Anatomy of a Murder: Antique or Pathbreaking?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anatomy of a Murder (1959).

Directed by Otto Preminger

Columbia Pictures, 160 minutes, not rated.

★★★★

 

Americans like to believe that our justice system is mostly fair, especially when it comes to jury trials. Yet there are circumstances in which the verdict is open for conjecture. The 1959 film Anatomy of a Murder, though an old film, raises questions that remain relevant. I do caution, that as in most older movies, one must remember that today’s “normal” is often not that of earlier times.

 

Anatomy of a Murder takes place in the upper peninsula of Michigan and is loosely based upon a real case. A novel of the same name was written by “Robert Traver,” but that was the pen name of John Volker, a Michigan Supreme Court justice. Volker fictionalized a 1952 case in which he was a defense attorney. One of the most controversial situations for any criminal court, then or now, occurs when a defendant pleads not guilty by reason of insanity.

 

The movie involves a semi-retired folksy lawyer named Paul Biegler (Jimmy Stewart). Who would rather fish than lawyer. He is persuaded, though, to meet Army Lieutenant Frederick “Manny” Manion (Ben Gazzara). The facts are not in dispute. Manion walked into a bar and shoot Barney Quill. Biegler, though, thinks Manny was driven to blind fury; Manion claimed that Quill raped his wife, Laura (Lee Remick). Yet, given the statutes of the day, that’s not a defense. Biegler is reluctant to take the case until his former partner Parnell McCarthy (Arthur O’Connell), now the town drunkard, thinks Biegler should take the case. Did Parnell’s pledge of sobriety convince Paul to take Manny’s case, or was it that Laura is quite a looker?

 

The prosecution offers a plea deal to reduce the murder charge to manslaughter. At the urging of Manny and Laura, Biegler says no deal. The trial is presided over by visiting judge from Lansing named Weaver (Joseph N. Welch). His appearance is one of many surprises in this film. If Joseph N. Welch sounds familiar, he was the lawyer who took on Joseph McCarthy in the 1950s in one of the first televised trials. McCarthy was impugning the reputation of a young man who Welch knew was innocent. It was Welch, who brought down McCarthy with a simple question: “Have you know, decency, sir? Have you at long last no decency?” That moment spearheaded McCarthy’s downfall. In Anatomy of a Murder, Welch plays a judge with a sense of humor, but he also attempts to run a tight ship.

 

This 1959 film is sometimes said to be the first American movie in which the words “rape” and “panties” were spoken aloud. The latter might induce a guffaw, but not so funny is that until 1994, it was acceptable to cite a woman’s provocative appearance as a mitigating factor in sexual assaults. Laura’s “sexy” attire consisted of wearing slacks and going about barelegged! Biegler faced some pretty fancy prosecutors, district attorney Lodwick (Brooks West) and a polished advisor from the Attorney General’s office, Claude Dancer (George C. Scott). They are the kind of attorneys that you might conjure today, sharply dressed, erudite, and keen cross-examiners. Anatomy of a Murder at times reminded me of screwball comedies directed by Frank Capra. This is especially the case when McCarthy and Biegler discover an 1886 precedent in Michigan that allowed for an “irresistible impulse” to be cited as a defense.

 

Who will win, the down-to-earth team of attorneys or the slick guys from the city? The case will turn on a few special witnesses not the least of which is Mary Pliant (Kathryn Grant). As in today’s insanity pleas, psychiatrists testify for both the defense and the prosecution. Not surprisingly, they came to different conclusions! One of the expert witnesses is Orson Bean, who older viewers will recognize. Music fans will spot Duke Ellington in a scene with Jimmy Stewart. Another delightful part, that a Biegler’s wisecracking secretary is played by Eve Arden, another who was famous in her day. In other words, this is a heavyweight cast.

 

You can watch Anatomy of a Murder two ways. It’s either a laughable antique, or a pathbreaking film whose frankness helped alter how sexual allegations are today handled in court. It probably won’t settle opposing views on insanity defenses.

 

Rob Weir

 

 

 

 

 

 

Playing with Fire: Excellent Mystery, Terrible TV

 

So yes!

So no!

  

 

PLAYING WITH FIRE (2004)

By Peter Robinson

Avon Books, 405 pages.

★★★★★

 

I doubt I need to tell the readers of this blog that books are almost always superior to movies made about them. TV is a little bit more complex. We subscribe to Brit Box off and on. Right now, it’s on because we wanted to binge watch the excellent Shetland series, which is based on novels by Ann Cleeves. I liked the TV productions better. I was hopeful that the BBC series Inspector Banks would be equally good. Alas, no! Not even close.

 

To further test my belief, I re-read # 14 of the DCI Banks novels by author Peter Robinson, Playing with Fire. Then I watched the two-part BBC dramatization of the same book. I hated it! But to make sure I wasn’t overly biased because I loved the book so much, I watched a few episodes made from books I’ve not yet read. Same verdict. Part of it is that actor Stephen Tompkinson was unconvincing as DCI Alan Banks. His performances were so wooden that it often looked as if he knew he was miscast. He would have been better off playing a hard-boiled American detective the sort whom likes to throw his weight around. The problem is that Robinson’s Banks is both cerebral and on the world-weary side of life. He’s a music aficionado with a massive record collection and a near-photographic memory of who played with whom, which recordings are definitive, and can even recall labels and their catalog numbers. The genres seldom matter, as he loves rock, classical, punk, jazz, and opera. That guy isn’t Tomlinson.

 

I also fault the ITV’s production choices. Robinson’s writing is more subtle, even when presenting horrible situations. Playing with Fire involves a possible serial arsonist and begins when two canal boats are burned at their moorings in Yorkshire Dales. A burnt body is found in each. The first victim involves an investigation of its own as it was the home of a recluse surmised to be a painter because of the boat remains; the second is 16-year-old Tina Aspern, an emotionally damaged runaway who despises her stepfather. The first suspect is her boyfriend, Mark Siddons, who lived on the boat as well but spent the night in question in a pub and in the arms of another. He is wracked by guilt, both for his infidelity and for his belief that he could have saved Tina if he had been there. The stepfather, a doctor, is perfectly willing to believe that Mark, whom he sees as a rock-the-cradle freeloader, set the fire but Banks doesn’t think so. Is it because he believes Mark or that he sees something of his own son, Brian, in Mark? (Banks has long been divorced and his wife got custody of their two children. He has since been quite unlucky at love.)

 

Robinson gives us meticulous detail on how police investigate arson. Cranky egoist Geoff Hamilton shows how he knew that the first boat was set afire while Tina slept in the second one. That first boat’s resident was Thomas McMahon, who was indeed a local painter, but of little renown. This stands in marked contrast to the TV show, which goes for the gore, showing us McMahon’s charred body and Tina’s as a grotesque “floater.”

 

You name it and Banks’ life is complicated by it. Another fire, Mark’s preference for jail–he’s hard worker but also homeless after the fire–Tina’s stepfather’s arrogance, his own bumbled pursuit of DI Annie Cabot, the emergence of a possible lost painting by J. M. W. Turner, the fact that an old flame is dating an art expert who makes Banks queasy (or is it jealousy?), his sadness over Tina’s life (or is he projecting his daughter’s unsettled life onto Tina?), etc. In other words, the book is nuanced in every way the TV production is gratuitous.

 

As noted, I tried some other episodes as Playing with Fire is among my favorite of Robinson’s novels. My gut tells me that the TV series couldn’t (ahem!) hold a candle to the novels.

 

Rob Weir

Boomerang: Is Turnabout Fair Play?

  

 

BOOMERANG!  (1947)

Directed by Elia Kazan

20^th Century Fox, 88 minutes

★★ ½

 

I thought I had nearly exhausted the film noir collection at the Forbes Library until I found a listing titled “More Notorious Film Noir.” Some of them stretch the definition of film noir but if a movie keeps my attention, the label becomes secondary.

 

 Boomerang! is a film whose genre is debatable. It is a film noir or a crime drama? Some film historians call it a “docudrama,” a good compromise. This one dates from 1947 and is not the 1992 film of the same name starring Eddie Murphy. I remind you that it’s hard to copyright a movie title, so it’s not unusual for unrelated films to bear identical titles. The 1992 movie Boomerang was panned by critics and audiences alike, but the 1947 film starring Dana Andrews got three Oscar nominations. It was (and still is) an unusual production. 

 

 The “docu” part of the “drama” is that, with a few name changes, it parallels a real-life event. In 1924, Catholic priest Father Hubert Dahme was gunned down on the streets of Bridgeport, Connecticut. He was well-liked and the public pressured law enforcement to solve the case. A World I vet was fingered for the crime, but the States Attorney concluded that police coerced a confession based on weak circumstantial evidence.  The attorney’s name was Homer Cummings, who went on to become the U.S. Attorney General (1933-39) under FDR and served three terms as mayor of Stamford, Connecticut, before going into private law practice.

 

 Director Elia Kazan echoed that narrative and in partnership with cinematographer Norbert Brodine made a film that looked like a documentary. They shot gritty street locations in Stamford and courtrooms in White Plains, New York, used music sparingly, and sought to preserve realistic police and courtroom procedures. In the film, the priest’s name is Father George Lambert and the States Attorney is Henry Harvery (Andrews). Richard Murphy’s screenplay added political twists that enhanced the drama. The “Reform” party has just turned out a longtime corrupt regime. The title Boomerang! comes from unexpected turnabouts and the manner in which it forced viewers to weigh questions of “dirty politics.” A central consideration is morality of using comparable low tactics against corrupt powers in the name of reform and overlook those who hold party purse strings. 

 

 Harvey is, at first, anxious to prosecute veteran and drifter John Waldron (Arthur Kennedy) for Father Lambert’s murder, but the more he contemplates the evidence–lineup identification, a generic gun, a confession–the more the case smells like rotten fish. Methods that today that are patently illegal were not so in 1947. Now, the moment an accused person asks for a lawyer, all police questioning must cease. Waldron was interrogated for two full days, beaten, and deprived of sleep until he “confessed.” As in 1924, police and the new reform government faced strong public demands to catch the killer. At a preliminary hearing, Harvey advises that he has changed his mind and moves that the case against Waldron be dropped. A veritable lynch mob is turned back by the police chief (Lee J. Cobb) but personal pressure is applied by reform party boss, real estate mogul Paul Harris (Ed Begley). He’s even willing to (mis) use a donation for a public park made by Henry’s wife, Madge (Jane Wyatt) to threaten the Harveys with homelessness. Will Henry relent or do what is just? Which will prevail, truth or power? Popularity or real reform? That Kazan would raise such issues is ironic given his role as a “friendly witness” during the House Un-American Activities Committee* five years later.

 

The acting in Boomerang! is uniformly strong, but I must warn that the script has holes that sometimes makes it hard to follow. It is, again, a period piece in which many standards and values differed from those of today, though the power of money might ring distressingly true. Kazan’s film style is long on verisimilitude, but its lack of flash can be jarring for modern film viewers. It’s not my favorite docudrama, but Boomerang! is worth watching.   

 

 Rob Weir

 

 * Kazan’s testimony during guilt-by-association HUAC hearings led numerous individuals to be blacklisted during the Second Red Scare. When Kazan received an honorary Oscar in 1999, many inside the auditorium turned their backs on him. It did not escape notice that, when pressured, Kazan opted to save his career instead of following the path of Harvey/Cummings.