Essential Films: 12 Angry Men (1957)

We are all, to one degree or another, familiar with the classic courtroom drama. There's the helpless victim on trial for a crime he did not commit; there's the fearless lawyer who must wade through volumes of law books and swarms of attackers to fight for him; and of course, there's the malicious prosecuting attorney trying to weasel his accusations into the minds of the jury. And yet despite the importance of the jury as the deciding factor in the guilt or innocence of the defendant, most courtroom dramas focus on the courtroom itself: after all, it does seem like the place where the most action and excitement can be found. And after all the action has played out in front of us, the jury files out, and then, after a brief scene in between, files back in to deliver the verdict. Then, at the moment of final triumph, the lawyer and the defendant walk down the courtroom steps, embracing joyous freedom. 12 Angry Men is not this type of movie- on the contrary, it focuses entirely on the deliberations of the jury- and though it may not be as tender and romanticized as To Kill a Mockingbird or as bold and gritty as Anatomy or a Murder, I believe it's proven itself to be a greater film than either of the two, making it possibly the greatest of the courtroom dramas. 

In 1957, 12 Angry Men was released to unanimous critical success, and over the years, it's developed a reputation as an American classic. But its celebrated status can often cause us to forget how unorthodox this film actually was when it was released. This is no Ben-Hur, and audiences knew it. In fact, 12 Angry Men tanked at the box office¹, failing to make a profit even with its conservative budget of $340,000². In the golden age of Hollywood, 12 Angry Men was made in a quiet studio in New York City³, and in a box office dominated by big-budget technicolor epics and elaborate costume musicals, no one was going to go out of their way to see a black-and-white realist drama about twelve guys sitting around a table for ninety minutes. If the camera skips ahead at all, it only does so by a few minutes: this is a film that practically takes place in actual time⁴. And for fledgling filmmaker Sidney Lumet, it was suicide. 

But of course, 12 Angry Men didn't start with Sidney Lumet. Rather, the idea originated from his long-time collaborator, screenwriter Reginald Rose. Rose was a prominent writer of television dramas, and controversial social and political issues were recurring themes within his work.⁵ Within 12 Angry Men, Rose addresses the dangers of mob opinion, which, for a nation living in the shadow of McCarthyism, was still a very powerful subject⁶. (It's important here to note that Lumet himself was a victim of the notorious blacklist, but bounced back into the industry when accusations against him were quickly retracted⁷.) From the very beginning of the film, the situation is very clearly painted out when the jury votes guilty, 11 against 1. From here on out the influence of the mob becomes central to the story, as we are presented with one honest man struggling against a sea of indifference. 

But if this motif sounds familiar to you, it's probably because 12 Angry Men wasn't the first film to use it, and it certainly wasn't the last. The story of the simple common man pitted against the machine of selfish hypocrisy is especially common in the works of Frank Capra, particularly in his 1939 film Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. But Henry Fonda is by no means Jimmy Stuart, and the dissident Juror #8 may be your simple everyday man, but he's not the simple everyman. He is modest, but he's not naive. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is a film about disillusionment with the American legal system, but it's still a feel-good film. We laugh, we cry, but in the end we're left with a feeling of satisfaction, confident that good has won out over evil and corruption. 12 Angry Men is also a film about disillusionment with the American legal system, and though the "happy ending" may lead you to believe it's a feel-good movie, a closer look reveals it to be far more emotionally ambiguous. 

It would have been so easy for this film to paint out the eleven other jurors as villains, with Juror #8 standing as the lone hero. But instead, most of the other men in the room are just regular people trying to make a reasonable decision-- even the most aggressive of #8's opponents aren't evil; they're simply misguided by their own emotional prejudices. It would have also been so easy for the film to give the characters names, or to clearly define the race of the boy on trial (who appears to be Hispanic, but could still belong to a number of other minorities). Instead, the film leaves this things open and allows the social commentary to apply on a broader scale. It would have been so easy for this film to give us some sort of clarification if the defendant was guilty or innocent; maybe it could have shown a scene of the murder taking place so we would have some confirmation. At the end, we're supposed to assume that the kid is innocent, but none of the jurors are really certain that he is, especially not #8.

We're confronted with Juror #8's uncomfortable position from the moment he makes himself clear about it, but at the same time we're also confronted with the fact that if someone else had been in his shoes, the defendant would have gone to the chair without a second thought. 12 Angry Men portrays the legal system with simultaneous criticism and idealism. Juror #8 is the ideal juror. This has nothing to do with him being kind, honest, or reasonable- there are plenty of other people sitting around the table that could meet those qualifications. Rather, #8 is a person who, in the absence of any set of complex rules, understands the duty that has been placed upon him, and rises up to that duty with a spirit of integrity and responsibility⁸. The problem with the other jurors is their susceptibility to prejudice- and here prejudice isn't just racism or emotional bias. On a more general scale, prejudice can mean accepting the facts at first glance without giving them a charitable examination. To #8, it doesn't seem to matter as much whether the defendant is innocent or guilty- what matters is that he doesn't get sent off to die without a careful deliberation about the matter. 

But even if they did discuss the case according to the ideals of the justice system, could they still be in error? According to several revisionist interpretations of the film, absolutely. Of course it's pointed out in the film that they may very well wind up letting a guilty man go free, not just once, but several times. The idea in mind is not that he is innocent, but that they have "reasonable doubt". But Michael Astimow of the Chicago-Kent Law Review proposes that according to the law's definition of "reasonable doubt" the defendant should have been found guilty⁹ and he's not the only one to notice this: Mike D'Angelo of The AV Club actually lays things out quite concisely, pointing out that the "reasonable doubt" should apply to the examination of the total sum of the evidence, not the pieces of evidence individually. Note that in order for the kid to have been innocent, some unknown person with unknown motives would have had to come in, kill the father with the same kind of knife that the boy owned, and leave no trace of his being there except the knife. Meanwhile, the kid coincidentally loses his knife just hours within the time frame of the murder¹⁰. The chances of that happening scarcely qualify for "reasonable doubt" within the eyes of the law, of course, and this is just the tip of an iceberg of improbability. More chilling is the thought that the mob appeal in 12 Angry Men can work both ways, and could have caused those changing their vote in the second act to fail to consider this perspective. But even if you do accept that he is guilty you have to admit the possibility of his innocence, small though it may be, in the same way that every single man on that jury will be forever haunted by the possibility of his guilt. This is scarcely a happy ending, and yet this is, in many ways, the point of the entire film.

Notwithstanding, 12 Angry Men remains a moving piece of American cinema that is, before anything else, a powerful study in group dynamics. It is no simple task to write a well-crafted conversation between two characters, let alone three. This film juggles its dialogue between twelve separate characters: more than that, it not only develops each juror with unique traits, but it also allows each juror to chime in to the conversation exactly at the moment that his interests would provoke him to. We have some fairly interesting minor characters: the diligent foreman, the timid banker, the immigrant watchmaker, the indecisive ad exec, and the impatient salesman (there's even an Orioles fan in the bunch). But the most intriguing of the jury members are the last three hold-outs: #3, #4, and #10. In one of the film's most powerful scenes, an impassioned rant reveals #10 to be a bigoted racist, whereupon the members of the jury stand up, one by one, and turn their backs to his tirade in the ultimate silent insult. And in a callback to the film's beginning, the ending places the odds at 11 to 1, except this time the tables are turned, and this nonconformist stands his ground for vastly different and much less noble reasons than the first. Hence many people, for this reason place closed-minded Juror #3 as the obvious opponent to Juror #8's call to skepticism. Yet far more curious is the notion of Juror #4 as our hero's counterpart: like Juror #8, #4 is calm, civil, impartial, and intelligent. He addresses the case with just as much skepticism, only from the opposite side, and as stated earlier, he is most likely correct. 

Discussing this film, it becomes all too simple to speak of the film solely for Rose's writing, Lumet's direction, or Fonda's acting. Yes, there is remarkably very little in the film that diverges from its theatrical source material, but a film about twelve men packed in a hot room doing nothing but talking in the hands of the wrong director would be incredibly boring. Imagine how awful it be if the film was done in a single, steady shot- instead, Lumet keeps things moving along at a captivating speed by controlling the pace of the editing. The film would also be unbearably tedious without the stunning talent of its seasoned cast, but without a director experienced in the medium of acting, the camera wouldn't be able to properly deliver their performances. Lumet reveals that throughout the film, he changed the size of the lenses and the angle of the camera- whereas the first act begins with wide-angle lens shots shot looking down upon the table, the middle of the film moves down to eye level, and eventually we are brought closer and closer to the characters, increasing the audience's sense of claustrophobia¹¹. Ron Simon of the Paley Center For Media says it best: "[Lumet]'s really looking for the emotional rollercoaster ride that individual characters are going through... you'll see many more close-ups, trying to get into the mind and soul of individual characters."¹²

Despite all of the personal matters discussed between the men, serious or casual, there is only one piece of information that is given to us by each juror: his occupation. Juror #8 happens to be an architect: which is fitting, considering the way that he constructs the flow of conversation in the room around him. When he begins, he is faced with a steamy room full of impatient men who clearly don't want to be there. Even with the power of life and death in their hands, the greatest of their concerns is a broken fan. And yet through modest and straightforward speaking and a welcoming attitude he manages to shape the environment into one of civil, friendly, and impartial discussion. Their original prejudice was brought on by an atmosphere of the callous and self-contained, which gradually changes into an atmosphere of sympathy. This begins as #8's sympathy for the accused, but what it becomes is the men's sympathy for each other and their increasing willingness to engage opinions. What develops out of this is a sense of community- a community that is eventually united by a common need to resist one man's racial discrimination¹³. In the process of bringing this about, #8 almost becomes a symbolic defendant in a completely separate trial of his own: a trial of principle. Here, the role of plaintiff and prosecuting attorney fall easily into place, with Juror #1 acting as judge and Juror #7 standing in for the the friendly defense attorney. And how appropriate, in the film's final moments, that Lumet should release us from the prison of tight close-ups and low-angle shots and restore the wide-angle lens of the film's opening scenes, so that the lawyer and the accused can embrace sweet freedom on the courthouse steps.

Sources:

¹Erickson, Hal. "12 Angry Men (1957) - Sidney Lumet". Allmovie. All Media Network, LLC., n.d. Web. Retrieved 3 October 2015.
²"12 Angry Men (1957) - Financial Information". The Numbers. Nash Information Services, LLC., n.d. Web. Retrieved 3 October 2015.
³p. 231. Alleman, Richard. New York: The Movie Lover's Guide. New York: Broadway Books, 2005. Print.
⁴Becker, Peter Heath. "12 Angry Men". The Criterion Collection. The Criterion Collection, 8 February 1988. Web. Retrieved 3 October 2015.
⁵Dowler, Kevin. "Rose, Reginald". Encyclopedia of Television. Museum of Broadcast Communications, n.d. Web. Retrieved 3 October 2015. 
⁶Simon, Ron. "On Reginald Rose". (supplementary material on DVD release of 12 Angry Men). DVD. The Criterion Collection, 2011.
⁷Rosenbaum, Thane. "12 Angry Men: Lumet's Faces". The Criterion Collection. The Criterion Collection, 22 November 2011. Web. Retrieved 3 October 2015.
⁸Babcock, Barbara Allen. "Deliberation in 12 Angry Men". 82.2. (2007): 638. Print.
⁹Astimow, Michael. "12 Angry Men: A Revisionist View". 82.2. (2007): 712. Print.
¹⁰D'Angelo, Mike. "Did 12 Angry Men get it wrong? ". The AV Club. The Onion, Inc., 2 August 2012. Web. Retrieved on 3 October 2015. 
¹¹"Twelve Angry Men". eNotes. Cengage Learning, 2002. Web. Retrieved on 4 October 2015.
¹²Simon.
¹³Babcock. 639.