Ahoy jury of Cinapse peers, has it really been over a month since the last edition of Jury Duty? Sorry about that. These articles aren’t the easiest to put together. If you’re just joining us, this is the third and probably final entry of a short series inspired by my own recent jury duty experience. The general idea is that I watch some courtroom films and pepper in a little bit about my own day in court at the Johnson County Courthouse. Sounds fun, right? Feel free to read Part 1 and Part 2 to get caught up! Part 2 is particularly relevant connective tissue to this discussion.
In the last article, I did a pretty wordy analysis of Joel Schumacher’s John Grisham adaptation A Time To Kill, focusing in particular on the core racial themes of the film. I briefly mentioned, but didn’t expound upon, another aspect of that story which will be today’s overarching theme: that of the struggling lawyer. The underdog.
Most of us probably tend to think of attorneys in broad strokes as successful and wealthy, but that’s a false generalization. Lawyers often acquire massive debts to get through their rigorous schooling, then labor in unglamorous roles before gaining enough experience to find better work, start a practice, or enter into a partnership. Even then, there’s no promise of success. Too many losses can damage a firm’s reputation, and an honest, conscientious approach doesn’t seem as rewarding as being a crooked shyster.
A Time To Kill’s protagonist lawyer Jake Brigance (Matthew McConaughey) can barely keep the lights on in his office and pay his single employee. He has few clients, and difficulty in attracting new ones. His mentor, Lucien Wilbanks (Donald Sutherland), was ungracefully cornered into retirement — a situation which still angers Lucien and hasn’t helped curb his heavy drinking, or the reputation of the small firm now in Jake’s inexperienced hands. Despite being socially progressive, Jake is in no position to take charity cases — he simply can’t afford to.
In this respect, A Time To Kill presumably draws inspiration from a couple other courtroom films which share certain common elements such as a struggling lawyer, battles with alcoholism, and the recruitment of a retired senior partner.
Anatomy Of A Murder (1959)
Director: Otto Preminger
In Anatomy Of A Murder, James Stewart plays Paul “Polly” Biegler, a lawyer who takes on a crime of passion murder case. His client, hot-headed Lt. Frederick Manion (an impossibly young Ben Gazzara) claims to have killed another man in retaliation for the violent rape of his wife.
Besides the rape retaliation nature of the case, Polly’s situation bears more than a little similarity to Jake Brigance’s in A Time To Kill, enough that we can reasonably assume it was probably a direct influence. When we first meet his secretary (and apparent accountant) Maida, she informs him that he can’t afford to pay her. Polly spends most of his evenings with his older friend Parnell “Parn” McCarthy, smoking, reading law, and knocking back drinks. Polly considers Parn a great lawyer and mentor; Parn thinks himself a washed-up loser, but is eventually convinced to sober up and assist in the case. These plot elements are echoed in A Time To Kill with Jake, Lucien, and their assistant Ethel.
Anatomy Of A Murder rightly has a reputation for being remarkably forward for 1959. There are some profanities spoken, but more importantly, very candid sexual discussion in the courtroom. Because of the rape angle of the case, carefully worded references are made to such things as semen, orgasms, and a missing pair of panties. Perhaps the crucial key to this raw power is that Stewart, often pigeonholed as a warbly-voiced boy scout, was cast in the lead role: tough, smart, and quick-witted. One of his most famous lines was so memorable that it’s been copied and parodied since, including the Futurama reference from earlier: “I’m just a humble country lawyer trying to do the best I can against this brilliant prosecutor from the big city of Lansing”. This line, by the way, was spoken with a certain amount of sarcasm.
Part of the stated purpose of this Jury Duty series is to document how juries are treated in film, and Anatomy Of A Murder has plenty to say on the subject. It posits that jurors, by virtue of being real people applying intelligence and judgment, and having the authority to determine the final verdict in a case, can arrive at the right decision even when the law doesn’t necessarily allow for it. When one of Polly’s arguments is struck down as being inadmissible, Lt. Manion asks him how a jury can disregard what they’ve already heard. His telling reply: “They can’t, Lieutenant. They can’t.”
Probably the film’s best and most powerful aspect, not only with respect to this discussion of juries, but to its narrative effectiveness as a whole, is that the audience is the jury. Even though we want to side with Polly, his clients’ stories are highly questionable. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Manion seem to be particularly trustworthy or morally upstanding, leaving the viewer guessing.
Near the film’s close as our protagonists await the verdict, Parn gets a bit philosophical and observes, “Twelve people go off into a room… twelve different minds, twelve different hearts, from twelve different walks of life; twelve sets of eyes, ears, shapes, and sizes. And these twelve people are asked to judge another human being as different from them as they are from each other. And in their judgment, they must become of one mind — unanimous. It’s one of the miracles of man’s disorganized soul that they can do it, and in most instances, do it right well. God bless juries.”
The Verdict (1982)
Director: Sidney Lumet
25 years after his debut film 12 Angry Men, Lumet returned to the arena of legal drama with a larger scope in mind: to tell the story of Frank Galvin (an aged but dapper Paul Newman), a washed-up, heavy-drinking lawyer with a bad reputation and a losing record.
“His name is Frank Galvin. Boston College, class of ’52, second in his class. Editor of the Law Review. Worked with Mickey Morrissey 12 years. Criminal law and personal injury. Married Patricia Harrington, 1960. Joined Stears, Harrington, Pierce, 1960, as a full partner. Resigned the firm, 1969, over the Lillibridge case. Accused, not indicted [of jury tampering]. He resigned the firm. Divorced, 1970. Galvin worked with Michael Morrissey until Morrissey retired in ’78. Since then he’s been on his own. Four cases in three years. He’s lost them all. He drinks… The man’s an ambulance chaser.”
Such is the unflattering portrait of Galvin’s career, as painted in the words of his competition. Things seem to look up, though, when his old partner Mickey sends a slam-dunk opportunity his way: a medical malpractice case in which the doctors (and the archdiocese which runs the hospital) are anxious to settle. It seems like a straightforward, easy decision to everyone involved: to put the issue to rest, reward the victim’s family, and save the church from embarrassment. But Frank has a crisis of conscience when he realizes the victim, now in a coma, deserves justice as a matter of principle — even though the outcome can’t actually help her. Against good sense and the advice of everyone involved, he decides to turn down the settlement and take the case to court. The result will be his salvation or complete his damnation.
Just as Polly enlisted Parn to assist him in Anatomy Of A Murder, Frank convinces his retired partner Mickey to help him with the case. Mickey doesn’t understand what madness has seized his friend to embark on this crusade, but he faithfully agrees and works the case tirelessly. In what is either an astounding coincidence or a deliberate homage, a scene in which Frank and Mickey perform legal research in a library seems to mirror a very similar sequence with Polly and Parn: one partner is stationed at a floor-level table while the other peruses the balcony-like upper level for more books.
Frank is met by several setbacks which complicate his case, and has severe panic attacks as he realizes he may have made a huge mistake. His adversary is a highly resourceful law firm with deep pockets, a huge legal staff, and the ability to cheat and pull strings. All Frank has is his long-suffering partner and an unimpressive expert witness (Joe Seneca, who later appeared in A Time To Kill) who is knowledgeable of the medical aspects of the case, but lacks formal credentials which will sway the confidence of the jury. It’ll be an uphill battle for sure.
I started this series with Sidney Lumet (12 Angry Men) so perhaps it’s fitting that I should finish likewise. The Verdict seems a perfect film to close out this series. Our protagonist fights for justice at its least convenient and against all odds, and I can’t think of a better message with which to conclude.
Closing Arguments
After a morning full of jury selection questioning, my group stopped for a lunch break. Another juror candidate sat down at my cafeteria table and I recognized him as a man who had identified himself as a law enforcement officer during the interviews. For this reason it seems to me he probably should already have been excused, but he was still in the pool for the time being. We talked a bit about the proceedings so far and he eventually asked me about my hairstyle (my usual buzz cut carved into a short mohawk specifically for this day). I sheepishly admitted it was an attempt on my part to undermine my credibility, and we shared a good laugh over it.
Back in the courtroom, the interviews were heating up for the rape-murder case. Even though I didn’t want to serve in this jury, I took the questions seriously and answered honestly. The prosecution didn’t like my loose ideas of what constitutes reasonable doubt, and the defense took me to task — to the point of being argumentative, really — about whether prior domestic problems indicate a greater chance of a new incident occurring. Well, of course they do. That’s just basic correlative logic. That answer really didn’t sit right with him, which seems pretty absurd to me, but there you go.
Ultimately I was removed from the jury in the challenge process, which is when the lawyers take turns removing those who they think would be unsympathetic to their side, narrowing down the final 12. The crazy thing is I couldn’t even tell you which side nixed me. I’m sure I looked like a bit of a wild card to both but hey, I’m a complex individual.
This is the last chapter of Jury Duty, at least where my personal “court diary” is concerned, though there are many more courtroom films out there, so it might return in some fashion. My gratitude goes out to everyone who has read this series, especially those who have slugged through all three chapters. Apologies to anyone who didn’t like it; I’m just a humble Kansas writer trying to keep up with the brilliant cinéastes from the big city of Austin, TX.
A/V Out.
Get ’em at Amazon:
Anatomy Of A Murder — [Blu-ray] | [DVD] | [Amazon Video]
The Verdict — [Blu-ray] | [DVD] | [Amazon Video]
