This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. Summer is perhaps hottest around this time of year, and the days are long. While this movie's runtime is not long, the characters in it feel like they couldn't proceed fast enough, in large part due to the heat. The heat of morality and responsibility and prejudice. And so:
12 Angry Men (1957, United Artists, Sidney Lumet)
Even for an uninitiated, non-fan of courtroom procedurals and legal dramas, this movie can affect you. I have to say, too, that the first few minutes don't do particularly much for the uninitiated: the ho-hum, routine, almost tired entry the movie makes won't win over a newcomer all at once, but it is the set-up to what is to come. The pace and elegance of this feature is a marvel. Shot virtually all in one room with a cast of "Joe Regulars" (save for Fonda who is the only A-lister of the bunch), it completely lacks any special effects or even any color (the men are all caucasian), and yet it's compelling and delivers as much a message for today as it did then.Juror 8's holdout objection to the others' quick committal to convicting the young defendant is quickly challenged by Juror 7. Their exchange feels like how a reasonable person would wind up having to deal with the average sports fan, or fraternity pledge, or talk show host (take your pick). Juror 8 feels like he has a duty to uphold, and while he admits to being agnostic to the truth, he isn't about to concede the possible.
I can remember reading as Juror 8 my junior year in high school in Mrs. Christopher's class. I was honored. Even at that time, I felt like there was something different about me from almost everyone else in my class. I don't know that I can even place my finger on it exactly today. What I do know is that I've never been a herd follower or a bandwagoner. I'm highly resistant to peer pressure. I'm a reasonable contrarian. And what I do know is that I felt a distinct privilege and power to stand apart from the others and voice a reasonable concern. There are few certain reasonable concerns in life. God is one, and truth another. Probably love and justice, too. One should always pause to consider what the reasonable concern is at any stage in life.
Juror 9, the "old man," is the first to show a glimmer of support for Juror 8's plight when he stands up to Juror 10's dissent about youth and the defendant's "obvious" upbringing. It's a wonderful touch to see how slowly Juror 9 raises his hand for "guilty" when the first call for votes goes up.
Juror 2's meek tone and delivery reminds me of Arnold Wesker, "The Ventriloquist," from Batman: The Animated Series. His remark about knowing the Constitution when Juror 8 presents the idea that the burden of proof lies on the prosecution seems a dodge to me, as if he feared losing credibility if he answered otherwise. A very human response.
Juror 3 comes off very sedate and pointed about his stance, twice covering for himself on the sentimentality angle. This pays off big later.
Meanwhile, Jurors 4 and 10 come right out swinging with testimony from the trial to lend support to Juror 3's pointed claims. These three form the staunchest rebuttals to Juror 8's stance.
Juror 8 doesn't flinch when he calls out others' hypocrisy. "She's one of them, too, isn't she?" is Juror 8's response to Juror 10 when it comes to believing the stories of those from a different social class. Juror 10's response is predictably sour. And suddenly the movie begins to make us check our own thoughts. Who would we stand with?
Juror 5 asks to be skipped when they are called on to present reasons for the defendant's guilt. His resolve to follow the others in a guilty vote from earlier is already cracking.
Despite Juror 8's continued deliberation, Juror 4's comment of, "Maybe it was two too many," when considering whether the defendant's being slapped by the victim might have prompted murder also prompts a look on Juror 8's face to suggest that even he must take a step back in his considerations. The fight for truth with others and within ourselves is rarely linear.
Juror 3 pulls out a photo of his 22-year-old son and begins to tell the tale of how he tried to make a man out of his son when he was 9. He is trying to highlight "how bad kids are these days," the age old adage, but instead opens himself—and Juror 8, who is closest and watching him at that moment—to his own hurt and frustration. But Juror 3 puts a lid on it and walks away as the discussion goes back to the trial.
The class warfare tension begins to bubble over as Jurors 4 and 10 begin to pile on to the idea that "people from the slums" are no good and always turn out bad. Juror 5, seated next to 4, looks at his hands and fidgets quietly until he's had enough and quiets Juror 10 by outing himself as slum-bred. He, a member of their own jury—seemingly well-dressed and responsible—born in the slums.
As the talks continue around the table, the foreman, Juror 1, tries to keep the pattern going, but Juror 10 pipes up and calls out his process as being that of a "kid." "K. I. D.," Juror 10 spells it out for him—a pejorative underlining the discounting theme that's developed—to which the foreman takes umbrage and almost declines to go on.
The entire exchange about what's possible about a peculiar knife and the defendant's story concerning it is a masterclass in line delivery, framing, and build. I love the fact that Juror 8 was willing to let the entire conversation build to a place where he could reveal an identical knife to the murder weapon he had illegally purchased the other night. It's a badass Batman-level of preparation that I admire and applaud.
The lines are whip-quick and the personalities of each speaker come out cleanly and without a feeling of forced rhythm. The scenes truly feel like a room of twelve angry men trying to sort through the ordeal, and if you aren't a fan of the picture yet at this point you probably won't be.
I love the close-up and dramatic musical notes that play as Juror 8 agrees to a revote that he'll concede to if none of the other eleven votes comes back "not guilty." It's quaint, old-timey, and poignant.
Juror 3's outburst on Juror 5 after the first revote truly outs him as the "primary villain" of the piece. A tragic, not irredeemable villain. And considering the foreman hadn't fully revealed all the new votes when he came to a "not guilty" one, who knows if Juror 5 hadn't changed also at that moment.
The reveal of Juror 9 as the one who revoted "not guilty" and Juror 8's small grin in response is a moment of desperate joy. I let out a little chirp of triumph when I saw it again. There is some humanity left in the room.
The restroom break scene is a fantastic break following the outburst. The movie ebbs and flows naturally. "Nice bunch of guys, huh?" Juror 6 says to Juror 8. "Ah, they're about the same as everywhere else," 8 replies. This is an indictment of us all. We're no better off or worse than they are today, yesterday, or tomorrow. We all come at things from different perspectives and with different biases. We carry different loads into each and every situation we come to. The scene ends with Juror 6 challenging Juror 8's deliberation by suggesting that if Juror 8 convinces them all to change to "not guilty" they might be letting the true killer go free. Juror 8 silently and soberly considers that before they the action returns to the juror's room and the struggle goes on.
As Juror 8 begins to consider how the woman witness could have seen the killing through the elevated train cars, he pauses to snatch paper from Jurors 3 and 12 as they doodle at tic-tac-toe. "This is no game!" he chides them. This echoes to me the same disinterest and vapid care both adults and youth alike seem to put toward things that really matter, ongoing today. Juror 8's righteous indignation at their behavior is justified, though of course they see him as impinging on their own rights. It's the classic but always imagined battle of objective morality against subjective morality. It's not even close. Subjective morality is what is imagined.
I love how Fonda pauses to really concentrate and get his thoughts right before he speaks. This is exampled most effectively during the scene where he is trying to tease out the details of a passing el train. And he engages the whole room. This is how you communicate. This is how you reach people. Move them even.
There's so much darn pathos and credibility in the performances. Little touches. They come off as real people, not characters. There isn't one ounce lacking believability in the whole picture.
"He don't even speak good English," says Juror 10. "He doesn't speak good English," corrects Juror 11. Juror 11 is the one with the foreign accent. Love it. This too feels ripe for today's politique. (Feels like a lesson the self-righteous MAGA crowd or their ilk might take heed of.)
Juror 7's swagger adds just the right amount color and jockish bravado to the proceedings. It's entertaining in it's hopelessness. I'm afraid there are far too many people of his type who are seen as normal in our world today.
Again, after the second revote Juror 8 shares a grin with Juror 11 who goes to "not guilty." I get a real kick out of that! It's thrilling to see someone stand against such odds and mount a defense.
Such a dramatic bear trap that Juror 3 steps into when he belittles the old man witness's mental state, immediately highlighting how the old man's testimony may be in doubt.
Never has there been a more dramatic and simple scene than the one where Juror 8 recreates the old man witness's 15-second walk while the others observe and participate. Simple, pure drama.
The scene where Juror 8 calls out Juror 3 as a sadist is the climactic tipping point of the film.
Great continuity as everyone progressively gets sweatier and sweatier—pit stains and all—as the story plays out.
The little incidental scene between Juror 8 and Juror 1 as 1 shares about his coaching football experience in the rain is another welcome break from the tension that's been ramping.
It gets real for Juror 7 when Juror 11 challenges him with, "What kind of a man are you?" They had already had a verbal dust-up before that, but Juror 7's flippant attitude and ease of changing votes galls Juror 11's sense of ethics.
Gotta love Juror 7's "d'uhh" way of punctuating his expressions when pressed.
I pray to God someday we ignore the MAGA crowd and all its ilk the same way the others do when Juror 10 goes off after the 9-3 revote in favor of acquittal. He exemplifies everything wrong and sick with those who look out and down on the marginalized and the hurting. But we must never treat them the way they treat others.
I like how Juror 4 is able to sway Juror 11 back to "guilty" for a short bit as he recounts the woman's eyewitness testimony. Adds a level of credibility as to why so many of them thought guilty at first.
The emotional power of the scene as the jurors discuss the woman's eyeglass marks on her nose is spellbinding. Juror 9 is the first to notice, and like dominos they all begin to fall in line as the woman's eyesight is brought into question. Soon, holdouts like Jurors 4 and 10 change to "not guilty," leaving only Juror 3 to stand alone in his rage.
Juror 3 is not the villain in the end. He is us. We are scared too that we've done things wrong and messed up relationships. Things we might not be able to win back. It's damning to think we're wrong and at fault in those situations. It's so much easier to blame the rest of the world. It's what Juror 3 did for too long. And it's a lesson in what we must always strive not to do as well. His breakdown at the end is heartwrenching. I get it, and I feel it, even when I'm not him.
You're heroes, Davis and McCardle. Well done.
