Back when I did the AFI Challenge in 2018, I was surprised at a few films’ lack of inclusion, most notably 12 Angry Men. Now, the American Film Institute did add 12 Angry Men when they redid their top 100 list a few years later, but that doesn’t change the fact that the film was omitted from their original list, the one I used in 2018. I wouldn’t call 12 Angry Men one of my all-time favorites or anything, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a fine piece of filmmaking, a script taken originally from a television anthology series and set almost entirely in a single room on a hot summer’s day when there seems to be no relief from the temperature or the frayed tempers inside the room. I would actually argue the title is something of a misnomer–only one of the men is particularly angry for most of the film’s 90 or so minute runtime–but director Sidney Lumet knew his way around a camera and how to make something of the story, something that, I would wager, the television version probably couldn’t do.
For my rewatch, I found the film on Tubi, and something odd happened: the upper corner said an ad break was coming at one point, with the countdown hitting zero seconds, and that ad never came. What a pleasant surprise.
The premise of 12 Angry Men is simple enough, as explained by a judge in one of only two scenes in the film not set in the jury room or the adjacent bathroom: the jury has just heard a trial, a young man charged with the murder of his father, and they have a responsibility to weigh in with a verdict that will determine if the youthful defendant will live or die. For eleven of the twelve, it’s open and shut: they all vote guilty on the first round of voting. But then there’s Juror #8 (Henry Fonda in what may be the most humane performance of his career). Juror 8 doesn’t think the young man is innocent or anything. He just isn’t sure, and he’s taking the idea that the jury must be convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt very seriously. Likewise, he wants the jurors to talk about it. This doesn’t sit well with Juror #3 (the great Lee J Cobb), the man who is convinced more than all the others that the young man is guilty, something that comes in part from a strained relationship with a son about the same age as the defendant.
It’s probably worth noting that the film never actually says the young man is innocent. Juror 8 will say again and again that he isn’t sure. The point is more that they need to determine if the story they were told in court holds up when they look it over, and the film makes it clear that the prosecutors just didn’t prove their case. Juror 8 is even asked if he’d be fine with letting a guilty man go free, and his answer is more that he wants to make sure they don’t send an innocent man to death. It’s less certainty that the youth is innocent and more uncertainty that he’s guilty. Basically, if anyone caught up in the American legal system had their life on the line for something they didn’t do, they’d probably want someone like Juror 8 on the jury to make sure they were able to walk away in the end.
That said, I do have this one on DVD, and among the extras is a segment on juries where lawyer Gloria Allred made it clear that no lawyer would want any of these jurors on a jury. They either ask too many questions or they’re prejudiced one way or the other. It’s a great story to be told on film, but it’s hardly something that’s likely to happen in a real jury room. Juror 8 types just happen when someone slips past the attorneys during jury selection. They don’t go on juries in the real world because attorneys for one or both sides want people who aren’t prejudiced and will go along with whatever story either attorney is trying to spin.
But that’s neither here nor there. There’s a lot to like about this film, including the way the film sets up the different members of the jury with distinct personalities of their own. There’s Juror 1 (Martin Balsam), a high school coach with a paternal feel running the show, followed by the seemingly timid 2 (John Fielder), angry 3 (Cobb), logical stockbroker 4 (E.G. Marshall), slum dweller 5 (Jack Klugman), tough blue-collar guy 6 (Edward Sinns), obnoxious sports fan 7 (Jack Warden), decent man 8 (Fonda), experienced old man 9 (Joseph Sweeney), bigoted 10 (Ed Begley), dedicated immigrant 11 (George Voskovec), and finally the vacuous ad man 12 (Robert Webber). While at first glance, the film may appear to be a battle of wits between 8 and 3, all of these men do play some part. Some take more convincing than others, and it isn’t much of a surprise that the ad man is the only one to switch his vote more than once.
If anything, I could probably point out that some of these characters get by in part due to stereotypes about their respective professions. 11 is a watchmaker, and he sees things as fitting together neatly. 7 is the most obnoxious (right down to the way he’s dressed), and it seems to fit that he’s a salesman though what he really keeps bringing home is he’s more interested in seeing the Yankees play than anything else. It seems to fit that the foreman, with a gentle, almost paternal bearing is a high school coach, and I did come across some commentary recently that many films use “architect” (8’s job) as a filler for “average guy.” And of course, the one man who seems least capable of deep thought works in advertising. But the way the film progresses, as more and more of these men reveal what they know and how their lives have led them to where they are, their areas of expertise allow for more trenchant observations. 8 wins over 9 first as the old man has a level of experience and wisdom the others lack–and it’s fitting that the only two characters given names in the entire film are 8 and 9 when they briefly share them on their way out the door–but 5 can explain about what life in the slums is like while 6 will enforce decorum with the hint of a threat. 11 will hold 7 accountable when that man switches sides even though he is voting the same way 11 is at that point, and 4 will concede when his own glasses reveal something about one witness.
The opposing side has its moments too. 3 won’t give up until the end of the film, but 10 gets what may be the biggest monologue in the film, a rant about how you just can’t trust “those people,” aside from maybe one or two of the good ones. To the film’s general benefit (I suppose), 10’s prejudice is based on the defendant’s poverty and not his race. A brief glimpse of the frightened, silent defendant at the start of the film shows he is as white as every member of the jury. But the more that 10 rants, the more the other members of the jury get up and turn away from him, even the ones who still agree that the defendant is guilty, and it’s the most stagey moment in the film, one that doesn’t quite work for me since it seems so, to put it bluntly, unrealistic. If I saw that as part of a stage play, I would think nothing of it. Put it in a film like this, one that is at least ostensibly going for realism, and it just sits the wrong way for me. 10 is likewise the only juror to change his vote out of shame, but he doesn’t have much else to do after that monologue when he realizes he’s all alone with his opinions.
That said, I have a vague recollection of an episode of Happy Days when Fonzie was in the role of Juror 8 in a 12 Angry Men riff, and that episode’s lone holdout may have been holding out because of the defendant’s race, but that may just have something to do with the differences between a film produced in the 1950s and a TV sitcom episode produced in the 70s.
If I had to make an assessment on what makes this film provoke a feeling of, for lack of a better word, justice, I would say it is because for Americans like myself, or anyone whose country’s legal system uses juries I suspect, this is the sort of film that allows us to feel that our legal system works, that a jury of our peers will sit down, have a serious conversation about whatever case they just overheard, and come to a fair and impartial verdict based on the evidence presented. The truth is it may or may not work, but it almost certainly doesn’t work the way 12 Angry Men presents it. There is no breakthrough, when the last holdout somewhat reveals why he feels the way he does–I think it’s a credit to the script that it only implies the bad blood between 3 and his son without spelling out exactly what happened –but maybe stories like this one are the ones we tell ourselves to make our systems feel like something that works even if reality, sometimes, suggests otherwise.
That said, I am thinking right now I should track down the 1997 made-for-TV remake with Jack Lemmon as 8 and George C Scott as 3. William Friedkin behind the camera and a cast of character actors at least as impressive as the original does strike me as an interesting exercise if nothing else.
NEXT: I was working towards this entry all year: next time I cover the #1 film on Stacker’s list, 1972’s The Godfather.
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