Thanks to the inherently theatrical nature of a legal trial, cinema has had a tight-knit relationship with the courtroom since its early days, utilizing (and sometimes, delightfully exaggerating) judicial fundamentals like a curious suspect, a sardonic attorney, and shouty assertions of “I object!” for stories that thrill, move, and inspire us.
We were reminded of the many slick pleasures of this subgenre recently through Clint Eastwood’s elegant and widely acclaimed legal thriller Juror #2, with a stylish premise reminiscent of a Sidney Lumet and Otto Preminger picture. And it goes like this: one of the jurors of a murder case (Nicholas Hoult’s devout family man) is the actual killer who unwittingly committed the crime in hand. But will he succeed in swaying the juror room that near-unanimously believes the suspect is guilty, without drawing attention to his own crime? And how will Toni Collette’s convincing prosecutor and Chris Messina’s resilient defense attorney shape the progression of the case?
[time-brightcove not-tgx=”true”]A deep skeptic of governmental institutions, Eastwood’s 40th outing as a director brings us a that rare modern-day movie, one that entertains, feels mainstream, but also asks weighty questions about the true nature of justice and fairness amid a flawed system. One of the best legal dramas of this century, Juror #2 will be streaming on Max starting Dec. 20, on the heels of a small and miscalculated theatrical release plan. And it proudly belongs to the great tradition of courtroom movies throughout cinema history.
Here are 20 of the genre’s very best across different eras and continents.
The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)
Carl Theodore Dreyer’s silent-era masterpiece features one of the most unforgettably raw performances of all time. With her soul-baring eyes (and just two feature screen credits to her name), Falconetti defines fortitude, endurance, and vulnerability for the ages, as her warrior-saint Joan of Arc—a 15th-century peasant who believed she was God’s chosen one to lead France to victory over England—gets tormented by religious court interrogators in a series of trials that eventually led to her execution. Based on original court transcripts and charged by innovative camera moves that find their hypnotic power in close-ups of Falconetti’s dignified face, this nearly 100-year-old classic is just as stirring today.
A Matter of Life and Death (aka Stairway to Heaven) (1946)
A brave WWII-era British bomber (David Niven’s Peter) falls to his death after forming an intimate connection with an American ground controller (Kim Hunter’s June) through his cockpit radio. But he survives through a cosmic mistake, falling madly in love with her in reality. A disarmingly optimistic wartime melodrama in both black-and-white and glorious color from the legendary British duo Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s daringly strange work follows Peter’s otherworldly trial that will ultimately decide whether he lives or dies. With an idiosyncratic sense of humor (Yanks get a coke machine in heaven) and a desperately romantic heart, Powell & Pressburger tenderly suggest Heaven and love are one and the same. Who could argue against that?
Rashomon (1950)
A landmark through which Akira Kurosawa reimagined what cinematic storytelling could be, Rashomon marries form—chiefly, immersive flashbacks executed with unparalleled finesse—with narrative intentions, following four curiously unreliable narrators recounting their own viewpoints and recollections of a rape and murder case in 12th century Japan. The quartet, made up of people from different ranks of society ranging from Woodcutters to Samurais (including one who is already dead and contacted by a medium), fiercely contradict one another, underscoring the subjective nature of perspective and the vulnerability of truth when handled with a side of self-interest. Rashomon is often cited as one of the greatest films of all time, and for good reason.
12 Angry Men (1957)
Recently lending its blueprint to Eastwood’s own contemporary noir, Sidney Lumet’s immersive procedural is set almost entirely inside a New York City jury room, where the temperature outside is unbearably hot, and the mood inside is several degrees more scorching. The case? A murder trial against a young inner-city boy, with Henry Fonda’s Juror #8 as the sole holdout who maintains his “Not Guilty” stance, slowly swaying the room to the suspect’s favor. Lumet’s blistering script both exposes the deeply classist and racist attitudes of the society, and underscores one of the major tenets of our judiciary system with intention. The point isn’t simply “guilty” vs. “not guilty”—to declare the former, you have to prove it beyond reasonable doubt.
Witness for the Prosecution (1957)
Billy Wilder’s shrewdly unpredictable adaptation of Agatha Christie’s play is among the finest examples of a courtroom whodunit, with intricate plotting and vigilant character building, culminating in a rewardingly twisty ending. The story follows Charles Laughton’s London barrister who takes on a murder case despite being of retirement age and poor health. Played by Tyrone Power in his last film role, the defendant is claimed to have killed a wealthy widow. It all comes down to the testimony of his resolute war bride, played mercurially by the enigmatic Marlene Dietrich—her taking the stand is an iconic cinematic event of its own right. Lies, deceit, infidelity, and the shape-shifting nature of truth, Wilder’s Witness for the Prosecution is infinitely rewatchable.
Anatomy of a Murder (1959)
It’s no coincidence that Justine Triet’s recent Oscar winner winks at one of the best legal dramas of all time. Otto Preminger’s procedural truly has it all: a wisecracking attorney (Jimmy Stewart with his signature alluring irritability), a cheeky judge “easily awakened by a good lawyer with a nice point of law,” Lee Remnick’s enthralling femme fatale, a canine witness, and a murder trial intertwined by a case of sexual violence, the discussion of which is ahead of its time. Even at 160 minutes, the pressure-cooker script is a breeze. And while there’s never any doubt about who committed the crime, Preminger’s masterwork of persistent camera angles and patient editing proudly lives in the gray area of a flawed justice system.
Judgment at Nuremberg (1961)
Abby Mann’s piercing Oscar-winning screenplay formulates a fictionalized version of the third Nuremberg trial, following a group of judges and legal officials who were prosecuted for their own roles in enabling Nazi Germany’s crimes against humanity. With its all-star Hollywood cast—including the likes of Marlene Dietrich, Judy Garland, Burt Lancaster, and Spencer Tracy—distinct visual style that navigates an exact replica of the real Nuremberg court through long takes and sharp pans, and heroic examination of political schemes with genocidal ties, Stanley Kramer’s timeless epic urgently unearths how deep the layers of culpability can run in corrupt governmental systems.
To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
Justice inside and outside the court is pursued relentlessly in Robert Mulligan’s graceful adaptation of Harper Lee’s literary masterwork. The story’s about a principled white attorney (Gregory Peck’s Atticus Finch) defending a black man (Brock Peters’ Tom Robinson) tried on false and slanderously bigoted sexual assault charges in front of an all-white jury. The whole affair is remembered by the mature Scout Finch, who takes us to her childhood (Mary Badham) in the segregated South of the 30s, when her young eyes witnessed both the worst of humanity through the racism of Tom’s accusers, and the best, through her upstanding dad. It’s a timeless heart tugger at the thorny intersection of morality and fairness.
…And Justice For All (1979)
An incisive satire of the American legal system that’s more dramatic than funny, Norman Jewison’s fiery picture earned Al Pacino his first Oscar nomination as a hotheaded Baltimore lawyer who’d rather punch a judge (and go to jail) than abandon the truth. But what happens when such a fair-minded public servant perennially on the side of innocent underdogs finds himself as the defense attorney of a judge who might be guilty of rape and assault? Well, you get one hell of a sequence with Pacino declaring, “You’re out of order! The whole trial is out of order!” Slightly overwrought (and much spoofed) it may be, but this is also the exact kind of rebellion one cheers for in cinematic tales of heroism.
The Verdict (1982)
A sophisticated character study interlaced with a courtroom case, Sidney Lumet and legendary playwright David Mamet give a washed-up Boston attorney—Paul Newman’s pinball-playing alcoholic, recently fallen from professional grace—a chance to bring the medical and religious perpetrators of a healthcare malpractice to justice, as well as clean up his own act in the process. The whole movie is touched by a ’70s residue of studiously brooding rhythms, grimy interiors, and sleazy characters—one, played by a razor-sharp Charlotte Rampling—and elevated by one of Newman’s career-best performances. Arriving on the heels of an intense and desperate pursuit, the victorious verdict resolves into a deeply human downbeat note in Lumet’s hands, one that rings as persistently as Galvin’s phone.
JFK (1991)
JFK is the Oppenheimer of the ‘90s with its paranoid nature, well-calibrated cuts, brainy exposition and the fact that everyone who’s anyone is in it: Donald Sutherland, Tommy Lee Jones, Sissy Spacek, John Candy, Gary Oldman, and more. The film’s over-40-minute trial scene doesn’t arrive until the end (the whole conspiracy-filled affair runs at a whopping 189 mins), but it’s instantly legendary, with Kevin Costner’s ardent attorney Jim Garrison arguing there was intelligence agency involvement in Kennedy’s ...
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