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Henry Fonda must win over 12 good men and true in 12 Angry Men |
Director: Sidney Lumet
Cast: Henry Fonda (Juror #8), Lee J Cobb (Juror #3), Ed
Begley (Juror #10), E.G. Marshall (Juror #4), Jack Warden (Juror #7), Martin
Balsam (Juror #1), Jack Klugman (Juror #5), Joseph Sweeney (Juror #9), John
Fiedler (Juror #2), Edward Binns (Juror #6), George Voskovec (Juror #11),
Robert Webber (Juror #12)
A young man is on trial for murder. The jury retires to
consider. On the first vote, only one man (Henry Fonda) questions his guilt.
The other jurors are convinced they are right – can Fonda turn them around?
Who hasn’t done jury service and dreamed of being Henry
Fonda? 12 Angry Men is perhaps the
most compelling courtroom drama ever, for that very reason: hardly any of us
are judges or lawyers, but we’ve all got a decent chance of doing jury service.
What would we do in this situation? How thoughtful would we be about the
evidence? And, of course, that little stab of ego – could we be charismatic and
persuasive enough to sway a room of people? I think this is why this film
sticks with people and has become such a persuasive part of our popular culture
– we all wanna be Fonda.
12 Angry Men is a
film that I feel touches perfection. I thought quite heavily about whether I
could identify any flaws in it at all: the closest I got at was the shot Lumet
throws in of the suspect (a sweet looking kid). I suspect this shot was
required so that the 50s audience could be confident that Fonda was crusading
for someone who at least looked
innocent (although it always makes me think, since so many of the other jurors
make snap decisions, why doesn’t at least one of them look at that cute kid and
think “he ain’t no killer…”). Aside from that, I don’t think there is a single
mis-step in the filming, acting or writing of the film – and how many times can
you say that?
Lumet is a director who doesn’t get a lot of public recognition.
He subordinates his skills to the requirements of the story, rather than an auteur who imposes his style. This works
perfectly for this compelling slow-burn. Lumet’s expert filming quietly lets
the actors and dialogue stand front-and-centre, while cleverly using his camera
language and shot choices to amp up the tension.
At first, Lumet uses wider and high angle shots, allowing us
to get a sense of the room and the characters. But the real effect of this
plays out over the rest of the film, as Lumet slowly moves to tighter angles at
POV height, until the final sequences are played out over a series of close-ups
cutting from juror to juror, at low angles. What this achieves brilliantly is
to make the film feel tighter and more claustrophobic – the room feels like
it’s actually shrinking in on the jurors as they argue. You can get a sense of
it in the videos below, both early and later in the film.
The film also works so brilliantly because it offers a
brilliant insight (and critique even?) of the legal system. The one legal
professional we see is a bored judge. All references to the unseen lawyers
mention either their showmanship or inadequacy. Even the jury system is subtly
called into question: several of the jurors are motived more by prejudice and
personal experience than by any analysis of the evidence. Others are flawed in
other ways; #12 switches sides indecisively three times while #7 is so
impatient and bored with the whole process, he follows the direction of the
least resistance. Without #8, a decision would have been made with no
discussion at all. Even the very process of taking the vote is shown to root
many of the jurors down to “sides” and creates an atmosphere of competition
that becomes as important as seeing justice done. And in a system of trial by
your peers, only #4 in any way identifies himself as sharing the background of
the man on trial. Is this a perfect system?
These ideas, though, are skilfully interwoven in the
background of a gripping legal thriller. 12
Angry Men is completely objective. We never see the witnesses whose
performance is the cause of such analysis. We never see the scene of the crime.
We don’t have any confirmation at all that either side is right. It’s a film
about the importance of reasonable doubt – and the need to be absolutely
certain before sending someone to the chair. Fonda feels that doubt – and
persuades the other jurors of it – but we never know if he was right or not. We
never know if any of the suppositions in the jury room are true – the important
thing is how high the possibility is that they might be true – and how
much that affects our willingness to convict.
The film is one brilliant set-piece after another, as each
piece of evidence is interrogated. I honestly can’t decide which one I like the
most. What makes it work is the variation of how each case is presented. The
film is as comfortable with the drama of #8 flinging a replica of the “unique”
murder weapon onto the table, as it is with a careful dialogue-led dissection
of the eyesight of a key witness. Who can resist Fonda limping around an
approximation of the nextdoor neighbour’s flat to see if he can cover a certain
distance within a certain time. It helps that the dialogue is incredibly rich –
it has to convey a lot of information, but also manages to sketch out each of
the characters so swiftly and carefully that each of them feels real.
And we’ve come all this way and not even mentioned the
performances. Again, each viewing gives me a chance to appreciate a new
performance: my eye was caught on this viewing by Robert Webber’s seemingly
cool and collected advertising man, who has far less certainty than he
projects. Needless to say each actor is brilliant. Fonda (who also produced) is
the very image of moral authority – as well as a generous collaborator on the
movie. Is this his best performance? It’s got to up there - #8 is a
humanitarian, but he’s never smug or self-serving, just a man who feels a
strong sense of his own obligation.
If Fonda is the superego, Cobb’s #3 (the primary antagonist,
if there is such a thing) is the ego – raging, elemental, decisive, unshaken in
his beliefs. Cobb’s performance veers the closest
to a little too stagy, but it’s a character that demands it. His bluster and
swaggering are vital to the character in order to make his later emotional
collapse work as well as it does – and #3’s final emotional disintegration
really rings true. It’s a ferociously intense performance.
Each actor gets his chance to shine. Voskovec’s sensitive
immigrant has a wonderful speech on the responsibility of passing judgement.
The most barnstorming speech is Begley’s racist outburst late in the film. It’s
beautifully done as this loud-mouthed bully explodes with frustration, then
slowly and even rather sadly collapses as he talks on and on, each sentence
making him weaker and weaker, more defensive and vulnerable. But it’s never a
scene about just one man – the reactions are as well judged as everything else.
And I can’t tell you how much I love #4’s “I have [listened to you]. Now sit
down and don’t open your mouth again” one-line response which caps the scene.
In fact just mentioning #4 brings on my love of E.G.
Marshall’s performance in this film. #4 should be one of the least engaging
characters in the film – coldly analytical, professional, assured and clear
minded. But he’s always human, never an antagonist, but a respected citizen –
the only one of the jurors who is motivated by judgement rather than prejudice.
I love his calmness, his cool lack of regard for #3 and #10’s loud-mouthed
berating, his patient, studied explanation of his convictions. I adore his calm
puncturing and counterview of each point Fonda puts forward, until he is finally
won over – and its his winning over which makes the film work. If this
thoughtful, intelligent man has doubts, shouldn’t we all?
But I repeat they are all great. Jack Warden’s #7 is totally
convincing as (the film’s real villain?) a man indifferent to right and wrong
when compared to his own needs. Balsam’s decent but ineffectual #1 is the
perfect mediocrity in above his head. Sweeney’s wry, observant and shrewd #9 is
a delight (Sweeney was the only member of the original TV play to be retained).
Fiedler’s #2 grows in moral force throughout, belaying his quiet appearance.
Klugman’s #5 is quietly defiant and conflicted. Binn’s #6 reveals himself as a
mild, humble and honourable man.
I think I could watch 12
Angry Men every week of the year. It’s brilliantly filmed (how could I not
mention the oppressive rain soundtrack that accompanies the latter part of the
film) and wonderfully directed. The script is simply perfect, Reginald Rose
expanding and enriching his original TV adaptation. The acting is nearly
flawless from all concerned. It’s, quite simply, a great movie. I simply can’t
imagine anyone not reflecting on this movie when heading into jury service. It
subtly comments on the legal system, but never gets bogged down in this,
telling a gripping and compelling story about things we never see. It’s pretty
damn near close to perfection.
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