Greetings, my dear students, and welcome back to CraveOnline‘s Free Film School. Justice seems to be on everyone’s mind today, and there have been a lot of conversations about the American criminal justice system. And while certain injustices seem to be at hand all the time in this country, I still have (in a general way) a great deal of faith in the way the criminal justice system operates. Indeed, all the conversations, have me thinking of one of my favorite movies, all about an embittered and impatient jury, Sidney Lumet’s 12 Angry Men from 1957. In an atmosphere of injustice, allow me to ponder what is just.
When it comes right down to the wire, the American criminal courts’ decisions are ultimately up to us the people. The joke goes that if you find yourself accused, your fate is left in the hands of twelve people who weren’t smart enough to get out of jury duty. And while serving on a jury is a boring, boring affair (last time I served, I brought eight books, my Walkman, and a portable video game system; I wasn’t going to be unprepared), it’s also something of an honor. It may not feel like an honor most of the time, what with all the strange legal double-speak and ritual that seems like a foreign language to the average legal layman. But if you’ve ever been the one to sit in the jury room and deliberate over another person’s fate, then perhaps you’ve felt the rush of being part of something larger than yourself. Perhaps you’ve felt important for a few moments, knowing that your opinion, for once, matters.
Sidney Lumet’s 1957 film 12 Angry Men is about twelve specific characters who find themselves in this position, but, in a way, it’s about every American who has ever taken part in the American legal system. We may not identify with the archetypes presented in the film (the hero, the villain, the immigrant, the old man, the timid one, etc.), but we vicariously become involved in the argument. We know the case, and we are also, in our minds, deliberating the fate of the boy on trial. We see people arguing, making point, getting mad, changing their minds. These are not orators or lawyers or heroes. We are not witnessing a superhuman legal dynamo like F. Lee Bailey or Perry Mason or Matlock using their subtle manipulative powers to bring the guilty to justice. We are witnessing ordinary, fallible human beings – we are seeing ourselves – arguing points that, at first, seem clear, but may not be.
After all, the whole point of the jury system is not proving innocence, but eliminating or sustaining reasonable doubt. I think many people who serve on juries forget that. It is our job, as jurors, to decide on a person’s guilt or innocence and often to choose a penalty in the case of guilt. But the soul-searching that goes into choosing one’s fate is something that is often forgotten: One is not merely, aloof, dictating what will happen to another, bringing in you existing opinions and prejudices to the case. One is testing their self to see if there really is any doubt in their own mind.
Anyone who is to serve on a jury should watch 12 Angry Men to remind themselves that our part of the legal system not about fate or prejudice. It’s about trying to be as objective as possible, even when the case looks as cut-and-dry as the one in the film. Witnesses, a weapon, shaky testimony from the defendant, details that seem to line up perfectly. I think any of us who heard the things in the film would also have voted the young boy guilty. It wasn’t until juror #8 (Henry Fonda) spoke up that people began to doubt a bit. He talks – that’s what juries should do – and begins to convince the men in the room that the case may not be as clear as they think. There are details to analyze, and, as the saying goes, God is in the details. Eventually he turns an 11-1 verdict into a 0-12.
The amount of skill that went into the making of this film is extraordinary. Think about it: We have a 90-minute film that takes place mostly in one room with twelve unnamed characters, and all they do is talk. We don’t see the murder, we don’t see the defendant blubbering in his jail cell (although we do get one penetrating shot of the boy – a mere boy – on the stand awaiting his fate, the hope seemingly drained from his eyes), we don’t see courtroom accusations, or scandal. There is no action or mayhem. It’s just twelve guys in a room. There’s not even any music to tell us how to feel; there are only three musical cues in the film, over the opening, the closing, and a short bit in the middle during a rare relaxed moment. And yet, the film is fascinating. It’s gorgeous to watching thing progress and unfold. We are totally hooked into the arguments until, eventually we ourselves are convinced. Sidney Lumet’s editing must have been a painstaking process, trying to merely prevent the room from looking dull after spending so much time in it, but he pulls it off.
12 Angry Men is also an amazing character study. In fact, it’s what a character study should be like. Without distracting things like spectacle and plot contrivances, we are free to see these twelve men for who they are. And we see them through the way they argue, the way they react to the other men in the room, also strangers, the way they think… the way they are. The old man with the sympathetic ear. The angry slum kid who resents the bubbling prejudice of everyone in the room. The flashy ad exec who is trying to be as breezy as possible. In a way, they are all recognizable archetypes, but the directing, the tense dialogue and the stellar acting from everyone on the cast makes them all into fully realized characters.
Juror #1 (Martin Balsam). He is the foreman of the jury, and is the one selected at random to be the deliberator of the argument. He is never really the one in command of the argument (leave that to 3 and 8), but he is the one who, dutifully, keeps things on track when emotions begin to run high. He does have a moment when he has a quiet conversation with juror #8, describing funny things at his job, but is mostly trying his best to stay on top of things. He deal with authority the way most non-leaders do: focus on the task at hand, try not to get too distracted. Martin Balsam elevates this man from a dull automaton into a man with real desperation in his job, and a genial sense of humor that he is aching to show, even if he knows that the courtroom is not a place to be genial or humorous.
Juror #2 (John Fiedler) is a small man with a small voice who is used to being small. John Fiedler was often cast in roles of this sort, playing the wimp, the weakling, the indecisive one. My generation probably knows him best as the voice of Piglet in Disney’s Winnie the Pooh cartoons. I like this character. He is timid for much of the time, but finally begins to stand up for himself as the film progresses. There is a moment when he offers the room coughdrops. Everyone refuses, and his face falls. When someone declares that they would like one of his coughdrops, his face lights up. He is that sort of man, the one who is glad, nay, needs to help others. We feel that perhaps he has been ignored throughout his life, and discovers himself in the jury room. Okay. Maybe that’s a little too melodramatic an interpretation, but the man does grow in front of us.
Juror #3 (Lee J. Cobb) is mad. Mad at the boy on trial, mad at the other jurors, mad at his own son, mad at life. He is probably the most complicated character in the piece. He is one of the defendants executioners. He resents having to be here. He resents having to deliberate. He wants the child dead. Dear Lord, what one would have to go through to so passionately want another person dead, and have the wherewithal and clout to make it happen. We learn his secret by the end of the film, about his failed relationship with his own son, about his seething bile over the matter, and his rage. And how the rage is covering a deep, deep sorrow in his heart. It’s kind of funny how, at the beginning of the trial, it was this man and only this man who said specifically how his own personal prejudices had nothing to do with his decision, and how he ended up having the strongest most powerful personal prejudices and was the last one to change his mind. Lee J. Cobb makes this man into more than a bully. We see the pain pouring out of his face as he shouts, we understand the man’s tragedy.
Juror #4 (E.G. Marshall) never sweats. He never takes off his coat, and only once removes his glasses. His voice is pinched and concise. He is cold and analytical. He was obviously paying attention to details. Everyone knows someone like this: someone who has memorized every detail. Someone who knows all the cold, hard facts. He is a smart man, he knows how to argue well, and he rarely loses his cool. He is not convinced of the boy’s innocence until near the end of the film. He has more or less worn the same expression throughout the film, and at the moment when he in convinced, when the details he has been so lovingly clinging to being to unravel, we see him drain, we see that he is not used to being wrong. But his is big enough to admit it.
Juror #5 (Jack Klugman) is the slum kid all grown up. He started out poor, and knows the realities of living in a ghetto. He is the only one. The middle-class men in the room, and indeed most middle- (and upper-) class people in the world, tend to dismiss the impoverished people. They’re all criminals, right? They’re all dirty and ignorant bastards who want to take advantage of you, those slum-dwelling poor folk. Best to lock them up. Oh wait… They human beings. With every right, every bit of intelligence and emotions as the rest of us. Juror #5 brings the issue of class into the room, and shows us that living in a slum doesn’t give you an inclination for crime. Jack Klugman gives us a real frustration of a man who has probably had to deal with this prejudice all his life, someone who has to take the bus with people who have more money than he, and who sniff at him as if he has yet to “make good” in some way.
Juror #6 (Edward Binns) is a beefy working-class fellow. He seems easily swayed; we get the feeling that he is seeking acceptance. He has the fewest lines of any of the cast, so it’s hard to say what he really feels, but Edward Binn’s body language convey to us his insecurities, his nervousness, and his readiness to be heard.
Juror #7 (Jack Warden) is probably the most entertaining of the jurors. He chews gum, cracks wise, talks about baseball. He’s a funloving boob who would rather be at the game, would rather be anywhere, than in this room. He’s the one who obviously thinks about the legal system the least out of everyone in this room. Most of the time, he is not paying attention. He chews gum, and throws paper into the fan. In a way, he is the most tragic aspect of the film. When he finally declares that he doesn’t think the defendant is guilty, no one, not even we, are convinced. He is even confronted. He shouldn’t change his mind because he wants to leave, he should change his mind because he really feels that is the right decision. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, our juries do contain people who, at the end of the day, just don’t care.
Juror #8 (Fonda) is the one rebel who tries to convince everyone that there’s something off about this trial. He’s obviously the hero of this story (if a film like this can have anything resembling a “hero”), but he’s not presented as a peerless and heroic type. He never once takes the moral high ground, or browbeats anyone. He makes mistakes occasionally, and takes them in stride. He merely wants to make sure that he himself is getting this whole jury deliberation thing right. He is the one who sees that he is not just a judge, but a part of a larger legal system. He is the one who is neither bent on setting the boy free or executing him, but looking at the entire case again, making sure he saw everything. He has a few arguments for why he thinks the way he does, but it’s talking about them that seems to really convince him. He is the anchor. Henry Fonda is, luckily, a good enough actor to anchor a film like this. He is forthright, open, and calm, but never saintly or sanctimonious. I think he is a good model for anyone who finds themselves in a similar position.
Juror #9 (Joseph Sweeney) is an old man who is willing to listen. He, like Juror #5, probably has to deal with prejudices against his age every day; he often says things like “I’m just an old man, but…” He is the only man in the room who wants to look at the character of the people involved, the motivations of the jurors. In life, he seems less interested in the quibbles and chatting of men, and has taken the time to sit back and see the man. His insight into human brings a new dimension to the case. Perhaps the witnesses, being who they were, were not lying, but had reason to convince themselves of something that may not be true.
Juror #10 (Ed Begley) has a rant near the end of the film, shouting to the room how poor people cannot be trusted. He is bitter and angry from the outset; I think it was he who moaned when the 11-1 vote first landed, “There’s always one…” He snarls and sighs. He, as much as juror #3, wants the boy dead. When it finally comes time for him to rant, most of the room has turned against him. It’s one of the more gorgeous moments of the film. He stands in his seat, shouting and frothing about “these people.” Each and every one of the jurors stands quietly and faces away from him as he shouts. The camera pulls back, revealing how alone he truly is. He continues to shout, but by now he realizes what horrible mistake he’s been making, and what a blunder it has been for him to carry all this hate. Juror #8 finally asks him to sit and not talk anymore. Nothing is said, but we know what happened: he tipped his hand, he revealed that he was being driven by his prejudice, and not the facts, and not the arguments. He calmly takes his seat, and we don’t hear from him for the rest of the film.
Juror #11 (George Voskovec) is clean-cut, polite, quiet… oh and a foreigner. Of course he takes guff for being “not one of us.” “Why are you do polite?” one of the jurors growls at him at one point. “For the same reason you’re not,” he replies. “I was brought up that way.” And now I come to one of the central themes of the film. Here is a jury of twelve men asked to, without prejudice, decide another person’s fate. And yet, here is a room peppered with a few people who have to deal with prejudice on a regular basis. An old man, a poor man, a weak man, an immigrant. The point of the jury system of justice is to judge, but not to pre-judge. Perhaps we need to put ourselves in a position where we understand prejudice. I think the film is asking us to relate to the victim here, the boy. Judge him as we would want to be judged. He’s not a faceless criminal. He’s a human who demands thought. We all demand at least a little thought before being condemned.
Juror #12 (Robert Webber) sways back and forth. He’s an adman. He’s concerned with appearance. He has the best suit, the best hair, and the wittiest comments. He is a vapid, empty personality when he enters the room, and tries to win people over with his charm. Of course, charm has nothing to do with this case, and he is enticed by some, but largely dismissed by the room. The jury room is probably the first time he’s been put on the spot. When he changes his mind for the second time, later in the film, it’s almost as if he’s trying out authority for the first time, finally testing to see what’s it’s like to have an opinion. He grows in that room.
Jack Klugman died last year at the age of 90. He was the last of the cast to die.
I first saw 12 Angry Men in the 7th grade. Out English teacher showed it to us in class, and we were fully prepared to be bored out of our minds. I mean, we’re 12. We’re used to fantasy action films with mutant ninja turtles. Here was a dull black & white film made before we were born, full of talking, sans action, about the strangely alien justice system. You know what? We were all fascinated. Every single one of the class had something to say about it. We all had an opinion on the characters, the case. We were converts. It was a film that, appropriately enough, broke through our prejudices about old movies, and let us become riveted over things like good acting, good dialogue, and a clearly-thought-out screenplay (by Reginald Rose).
I even once tried to convince a group of birthday partiers that it would be a worthy film to watch late at night when we were drinking soda and eating pizza; yes I was the kind of Jr. High kid who wanted to watch 12 Angry Men at a birthday party. I somehow convinced them to rent it (so long as they could also rent Boyz N the Hood and Wild Orchid, a Zalman King softcore-bordering-on-hardcore sex thriller), but they didn’t watch it with me. But I digress.
When the film started to crop up in high school, I was excited, and it was great to see classroom after classroom become enthused about it. True, there were still people who fell asleep, but, for the most part, kids turned their heads, some of them for the first time, to a drama about people talking. Indeed, this film has become so popular in certain schools, that the kids are asked to reenact scenes on stage (“12 Angry Jurors,” re-titled to include women). I had the honor once of play Juror #3 myself when I was 15. It’s a good thing that school have adopted this film so heavily, as it gives students a good attitude about serving on juries. Serving an a jury, which is one of the privileges, not chores, of living in America.
Called for jury duty? Yeah, I know, it sucks. You have to put your job on hold, drive out to a large dirty building, sit, and wait, and wait, and wait, and wait. And you may not even be called. If you are called, you are forced through a dull questioning session, in which your prejudices are closely analyzed by the lawyers. You are asked to sit through all sorts of dull proceedings which the legal system has set up, but you may not understand. The questioning never goes as quickly as it does on “Law & Order,” and the facts may never be clear. But if you find yourself in a jury room, deliberating over a capitol case, or any case for that matter, remember the 12 angry men, and what it truly means to have reasonable doubt.
Ask yourself if you doubt, and then speak.
Homework for the Week:
Watch 12 Angry Men and ponder how it views the criminal justice system. Is it a depiction of hat is fair and just, or what isn’t? Do you think the justice system can be depicted on film accurately? How realistic are movies and TV when it comes to deliberation and justice? Have you ever served on a jury? Did you think of 12 Angry Men?
Witney Seibold is a featured contributor on the CraveOnline Film Channel, co-host of The B-Movies Podcast and co-star of The Trailer Hitch. You can read his weekly articles B-Movies Extended, Free Film School and The Series Project, and follow him on “Twitter” at @WitneySeibold, where he is slowly losing his mind. If you want to buy him a gift (and I know you do), you can visit his Amazon Wish List.
