important part, but with only a few words. Watch him.

We will visit Paris, Marrakesh and a safe house in the Alps. Safe house? Really?

Marcelo Zarvos’ music holds it all together, and Anthony Dod Mantle’s (Oscar winner for 2009’s “Slum Dog Millionaire”) camera was in good hands.

“Traitor” is so British in its style and unfolding. British directors, and their writers like le Carre, start with pebbles, then bricks, then mortar, marble and molding, and slowly before our eyes, we have a house full of rooms, halls and windows with a spectacular view. I pray that Brexit won’t change any of that.

J.P. Devine is a former stage and screen actor and the author of “Will Write for Food.”

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