Yet another stop I've already made, but am remaking for this year's (and then some) quest to watch all the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) in 12 months. I took 5 months off, so I'm still on pace, and were I not saving some of these to experience with others, I'd be through this. Bah. I'm almost there.
I'm down to 6 after this one, and as I've said ad nauseum, I've seen all of these remaining films before, and I saved these 10 for specific reasons, and to keep me motivated towards the finish line.
Film 94
94. "12 Angry Men" (AFI Rank #87)
Every once in a while, while doing this task, I feel like I'm the luckiest guy on earth that people might actually want to know what I have to say about a film. Then, I get to write about experiences that I have with some of the bigger films of my life. The last essay was like that. This one, however, is pretty damned personal, and this essay is going to explore a lot of that, but also this film. I've got stories to tell about this story, and since you stopped in to see me, I'm going to tell them.
I was in maybe 7th grade when I was first introduced to the story "12 Angry Men." I'm pretty sure it was in our English textbook, towards the back, in the sections that the teacher never really gets to, as the school year usually ran out before the textbook did. I remember that it was a play, and I remember being mesmerized by its story, especially the moment in which the protagonist, Juror 8, first lays down the idea of doubt about the murder weapon by producing an identical switchblade to the "very unique knife" the prosecution had used in its case. I've used the photo from that moment above. As you may know, I spend my evenings doing theatre as a glorified hobby. Know what I wasn't doing in 7th grade? Theatre. I had never been in a play, except the 3rd grade Thanksgiving play at school, in which I played Miles Standish, mostly, I think, because of my red hair. I was,in 7th grade, singing in a prestigious children's chorus, and that spring I sang in Carnegie Hall, and performed on a Grammy-winning album. So, performing was part of my life, but I hadn't yet discovered the magic of walking around (on stage) in someone else's clothes, pretending to be them. So, what did this 7th grader do when reading this beautiful script by Reginald Rose? Did he think about playing one of the roles? No. He thought about directing it, and nothing else. What kind of weirdo kid who gravitates towards the spotlight thinks of getting behind the scenes on a 12 man show, set around a table? Me. That's the weirdo. In 2003, I finally got to realize that vision, and I directed this show as my first foray into directing. I've since gotten to tackle some huge projects, like "Amadeus," and I am currently directing "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest." All of that work that I've done, all of that passion, all of those hours spent learning my craft, and failing, and succeeding, and everything else involved with it, it all comes from this one script, tucked in the back of an English textbook that I read on my own.
All of the above is a qualifier on why I should probably recuse myself from discussing this film. I'm pretty partial. Pretty biased. Pretty much everything a juror shouldn't be. I'm not alone, though. This film rests at #87 on the AFI Top 100, but currently ranks 6th on IMDB's user polls. 4 of the other 5 are in the Top 100, and "The Dark Knight" was released the year AFTER the list was made (not that I think it would crack the list anyway). This film is a populist hit, but it's also an artistic achievement for any number of reasons.
Directed by rookie (hey, that sounds familiar) filmmaker Sidney Lumet, who adeptly sucks us in to the amazing script, this film appeared in 1957, and featured some real heavyweights in Hollywood, including Lee J. Cobb as Juror #3, Ed Begley as #10, and Henry Fonda as #8, our protagonist. Filling out the cast are amazing character actors familiar to us from other places, such as: Martin Balsam (Foreman); E.G. Marshall (Juror #4); Jack Klugman (#5); Edward Binns (#6); and Jack Warden (#7). In doing research about the film, I discovered that Lumet had made the men rehearse their lines extensively, in one room, with no cameras rolling, so as to really get the idea of how everything flowed, and to heighten the drama within. When shooting a film, one might get to a page of dialogue in a day, one might rip off dozens of pages, but you're not doing a story in its entirety. Lumet rehearsed it as a play, and it absolutely shows in the performances. It was a brilliant idea, and Lumet deserves major credit for it.
Beyond that, composition of shots in this film is important. The pictured knife moment is a big one, for sure, but watch the camera work in this film. It starts out from the perspective (often with long(ish) shots) of above the jurors' heads, then, by the end of the film, shots are from eye-level or below, and we get a series of close-ups. Periphery disappears, as each man is put on the spot, and he is left alone in the frame. It's his thoughts against someone else's, and it's fucking brilliant. Shot in black and white in an era that could have used color, the art of this film is as important as anything in what makes it great. Yes, it's a small, one room set (there are a couple of moments shot in the restroom), but it doesn't feel that way. Lumet and his crew made that one room feel cramped, sure, but they explored the room from all angles. There was nothing left to the imagination. So, in spite of its tiny size, this film feels big.
I've already talked about Reginald Rose. That, I think, is the key to this film. The writing is so compelling, so subtle, yet so in your face at times, that I am always left thinking, "Boy, that guy got all of it. He didn't miss a trick." And the script doesn't. I've gassed on about male acting/male dynamics in film. Here is its centerpiece. This film centers around one thing, and that is men "measuring" against other men. Note the number of times that a man in this film calls into question another man's bravery, or machismo, or anything else, then count the number of times that they have to apologize. We see men being their manliest, puffing out their chests, then realizing that they are humans, and apologizing for their animalistic behavior. This is especially true of Juror #3, a man driven by passions that reveal themselves as the play goes on, but a man who can't shut his damned mouth, because he can't listen. You know the story, right? A kid is on trial for murdering his father. It appears to be an open and shut case, and the 12 men of the jury are sent in to a steamy jury room to decide his fate. On the initial vote, 11 jurors vote guilty and 1 (Juror #8) votes not guilty. Over the course of the film, a reasonable doubt is brought into each and every juror's mind, and by the end, the verdict of "not guilty" is decided upon, unanimously. Along the way, we hear prejudice, ageism, a little sexism, vacuousness, and people who can't be troubled with inconvenience. It's a fascinating tale. Oh, and it's stuffed with "YEAH BUDDY" moments, like the knives in the table, an "I'm going to kill him" moment, and all kinds of other "EUREKA!" moments that make courtroom dramas so damned appealing. The other great thing? Rose never actually tells us whether or not the kid committed the murder. It doesn't matter.
Well. We've got a terrific director, making his debut, and pouring his soul into his first project, we've got a screenplay that is absolutely dynamite, and we've got actors. And my God, what performances they turn in. I should start with the "supporting players." I've mentioned several names, but I'm going to single every one of them out now. Martin Balsam embodies the foreman, a man not necessarily excited about his duties, but one who executes them to the best of his ability. To his left is John Fieldler (the voice of Piglet) as Juror #2, a wonderful performance as a mouse-ish bank teller. His "I'm waiting for the second hand to get to 12" is inspired. Lee J. Cobb is our principal antagonist, as Juror #3, the man who wants the kid to burn for reasons all his own. Full of bombastic energy, Cobb's performance ranges from reasonable businessman, to enraged tough guy, to broken estranged father. It's spectacular. E.G. Marshall's Juror #4 is all the character should be, decidedly beholden to logic at all costs. He only sweats when logic fails him. Jack Klugman takes the small role of Juror #5 and gives him real weight. Edward Binns as Juror #6, an even smaller role, is dynamite, especially when defending the old man, Juror #9. Jack Warden nails the impatience of Juror #7, and his stammering explanation of why he's changed his vote is one of the finer moments in the film. Joseph Sweeney, while a bit creepy at times, is perfect as Juror #9. I'm not quite certain that my nose was ever sensitive to the touch during a summer cold, but Ed Begley puts us on edge with his Juror #10. His final pleas are heartbreaking, as the man realizes that he's alone with his stupidity. George Voskovec hits all the right notes with his "foreigner watch maker" Juror #11. I think part of what makes Jack Warden so good when he changes his vote is Voskovec's performance challenging him. Finally, we get Robert Webber as the hopelessly befuddled Juror #12. He's so wonderfully vacuous, so absent, that he actually pulls something out and drops it on the room that he says others do unconsciously. Or is it conscious? See...I'm not sure. That's how much I buy Webber.
I've left out Juror #8.
Listed as the #28 "Hero" from the AFI Heroes and Villains list, Juror #8 is a terrifically important patriotic character. He represents all that America is supposed to be. Clothed in white, and standing out from the other men in the room almost from the start, Henry Fonda is the perfect selection to portray this wonderful role. There is a weariness to Fonda that lends itself to the proceedings, a tone in his voice, that just says, "I don't know any better than you, but I sure as hell am not dumb enough to think that I do." His relentlessness when after an adversary is chilling, and that's not all in the writing. Fonda has a way of piercing right through the eyes of the opponent (often us, in the camera line) that is beyond off-putting. It's downright frightening at times. Watch Fonda's interactions with Cobb and with Marshall especially. The actors are having a duel, and each one of them is feeding into each other into amazing moments. Lots and lots of them.
I can't speak enough accolades about this film. I love it. I saved it for now because I knew I loved it, and I was so glad to get to watch it for the umpteenth time while doing this. It's an important film, both as a film and as a story about democracy, and especially our judicial system. SHIT. There was one detail I wanted to mention, one that I'd missed every time I'd seen it before now. As the film opens, we are taken around the courthouse in New York City before we settle into the trial room where the jurors are. The first thing we see is a man, clutching an expanding wallet-style file folder, slightly sniffling as he comes out of a courtroom. Know what happened there? Divorce. We then see some other results of other courtrooms. It's a brilliant sequence, and one that helps fill out a rich tapestry. Especially as we're about to disappear into a jury room and never come out.
I love this film. I want you to love it, too.
Roger talked more about the reasonable doubt aspect of the film. Other than that...surprise, surprise, I'm with him again. His "Great Movie" essay about this film is here.
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