12 ANGRY MEN: 4K UHD Blu-ray (United Artists, 1957) Kino Lorber
Sidney Lumet’s 12 Angry Men
(1957) is a filmic exercise in American jurisprudence; a taut, emotionally-charged
glimpse into the legal machinery and even more intense backdoor haranguing
everyday citizens rely upon to maintain law and order in a peaceable,
freedom-loving society. But how fair is this system of checks and balances when
those twelve citizens chosen for the task of deciding a man’s fate have all
come to the table harboring built-in prejudices against the accused? A jury of
our peers? Hmm. As the argument goes…it’s the only (if not the best) system we
have. That isn’t saying much according to Lumet, who uses Reginald Rose’s
original one-hour teleplay, first broadcast on CBS in 1954, to explore and
expose flawed human nature, and how it alone, strangle-held by one man’s
refusal and defiance to surrender his principled doubts, is the only thing
standing in the way of another man’s destiny with the electric chair. In today’s
warped charge to dismiss common sense, decriminalize criminal behavior, ‘defund
the police’ and tear down virtually every the last vestige of civilized society
to establish a woke dystopia where angry mobs rule, 12 Angry Men adopts
an unintended picaresque quality as it seeks to extricate partiality from rationality.
The movie, like the teleplay
preceding it, is a no-holds barred gripping drama, devoted to critiquing those
passages in the Constitution promising defendants their day in court under the
presumption of ‘innocent until proven guilty’. 12 Angry Men was unique
for its time, in that it begins and ends ostensibly in the middle - the trial,
already over by the time the main titles begin, the fate of the unnamed
‘accused’, decided in an unprepossessing and thoroughly cramped jury room on
the hottest day of the year. A brief word about the set. Co-producer/co-star,
Henry Fonda arriving one afternoon shortly before shooting was about to begin,
flabbergasted by its cheap-jack painted backdrop of the New York skyline that
Fonda despised due to its theatricality. But Sidney Lumet, an alumnus of far
more stringent conditions as a TV director, nevertheless had faith in his
cinematographer, Boris Kaufman – a true genius in the art of B&W
photography. Hence, while no one could ever confuse the New York painted skyline
for the real McCoy, Kaufman gets considerable mileage from these theatrical
trappings, as does Lumet, who never allows Kaufman’s lens to move too far
beyond the distinctly etched and indelible faces in his cast - all of them, impossible
to dismiss. Virtually all the evidence debated in the next 96-mins. is learned
after the fact, or rather, inflicted upon the movie audience from various jury members
quick to add their own biases and distortions via interpretation, the chain of
events becoming muddled in this sweat box of rivaling egos. The verdict,
deceptively ‘clear cut’ at the beginning of their deliberations, proves
anything but as the conversation and disagreements arising from it loom large,
the presumption of guilt waffling and then, breaking apart under the
convictions of Juror #8.
Even in 1957, a B&W movie where
virtually all the dramatic tension is derived from what is essentially a single
sustained personality conflict, seemed like a gamble - and one, alas that did
not pay off in the end. For here came a movie in stark monochromatic tones -
mono to boot - at the zenith of Cinemascope, color by DeLuxe and stereophonic
sound. Removed from this epoch, 12 Angry Men is irrefutably bold and
ambitious picture-making. Yet, ascribing those standards to it now gives one
pause to reconsider what an anomaly even in the art of its own time it truly
was, a tour de force in formalized aesthetics, so sparsely on display, one
cannot help but to be mesmerized by its characters’ articulations in free
speech, even more of a revelation when one considers the stringency of the
production code dictating the do’s and don’t’s in that artistic expression. For
12 Angry Men declares itself the staunch proponent of choice, even as it
illustrates the narrow-minded principles on which too many base their
assumptions on little more than opinion rather than fact. Today, we have entered an era where only
opinion seems to matter, and, the results from that dangerously misguided point
of embarkation, plainly to illustrate our current steep decline in moral
judgement, acts as a counterpoint to this generation grappling with truth,
justice and the American way in 1957.
The critics then could see 12
Angry Men for its intrinsic value as a ‘message picture’ truly to pack the
proverbial wallop. Audiences, primarily looking for splashy escapism, stayed
away in droves. Even as live television on Playhouse 90, 12 Angry Men
did not have a particularly eager or widespread audience. So, the decision to
make it into a feature film seems even more daring – if, as misguided.
Nevertheless, Henry Fonda believed in it, enough to put up a portion of its
financing himself, along with his wife, Rose. Depending on one’s point of view,
the staging of the piece either exposes Sidney Lumet’s shortcomings and lack of
experience (he was, after all, a TV director with no movie-work to his credit,
as yet), or illustrates unequivocally a streak of intensity and brilliance
later to be exercised throughout most – if not all – of his movie career. A
little of both, I suspect, as Lumet is most effective when he lets his camera
remain stationary, allowing the actors to act (occasionally, in oddly framed
deep focus). To make the set gradually seem smaller as tensions mounted, Lumet
incrementally changed camera lenses with longer focal lengths, the first act
photographed just above eye level, the second at eye level, and the finale
(save a singular wide-angle overhead shot to conclude the picture) just below
eye level - a visual illustration of Fonda’s Juror’s increasing gains to win
the respect of his peers with an intelligent deconstruction of the not-so-cut-and-dry
facts.
12 Angry Men is a wordy
deliberation, a dialogue-driven battle royale actually, with Fonda’s
cool-headed theorizing pitted against the ruthless bigotry spewed by Juror #3
(Lee J. Cobb). Owing to a lack of funds, Fonda is, in fact, 12 Angry Men’s
one ‘name above the title’ star, even as others in the cast like Cobb,
Martin Balsam, E. G. Marshall, Ed Begley, Robert Webber, Jack Warden and Jack
Klugman would go on to have very distinguished careers thereafter. Remaining
true to Rose’s teleplay, Lumet and Fonda have abstained from giving their
characters names beyond the appointment for which they were chosen. Instead, we
come to know these twelve angry men exclusively by their personalities,
prejudices and demonstrative gradients. I suspect the picture’s implosion at
the box office had something to do with audiences’ expectations for another
Agatha Christie-esque courtroom drama and/or whodunit’. But 12 Angry Men
is not about solving a crime. Indeed, even the judge’s (Rudy Bond) perfunctory
instructions to the jury before they retire to deliberate seems to hint of a
foregone conclusion: the evidence pointing irrefutably to the accused having
murdered his own father in cold blood with a switchblade.
12 Angry Men is oft’ cited
for its almost Hitchcockian touches, its sparse use of a single set a la
Hitchcock’s own Lifeboat (1944), Rope (1948), Dial M for
Murder and Rear Window (both in 1954). While Hitchcock meant for his
movies to be confined to single sets, Lumet’s decision herein, apart from
stylistic, is predicated on the minuscule budget afforded him to make this
indie picture. Today, you cannot shoot a thirty-second commercial for $350,000.00.
But even in 1957, the odds of achieving anything better than B-grade cheese and
plunk on such a slim wallet of investment was barbaric and disheartening.
Again, used to working with a lot less proved not only to Lumet’s advantage,
but working within his element, herein relying heavily on his stellar cast to
sell the movie’s narrative through sheer force of their confrontational
interactions. That 12 Angry Men’s debut failed to garner success outside
of its critical plaudits was a disappointment slightly offset by the Academy of
Motion Picture Arts and Sciences unanimous praise. And yet, although nominated
for 7 Oscars, 12 Angry Men lost in virtually every category to David
Lean’s The Bridge on the River Kwai.
Plot wise: It is the eleventh hour
in the life of the nameless ‘accused’ (John Savoca) – a youth suspected in the
brutal homicide of his abusive father and whose life now quietly hangs in the
balance of twelve total strangers who shall decide if he is to receive the
death penalty. At first the atmosphere in the sequestered jury room is relaxed
– almost glib. Juror #7 (Jack Warden) even suggests that a speedy consensus
will leave him enough time to take in a ballgame he has bet on. Though Juror #1
(Martin Balsam) attempts to hasten the verdict along by a quick show of hands,
a single note of quiet dissention is struck by Juror #8 (Henry Fonda) who
cannot bring himself to agree with his peers, at least, not solely of thrift.
Juror #5 (Jack Klugman) can relate to #8’s apprehension. In the accused, #5
recalls his own tough upbringing on the wrong side of the tracks; a
circumstance beyond the accused’s control that Juror #3 (Lee J. Cobb) believes
is somehow paramount in recognizing his culpability. Juror #4 (E.G. Marshall)
seeks to reason the case by persuasion of its 'facts' – the most concrete,
being a knife (the murder weapon) that defense counsel has claimed is a 'one of
a kind' purchased by the accused just hours before the murder occurred.
However, when #8 produces an exact
copy of the weapon he bought at a local pawn brokers just around the corner
from where the accused lives, the rest of the jurors must admit evidence alone
might not be enough to convict. Thus, when #1 proposes a secret ballot vote -
the majority returns minus #8’s participation contains yet another vote to
acquit rather than convict; this time from Juror #9 (Joseph Sweeney). For
bigoted Juror #10 (Ed Bagley) this new revelation plays more like superficial
grandstanding. He despises #8 for his foresight and wherewithal in
investigating the case beyond the sequence of events presented at trial.
Furthermore, #10, backed by #3 and #4 suggests the teen’s alibi is awash in
contradictions, not the least that he claims to have been at the movies at the
time of the killing, but cannot recall the specifics about the films he reports
to have watched. There is much more to this textually rich and melodramatically
dense exercise, best left to be discovered by the first-time viewer. Suffice it
to say, despite its confinement and lack of scenery, Lumet’s concentration on
his actors is well-intended and even more precisely orchestrated for maximum
intensity.
12 Angry Men is never dull,
if for no other reason – than its high stakes deliberation occurs each and
every day in a free-thinking, law-abiding world. The film, therefore, may very
well be a snapshot of the process by which complete strangers define innocence
or guilt. Henry Fonda is the right choice to play Juror #8, adding an air of
nobility to this otherwise flock of sheep. Fonda’s great gift to the movies in
general – and this one in particular – has always been his reserved ‘every
man’s’ majesty. Fonda’s juror is a solitary man, never petty, a critical,
free-thinker who places rationale ahead of terse reactions, either self-doubt
or the frustrated condemnation of his peers who would decidedly rather be
elsewhere. Fonda’s #8 keeps the others in perfect balance, the more gregarious
Lee J. Cobb and deliberately whiny and fear-mongering Ed Begley, the veritable
antithesis of his stoic rectitude. Viewed today, 12 Angry Men is a
reality check for our misguided approach to justice - an absorbing drama
exposing how even the slightest miscalculation minus a catalyst like Fonda’s
Juror #8 can derail the altruism and fairness of the legal system.
Several years ago, Criterion
brought forth a Blu-ray incarnation of Lumet’s classic to boast an impressive
1080p transfer – albeit, revealing the cost-cutting nature of the production’s
original budget with amply advanced black levels, good, solid tonality in its
grey scale and a modicum of film grain looking indigenous to its source. Flash
forward to today and Kino Lorber’s newly minted 4K release. It has oft been
suggested 4K does not benefit B&W movies. Au contraire, there have been
several glowing 4K releases of B&W movies to reveal otherwise. Alas, 12
Angry Men is not among them. Despite being culled from a new 4K master from
an original camera negative, and while the image does tighten up with advanced
film grain adding texture as originally intended, the sum total of these ‘improvements’
do not represent enough of an uptick to get one’s knickers in a ball. On
monitors less than 80 inches, this 4K and Criterion’s retired Blu-ray look on
par. Both appear dark, grainy and solid. Grain density is amplified in 4K, and,
better resolved – a definite plus. But again, unless you are viewing this disc
in projection, you will be hard pressed to notice the difference. The audio is
DTS 1.0 mono. It was PCM 1.0 mono on the Criterion. Sonically, they are
indistinguishable and presented at an adequate listening level. The 4K contains
a newly recorded audio commentary from filmmaker, Gary Gerani, as well as a
vintage commentary from historian, Drew Casper. This was inexplicably absent
from Criterion’s release. On the Blu-ray included with this 4K edition we get
the 1997 remake by William Friedkin, starring Jack Lemmon in the Fonda role. It’s
an ‘okay’ update at best. Finally, there is a ‘making of’ documentary and
featurette, and, a theatrical trailer for consideration. Bottom line: 12
Angry Men was a potent picture of its time that looks only marginally
better on 4K than it does on standard Blu. Judge and buy accordingly.
FILM RATING (out
of 5 – 5 being the best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
3
EXTRAS
3.5
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