There’s no shortage of qualities to praise about Anatomy of a Murder. The slick jazz score by Duke Ellington lends an element of timeless cool, while the cackle-worthy screenplay easily makes this one of the most entertaining legal dramas of all time, if not one of the most entertaining movies of all time. But underneath the hullabaloo of courtroom antics arises a strange truth. The regimented yet unruly system depicted serves as the mechanism that Americans trust to fairly administer punishment of convicted criminals, even though it often allows for misdirection, half-truths, and manipulation of vulnerable people.
Named “the finest pure trial movie ever made” by UCLA law professor Michael Asimow, Anatomy claims the title of the first film ever in which the entire courtroom process is laid out from client interview to discovery to the actual sentencing.
As viewers we cheer for Paul Biegler as he manages to foil the prosecution with his wit and simple country lawyer charm, but what’s really going on here? When we meet Paul Biegler, he has recently lost re-election to the office of district attorney and now spends his days licking his wounds and fishing. Broke and humbled, his decision to take this case will allow him to earn some much-needed cash and possibly save face with the public. It would be nice to live in a world in which Biegler defends Lieutenant Manion because he believes him to be innocent. But more than likely, Biegler may care more about his reputation than the fate of Lieutenant Manion. Skating a thin line of ethics, Biegler practically spoon-feeds Manion the only defense that may rule him not guilty.
The plot of the movie takes us on a whirlwind journey along with Biegler as he crafts his case and attempts to pull off what may be the best magic trick of his career – convincing a jury that the brutish Lieutenant Manion should be named not guilty of a crime he admits he did. Right and wrong becomes less important than which version you prefer to believe. Anatomy paints an ugly but honest look at the American judicial system and manages to craft it into entertainment.
Towards the end of the movie, one of the characters waxes poetic: “Twelve people go off into a room: twelve different minds, twelve different hearts, from twelve different walks of life; twelve sets of eyes, ears, shapes, and sizes. And these twelve people are asked to judge another human being as different from them as they are from each other. And in their judgment, they must become of one mind – unanimous. It’s one of the miracles of Man’s disorganized soul that they can do it, and in most instances, do it right well. God bless juries.”
A lovely sentiment – to be sure. Thankfully, any attempt to idealize the judicial system is ultimately balanced by a gut punch of an ending that rips off the rose-colored glasses. — Lindsey Dunn (2024)
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