Jenn & I picked up 12 Angry Men from the library this week and watched it on Sunday. One word comes to mind to describe it: flawless.

OK, so it did have a flaw: I didn’t feel the heat and humidity of the jury room as much as I thought might be appropriate. But that could just be me.

That aside, it was cinema par excellence. The film is about a jury deliberating over an apparently-clear murder case. 11 men vote guilty. One isn’t convinced yet. The rest of the film covers their attempts to convince him of the guilt of the accused, and his endeavor to persuade them that things aren’t as clear as they seem.

With the exception of the opening courtroom sequence and a handful of other short scenes (amounting to 3 minutes, according to the back of the video case), the entire film takes place in the jury room, with these twelve men. A simple set, really; a room with a table, chairs, and a fan. No fancy camera work. No ornate scenery. It’s the kind of film, though, that lives or dies by its acting and writing. The script and story were superb and the cast, headed by Henry Fonda, definitely made this film live.

12 Angry Men is about people, and the characters were real and convincing. Fonda’s unsure, unconvinced Juror #8, who is absolutely certain that they shouldn’t send a man to the chair without at least talking about it. The old man to his left, who’s willing to support him. The foreign (Italian?) gentlemen who sees the beauty of a system of trial-by-jury and reminds his fellow jurors of the sacred trust and duty, rather than inconvenience, of their position. The angry "public avenger" who wants to see "his kind" (kids from the slum such as the as the accused) sent where he thinks they belong. The quiet, shy juror in the corner who is easily flustered, but has remarkable courage when convinced. The guy who has tickets to see the Yankees at 8. All real, all portrayed to a T.

It’s a worthy film. I heartily recommend it. And it’s clean, too — 1957’s, not rated, no objectionable content that I can think of.