12 Angry Men (1997)

It’s been a while since William Friedkin adapted a stage play to film, but every time it happens, I feel like it’s Friedkin coming home somehow. It’s unusual since Friedkin’s early history is dominated by his documentary work, but the first film he had real passion for was the adaptation of a Harold Pinter play. So, when he returns to the theater, effectively, it tends to focus in on actors, an obvious love for Friedkin. He obviously had great affinity for actors and their performances, and the performances are one of the only real reasons to check out this third filmed presentation of Reginald Rose.

I’ve only ever seen the more famous adaptation by Sydney Lumet once or twice, and it’s been a very long time, but it’s interesting how the few dramatic events stick in my mind. There’s the pulling out of the copycat knife, the trudging around the room as though disabled, and the steady progression of jurors moving from guilty verdicts to not guilty verdicts through the questioning of the evidence, defense, and prosecution initiated by Juror #8 (Jack Lemmon).

I think a lot of appreciation of the story depends on the heavy investment in Juror #8’s line of thinking which includes significant amounts of supposition of motives and timelines and coincidences that I only ever partially buy into. I suspect that a lot of the love comes from an ironically unquestioning regard for Juror #8’s line of questions. Like, for instance, the knife. When Juror #3 (George C. Scott) brings it up as a key piece of evidence, especially its unique design with a scorpion emblazoned handle, Juror #8 dramatically brings out another exactly like the one in evidence. This is supposed to be this great moment creating doubt because the shop owner where the defendant (Douglas Spain) bought it said it was unique. Well, it’s still fairly unique, even if it’s not the only one in existence. The fact that there are others like it does absolutely nothing for me regarding its connection between the defendant, who bought one like it, and the crime, which was done with it. If it’s a coincidence, that’s quite a coincidence. Of course, it’s not supposed to be exculpatory, just creating the question to arouse reasonable doubt within the jury, but I find it hard to believe that it would do even that. And it’s probably the center of the most dramatic point of the film.

On the other hand is Juror #8’s picking apart of two separate pieces of testimony. On the one hand is the old man who lived below the defendant who says he heard the shout of the boy announcing his intention to kill his father followed closely by the sound of a body hitting the floor above him, and on the other is the old woman across the street who said that she saw the murder through a passing L-train. These can’t have both happened since the L-train would cause too much noise for the old man to hear the shout, a connection that the defense never brought up in the trial (if this story is anything, it’s an indictment of the public defender system). That contradiction is compelling as a defense. It’s also some of the only compelling stuff Juror #8 brings up. Contrast that with the effort to recreate the old man’s trek to his door to see the defendant running down the stairs which he estimated in court as taking only 15 seconds while the jurors recreate it in 42. Is there a compelling bit of evidence for the defense here? He hears the body fall, and it takes him 27 seconds longer than he estimated? If we’re going to do the supposing game, suppose the defendant stood for 25 seconds at the horror he had just committed, that’d account for the time, right?

So, I’m very mixed and actually don’t find the pseudo-defense all that compelling as a whole (though there are some isolated good aspects to it). The actual drama playing out, though, is the interplay between the jurors, and this is the real meat of it. This is an actors’ movie first and foremost, and it’s not a surprise that Friedkin was able to secure a great cast for the twenty days of prep and filming to bring the teleplay anew to Showtime through MGM Productions. Scott is obviously the center of everything as the final holdout with a secret personal reason for hating young people (I mean…I’ve honestly never liked this part of the teleplay and have always found it weak), and he’s, despite my issues with the actual writing, just great following the arc his character has to go through. On the other end is Lemmon who is shockingly restrained in his performance as the guy just asking question. In between are people like James Gandolfini, William L. Peterson, Ossie Davis, and Courtney B. Vance who occupy their little spaces, raising their questions, falling in line as the progression of events occurs, and holding themselves well in the face of such large forces like Scott and Lemmon. I suppose it’s Armin Mueller-Stahl as Juror #4 who I appreciate most, though. He’s the most cool-headed of those dedicated to the guilty verdict and has the quietest move away from it, and he’s very good conveying that.

So, I appreciate the film for its acting above everything else. I think the actual story feels like a quickly written thing for a television anthology show in the fifties given no significant update in the ensuing forty-plus years. I mean, the racial component here, completely absent from previous versions, is actually really interesting and largely under the surface, relying on casting more than anything else aside from the dialogue by Juror #10 (Mykelti Williamson), but the whole approach to the evidence feel calcified. There is simply way too much emphasis on hidden motives of witnesses and lawyers to be compelling to me. Picking apart facts and conflicts is one thing, but supposing that the old man wants attention and he must have lied is something else.

Anyway, it’s good. If I had greater love for the underlying teleplay and original film version by Lumet, I’d probably be over the moon with this update and recasting, but I’m not. Still, I admire it.

Rating: 3/4