The film received nominations for Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor (Dean Jagger), and Best Sound. It won Oscars for Jagger and the 20th Century-Fox sound department.
Witness for the Prosecution - ****
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In director Sidney Lumet’s first feature film, 12 Angry Men (1957), one juror asks another, “What kind of man are you? Who tells you that you have the right like this to play with a man's life?” The duty of a juror is to judge the evidence presented without prejudice or sympathy and render a verdict. The problem is every person who sits in a jury box has their own personal views regarding race, class, and gender, as well as their own personal problems. Reginald Rose’s Oscar-nominated screenplay (adapted from his stage play) does an excellent job of showcasing these very issues in this taut, dramatic film. Aided by brilliant cinematography, outstanding editing, and stellar acting, 12 Angry Men is an inspiring look at one of the most disliked and avoided duties of American citizenship.
Our jury is deliberating a first-degree murder charge involving an 18-year-old minority boy from the slums who is accused of stabbing his father to death. If convicted, the mandatory sentence is the death penalty. On the surface, it appears to be an open and shut case of guilt, but one juror, played by Henry Fonda, has doubts. As the lone holdout, he takes it upon himself to make the other eleven jurors (all men, hence the title) reluctantly (and in some cases belligerently) reexamine the evidence. Along the way we learn there are other contributing reasons for why they think the boy is guilty: racial and class prejudice, familial issues, and indifference. It is a searing analysis of what actually influences jurors to make the judgments that they do.
While I have a particular issue with the fact that all of the jurors are men (women could vote and thus serve on juries in 1957!), that does not damper my appreciation for how Lumet and cinematographer Boris Kaufman shot the film. I’m not sure whether they chose to use black and white film to accentuate the viewpoints of the jurors (everything is seen as either black or white) or because it was cheaper, but it works. The beginning of the film is shot with wide-angle lenses and at an above eye-level perspective. This cleverly depicts how distant the jurors are from one another on many levels. It also provides the viewer with the ability to observe the idiosyncrasies of each juror. As the story progresses and becomes heated a
s jurors start changing their verdicts, the film is shot from much lower angles and closer shots. These techniques heighten the drama and create an almost claustrophobic atmosphere.
With over 365 camera sets-ups and multiple angle shots, it is obvious that cinematography played a vital role in the overall production, but without clear, decisive editing it would have been useless. Having worked for several years on dramatic productions for television, Lumet knew the value of editing, and he and Carl Lerner expertly and concisely cut 12 Angry Men to create a smooth, cohesive feel. While there are a lot of panning shots, the film is appropriately cut at crucial moments.
All twelve actors give fine performances, but three stand out to me. Fonda is obviously the star, and he plays his calm, rational Juror No. 8 well, but he serves more as a moral compass than anything else. I’ve seen him play this part before in The Ox-Bow Incident (1943) and Young Mr. Lincoln (1939), so while he’s good here it’s not what I consider one of his standout performances. No, when I think of the jurors I remember Ed Begley (Juror No. 10), Lee J. Cobb (Juror No. 3), and George Voskovec (Juror No. 11). Begley plays his rude, bigoted part with just the right amount of anger and callowness. By the end of the film, when almost every man turns their back on his poisonous prejudice, he does an excellent job of conveying his character’s resigned realization that no one respects him or his views. Cobb’s
Juror No. 3 is violently vitriolic and difficult to forget. His vehement agitation serves as the actual pulse of the movie. And, finally, I think Voskovec’s turn as a naturalized citizen with an appreciation for the American justice system deserves to be recognized. His dealings with both Cobb and Begley are memorable, but it is his confrontation with Jack Warden’s Juror No. 7 that hammers home the importance of the jury system.
Overall, 12 Angry Men is an intelligent look at an important element of the American justice system. It benefits from creative cinematography and editing, and has an outstanding cast. It is a tad overdramatic at times, but that does not lessen its overall effect.
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| "Fluffy" from Pal Joey |
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But what makes Fellini’s movie anything but a tragedy is Cabiria herself. Despite a childlike exterior, Cabiria is undoubtedly experienced and intelligent. Rather than let herself become overwhelmed with sadness, she retains hope with a smile and a spring in her step. Soon after Giorgio’s treachery, Cabiria is on the streets with others in her profession, dancing to music. Even after another woman insinuates that Giorgio is her man and Cabiria attacks her, the woman’s fury does not linger, and before long, she’s once again dancing in the street. She sees the beauty in so many things, a woman who is proud of the tiny house that she owns and whose happiness cannot be washed away in the pouring rain. The title is certainly appropriate: as the night blankets everything in darkness, Cabiria stands there, forever shining brightly.
In 1998, Nights of Cabiria was restored by Rialto Pictures and was re-released in theaters. In addition to improving the overall quality of the film’s images, a seven-minute sequence with a character usually referred to as “the man with the sack” was included. The previously cut scene involved Cabiria, walking home alone in the early morning, seeing the man pull up in his car. Curious, she watches as he brings food and clothing to people living in what looked to be holes (translated in the subtitles as “caves”). It enhances the film greatly, as Cabiria meets a charitable man who seems to represent what she desires. Likewise, one of the people in the caves is a former prostitute whom Cabiria recognizes, and the woman, once wealthy from the spoils of her profession, is the embodiment of what Cabiria fears.
Federico Fellini had begun making films during the movement known as Italian Neorealism, which can essentially be defined as social commentary presented in a realistic manner (e.g., shooting on location, amateur performers, etc.). Certainly later in his career, Fellini moved beyond neorealism, with 8½ as a clear turning point, much more surreal than based in reality. However, even Fellini’s earlier movies rejected the notion of realism. There was a poetic and spiritual quality to his films, and this is prevalent in Nights of Cabiria. The film concludes with a violation of the fourth wall, a lyrical moment which gives the movie bittersweet closure, and just a little more sweet than bitter.
Notwithstanding the dismal dreams and recollections of a rueful life, Bergman’s film is encouraging, for the simple fact that Isak is acknowledging that his uncaring behavior is a character flaw. Furthermore, he is experiencing an emotion he has likely never previously felt: guilt. Perhaps for the first time, Isak is seeing how his dispassion has affected the people in his life. When Isak and Marianne visit his mother, the professor sees the coldness in his mother that he has shown to his wife, his son and his daughter-in-law. The elderly lady rummages through a box filled with items of the past, her memories nothing more than keepsakes. It’s a sad scene, but one in which Isak recognizes that he does not want souvenirs of his youth but rather the happiness associated with it. More importantly, he does not wish upon his son memories of sorrow and pain.
Thulin, Andersson and von Sydow were frequent collaborators with Bergman, appearing in a number of the Swedish director’s movies. Sjöström was a prominent film director in Sweden during the silent film era and directed a number of U.S. films (under the Americanized name of Victor Seastrom). He only made a few talkies before focusing his efforts as artistic director of the production company, Svensk Filmindustri, in the 1940s and acting in theatrical productions. This was the final film for Sjöström as either actor or director. He died a little more than two years later in 1960.
It is abundantly clear by the film’s end that Isak wishes to make a change in his life and hopes that it will spark changes in other people’s lives as well. The interaction between Isak and Miss Agda is pleasantly droll, but the most rewarding relationship in the film is the one between the professor and his daughter-in-law. They are the two characters who develop the most throughout the film, both stubborn people who gradually find contentment, shared and personal alike. The title refers to the wild strawberries growing in a field near Isak’s childhood home, but it is not merely a hint of childhood and nostalgia. The strawberries are wild because they are free, unburdened by regret and not restrained by old-world ways and traditions or fearing what is to come. They find their peace in simple existence.