Jury Duty

 I recently experienced my first jury trial as a lawyer (we won), and in tribute, here are two examples of the genre.

12 ANGRY MEN (1957) (A) - The standard for courtroom dramas and teleplays, Sidney Lumet's feature debut is a master class in writing, acting and claustrophobic cinematography. It is an instructive example of turning a stage play into a film without it lying flat on the screen as a stage play. And it addresses issues of class and race in a way that still feels vital to this day.

The stellar cast features Henry Fonda as Juror 8, the lone holdout against convicting a teenager of stabbing to death his abusive father. He is surrounded by ace character actors -- E.G. Marshall, Lee J. Cobb, Jack Klugman, Jack Warden, Ed Begley, John Fiedler (Woody from TV's "Buffalo Bill") and Robert Webber (as the unserious ad man, Juror 12). Warden, especially, as the juror who is eager to wrap things up quickly so he can catch that evening's Yankees game, stands out while sketching out a subtly nuanced character.

You know the story: One by one, the others come around to Juror 8's side of reasonable doubt. Reginald Rose's impeccable script unwraps secrets and twists, each one as clever as the next. It's a utopian ideal in which logic proves persuasive. (Imagine that!) The men sweat and bicker in the cramped room. They casually toss out insensitive slurs. They get their dander up and do a little soul-searching. They understand the responsibility of carrying out justice.

You might wince at the idea of revisiting this 65-yeard-old artifact from another world. But as backward as it might appear to be -- it is, after all, 12 angry men; our jury in May had one man on it -- you'd have to have a hard heart not to be moved by the artistry and old-fashioned storytelling.

MY COUSIN VINNY (1992) (A-minus) - Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream. When they say that times were simpler back in the day, this is a good example of it. Alternatively moronic and clever, this fish-out-of-water tale tosses Joe Pesci and Marisa Tomei's New York goombahs into rural Alabama to rescue his young cousin arrested on a false charge of murder.

With an idiot plot wrapped inside another idiot plot, the movie requires you to suspend some disbelief early on -- sitcom-style -- in order to let the high-jinks play out. (Early on, there are a few plot holes you could drive a lime-green 1964 Buick Skylark through.) But once you do that, prepare to be entertained by Pesci's unprepared lawyer Vinny Gambini; Tomei as his straight-talking moll, Mona Lisa Vito; and Fred Gwynne as the gentlemanly and condescending judge, Chamberlain Haller. Ralph Macchio is the cousin who, in a case of mistaken identity (or railroading), is jailed with a buddy in the murder of a convenience-store clerk (as opposed to inadvertent shoplifting). Enter Cousin Vinny, who took years to pass the bar and has only recently begun cutting his teeth as an ambulance chaser. Who better to defend against murder charges?

The premise is goofy, but the cast has so much fun. The film was a prototypical meme generator in the pre-internet era. There's Vinny baffling the judge with his reference to the two "yoots" (youths) on trial. There's the banter between Vinny and Mona Lisa, who mocks him for thinking his cowboy boots mask his urban mien -- "Oh, yeah, you blend." And she schools him about the discovery process after Vinny thinks he conned opposing counsel out of this case files -- "He has to [give them to you]. By law, you're entitled. It's called disclosure, dickhead!"

 

Vinny -- sleep-deprived the whole week of the trial because of various local noise issues that occur before the crack of dawn -- nonetheless proves himself to be a quick study and a natural in the courtroom. He has the jury in the palm of his hand, and his built-in bullshit detector serves him well when cross-examining witnesses. And then Mona Lisa takes the stand as an expert witness with encyclopedic knowledge of classic 327-cubic-inch engines and four-barrel carburetors. It's all a hoot.