MY MOVIE SHELF: A Time to Kill

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 154  Days to go: 109

Movie #284:  A Time to Kill

There are a lot of things I like about A Time to Kill — things I liked when it came out, and things I like still. The affinity levels may have changed a little bit over the years, one way or another, as I’ve grown and changed as a person, but not drastically. It’s a good film, and I get a lot out of it. One aspect of it that has always made me a little uncomfortable, though, is the closing argument defense attorney Jake Brigance (Matthew McConaughey) gives at the end of the film.

Jake’s client Carl Lee Hailey (Samuel L. Jackson) is on trial for killing the two men who brutally raped and almost murdered his ten-year-old daughter. The entire trial, Jake has been trying to get details of the rape on the record, and his closing statement is a perfect opportunity to do that unencumbered and uninterrupted. It’s also his opportunity to, as Carl Lee has made clear, say the thing to the jury that will help them relate to this crime. Jake, like the jury, is “one of the bad guys,” as far as Carl Lee’s concerned, and that’s why he picked him. He sees black people and white people on different sides of a wall — “However you see me, you see me as different.” — and he enlisted the enemy to make the rest of the enemies see it his way. It’s a cold outlook, whether you believe it has merit or not, and although Jake is taken aback by this admission (He’s always looking for someone to be on his team in this film, yet he finds himself repeatedly alone.), he uses his closing to giving a detailed and emotional accounting of the brutality Carl Lee’s daughter endured, while the jury, with their eyes closed, are meant to imagine it and picture this girl. “Now imagine she’s white,” he says, and suddenly everything clicks. Even the judge and District Attorney Buckley (Kevin Spacey) and Carl Lee himself know what an impact that statement makes. But does it? Or should it?

Essentially, what that statement boils down to — and what the entire movie is getting at, really — is that we’re all people, and yet we rarely see each other as such. I find that incredibly depressing, even more so because as much as I hate to admit it, it’s probably true. If there’s one thing being on Facebook makes clear, it’s that a lot of people have no capacity to look at life through the eyes of another person. The things we post, the things we share, the things we argue about and debate at length, all lead me to believe that more often than not we’re all so clouded by the lens of our own experience, we have a hard time accepting that other people, other races, other cultures, other income levels experience things differently than we do. I’m guilty of it myself. There have been many times I’ve struggled to understand how anyone could see something differently than I’ve seen it, or how anyone could hold onto anger over an issue that wasn’t that big a deal, or could prioritize something I found inessential. And yet it happens, all the time. How did compassion and commiseration become such specialized skills? How do we fix that? Certainly not by an impassioned monologue that promises if we can only see a black rape victim as a white rape victim, all will be well in the world. It feels simplistic and kind of insulting to me, and yet I appreciate the idealism of the thought.

I’ve never felt the way Carl Lee does here, that there’s a my side and a his side, but it’s entirely possible, too, that I live in a state of blissful ignorance on the matter. Being a woman, I know full well many of the prejudices women face as I’ve experienced them first hand. As a white woman, however, I don’t have that same connection to the prejudices African-Americans face, even though I know they exist. The best I can do, therefore, is to take their accounts at face value and work to correct them, work to dispel them. And that comes from following their lead on how they feel and what they want to accomplish, just as Jake eventually follows Carl Lee’s lead on how to approach this trial. So maybe it’s not perfect and maybe it’s a little too pat and a little too idealistic, but maybe it’s the best we can do, metaphorically: Strive to be better. I can get behind that, absolutely. Does it make the ending more palatable? I still haven’t decided.

There’s a lot more to this movie than that, though. There’s Kiefer Sutherland leading the KKK, and his father Donald as a broken old drunk of a lawyer. There’s Oliver Platt as the morally compromised Harry Rex, and Ashley Judd as Jake’s ever-sweaty wife Carla (I swear, they rubbed her in baby oil before every take). There’s the awesome Charles S. Dutton as the tough Sheriff Walls and Chris Cooper as the (accidentally) one-legged deputy. And then there’s Sandra Bullock as law student and sexy assistant Ellen Roark. When I was younger, I was really irritated that Jake and Ellen didn’t take advantage of that insane sexual chemistry they had. As I’ve gotten older, I really appreciate the restraint given their relationship. It’s super easy for two sexy actors to have sexy sex in a movie; infidelity is like a go-to plot twist in films of every genre. But for two characters to be attracted to each other and to want to have sex but to not because it would be wrong? That is a rarity, and I find it all the more commendable for that reason.

Of course, this being a John Grisham story, I once again can’t really speak to the plausibility of the legal things that occur. It seems to me a lawyer can’t throw an elbow to a guy’s face even if that guy tried to blow up his house. And if I was the one guy on the jury ready to vote not-guilty when the foreman took an informal poll at the restaurant, I’d probably go to the judge about him using the n-word, which at the very least should get that guy kicked off and might lead to a complete mistrial. And of course, don’t shoot anyone for raping your daughter. I cannot guarantee you’ll get the same outcome as Carl Lee Hailey.

I actually volunteered as a rape crisis advocate several years ago, which amounted to me going to emergency rooms whenever a rape victim came in while I was on call. I would hold their hands and sit with them and listen to them and just be there for them when all the other people (cops, social workers, hospital staff, etc.) had specific jobs to do and couldn’t just be support. I was called in once for two fifteen-year-old girls, one of which asked me to phone her father because she was too embarrassed and humiliated to. I called him up and told him what happened and had to talk him down from killing the boys who did this. I understand the impulse, but trust me: Your daughter will need her father with her, not in jail. If a girl’s dad ends up imprisoned for murdering her rapist, it’ll just be one more thing for her to blame herself for. I know the justice system isn’t perfect, and a lot of times these d-bags go free, but vigilantism is not the answer. Sorry, Carl Lee.

“There ain’t nothin’ more dangerous in this world than a fool with a cause.”

MY MOVIE SHELF: Runaway Jury

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 209  Days to go: 146

Movie #229:  Runaway Jury

I’m not a lawyer, but I do watch a lot of Law & Order. That said, I’m probably not qualified to evaluate the legal merits of the gun trial central to Runaway Jury. It seems a little shaky to me, but, again, that’s my completely unprofessional opinion. John Grisham, on the other hand, actually used to be a lawyer, so maybe he knows more than I do. One thing he certainly knows is how to build a tense, gripping legal thriller, be it about a murderous law firm that overcharges its clients, the assassination of a couple of Supreme Court Justices, a snotty kid on the run from the mob, a revenge killing in racially charged Mississippi, a predatory insurance company whose executives think its clients are “stupid stupid stupid,” or the hijacking of a jury trial for profit. The man writes slick, entertaining bestsellers that — for a stretch of the ’90s, in particular — become hugely popular blockbuster films. It’s hardly a character flaw; he has a lot of talent, and I like every single one of those movies of his.

When I was growing up, my mom used to travel occasionally to professional conventions or whatever. My senior year of high school, my mom invited me and my best friend to travel with her on one of these trips, in March when she went to DC. She would be in meetings all day, though, so my friend and I pretty much had the city to ourselves. It was an amazing time, but those are details for another time. Our last day there, however, as we were doing some sightseeing around the Lincoln Memorial and the Mall, we came across a line of police tape blocking our path. Tom Cruise was right there, on the other side of that tape, filming a scene for The Firm. I’m not sure why I don’t own that one, except for the fact that a Gene Hackman who is openly lustful and creepy is not the Gene Hackman for me. On the other hand, manipulatively plotting, villainous Gene Hackman is right up my alley. So I own Runaway Jury.

Hackman plays Rankin Fitch, a jury fixer working for a gun manufacturer being sued by the widow of a man killed in a shooting that used this manufacturer’s criminal-friendly weapon. (Like I said, I make no comment on the legal merits of such a case.) He’s working behind the scenes, feeding advice to defense (or respondent? whatever) counsel Bruce Davison, investigating and intimidating jurors, and promising a win for the gun company. On the other side of the aisle is attorney Wendell Rohr (Dustin Hoffman), intentionally spilling mustard on his tie so he doesn’t appear too put together in court. He’s got his own jury consultant in Lawrence Green (Jeremy Piven), who is remarkably not annoying, though he also isn’t up to any of the illegal shenanigans Fitch has going on. And at the heart of it all is Piven’s Serendipity costar John Cusack as Nicholas Easter (and others), juror number nine. He and girlfriend “Marlee” (Rachel Weisz) are fixing this jury for a payoff, but it’s possible cash isn’t their only motivator.

The film is well-structured and well-paced to give Nick and Marlee the maximum amount of mystery and intrigue as to their motives, without getting bogged down in their machinations. Information is alternately leaked and withheld for the purpose of pulling the viewer along and investing them in the scheme, without revealing whether Nick and Marlee are characters to root for or not. It’s a tricky balance, but they achieve it. Plus, Marlee is one seriously tough chick. I find the ending a bit convenient — a bit shoehorned in for the purpose of a feel-good resolution — but other than that the movie works for me. I like it, and that’s really all there is to it.

Plus, I always welcome the chance to see Dylan McDermott singing “Big Rock Candy Mountain.” It’ll probably be in my head the rest of the night.

MY MOVIE SHELF: The Client

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order, by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 308  Days to go: 297

Movie #65: The Client

John Grisham books — and by extension John Grisham movies — are comfortable entertainment. They are sufficiently thrilling and compelling and enjoyable without necessarily being challenging. This is not a dig at all. That kind of entertainment is neither easy nor unimportant to create, and Grisham is great at it — give credit where it’s due. I like of lot of the movies made from his books, to be honest. The Rainmaker and Runaway Jury are ones I will watch on TV almost any time I catch them, I saw The Firm being filmed in Washington D.C. back when I was a senior in high school and thought Tom Cruise was the be-all-and-end-all of male attractiveness, Darby Shaw (from The Pelican Brief) works as one hell of fake name if you ever need one (I am also the one person in the world not to resent Julia Roberts for saying “I love my life” when she announced the Oscar for Denzel, because I recalled that movie and how thrilled she would be to hand over a statuette to her old friend), and A Time To Kill introduced me to Matthew McConaughey as a whole new level of hot. Not all of these movies will find their way into these posts, but a few of them will. The Client is the first.

There are a lot of things about The Client that are weird — casting and plot-wise — but Susan Sarandon as Reggie Love is not one of them. Reggie is strong and whip-smart and nurturing. She’s in control and she’s a mess. She handles the insanely belligerent and rebellious Mark Sway (the late Brad Renfro, who was a breakout child actor at the time, thanks to this film), with patience and respect while nearly everyone else tries to strong-arm him and push him around. She’s a complete, well-rounded woman, and if you don’t think that was a hard role to come by  in 1994, then you weren’t paying attention. Hell, it’s a hard role to come by now.

Tommy Lee Jones is in the movie too, as Roy Foltrigg, and brings his usual high level of talent and commitment to his role. As a U.S. Attorney with greater political ambitions, he is domineering, slick, vain and clearly used to getting his own way. Leading his own band of similar male attorneys, he presents an intimidating force for Reggie and Mark to be up against, making Sarandon’s calm seem even more impressive. For her to essentially beat Roy at his own game is the film’s greatest triumph. (Granted, the film doesn’t have many, unless you count the implication that mobster Barry the Blade (Anthony LaPaglia) is sent to sleep with the fishes as a triumph.)

Beyond that, The Client is messier and more awkward than most of the Grisham films. The poor people are not presented as noble, polished, humble folk — Mark is angry and hostile and his mother (Mary-Louise Parker with a horrendously gnarled accent) is both ignorant and defensive a lot of the time, despite trying her best to provide for her boys. The prosecuting attorneys and FBI agents are not corrupt or malicious, but they are also not benevolent forces. Reggie has dark skeletons in her closet. Even the mobsters — clear villains — are almost sympathetic when they decide to get rid of Barry; he’s the bad seed, the one screwing everything up. It’s chaotic in a way that doesn’t fit well with other, more straightforward Grisham films, but that chaos is what draws me in. I find it more interesting than the others because it’s messy, and because the lines aren’t as clearly drawn. And also because if I ever need a lawyer, I hope I can get Reggie Love.