When Samuel Jackson’s hardworking black mill worker guns down in cold blood the two white trash low-lifes who, high on dope and booze, raped, tortured and tried to murder his ten-year-old daughter, we are meant to cheer.
The trouble is, the film tells us, that because of latent Deep Southern racism, those two white men would most likely have walked out of court free men when they were brought to trial. So at least the murders ensured that ‘justice was done’. If only. Arguably a great deal of harm would be done — remember, this is complete fiction — to justice and the rule of law had that cold-blooded murderer been allowed to walk free.
Enter Mathew McConaughey’s young, reasonably idealistic young lawyer who takes on the case of trying to defend Jackson because he, too, has a young daughter, and he, too, could see himself doing exactly the same to anyone who did her harm.
McConaughey’s first and only strategy is to argue that Jackson was temporarily insane when he gunned down the two white trash (in the courthouse in front of quite a crowd), but he comes unstuck when Kevin Spacey’s ruthlessly
But anyway, the jury – white to a man and woman - were anxious to get home, and unbeknown to everyone – except us, the viewer, who listens in as they plot – determine to find Jackson guilty come what may and get back to their white picket fences and cosy lives.
However, justice – or rather Tinseltown’s fake take on justice – prevails, and a last-minute, thoroughly lachrymose summation by our idealistic young lawyer wins the day, wins over the jury, the white biased judge and even the cynically ambitious DA. Jackson walks free, even though he had — and had admitted he had — murdered two men in cold blood. Well, as we say in my neck of the woods, pass the sick-bag.
Just before starting to write this review, I looked up the statistics of blacks banged up in US jails. It seems that although they make up just around 13pc of the US population, they make up a staggering 40pc of prison inmates. I bet they wished they had a handful of cynical Hollywood producers and director Joel Schumacher around to ensure their brush with the law also got a happy ending.
As it is, they can dream on because it ain’t going to happen. Oh, and another statistic: with 2.1 million of its citizens banged up in jail, the US has a higher proportion of its citizens behind bars than any other country in the world. It makes the US proud boast of being ‘the land of the free’ look rather threadbare.
The film’s cockeyed view of what justice is and how the lot of the black man can apparently be ameliorated in just under ten minutes with the help of a good script and a couple of talented actors is not its only fault.
At the end of the day and despite high production values – Kevin Spacey, Samuel Jackson, Mathew McConaughey, Sandra Bullock and Donald and Kiefer Sutherland don’t come cheap – it is lazily and sloppily made. Every single character is at best two-dimensional and could have been played by anyone. Some characters are even, at the end of the day, redundant.
We don’t actually need either one of the Sutherlands to get the film moving. The entire film is shockingly formulaic, with the ‘plot’ so well-worn and hackneyed, you can get them four for a dollar at Walmart, Asda or the superstor of your choice.
Plot points are thrown in and forgotten – the Ku Klux Klan, long thought dead and gone, not rise from the dead after many years, but burn down a house and hold a public demonstration in the streets. Yet they play little further part in the proceedings, even though the town of Canton where it all takes place, is flooded with National Guard armed to the teeth.
There’s a curious sub-plot where the idealistic lawyer almost – almost – has an affair with Sandra Bullock’s brainy law intern even though he loves his wife and his family deeply. And Donald Sutherland is totally redundant. All he does is, unconvincingly, play a one-time hell of a lawyer who is now disbarred and an alcoholic.
He is consulted once or twice by the young idealist, and despite once vowing never to enter a courtroom again – don’t you know it – he does turn up to witness the idealist rousing summation. Clichéd claptrap.
I have to admit that there is a sufficient number of numbskulls out there who will read the review and having seen the film will wonder ‘what the hell is he talking about! It was marvellous! Gripping! Moveing!’ But no it wasn’t, it is cack.
You will have seen this film, whether in the cinema or on TV, several hundred times before. And if you like this kind of schlock, don’t worry – it follows its inevitable path to the letter and you won’t be disappointed.
Me, I didn’t like it at all, and only watched it to the end knowing that its dishonesty irritated me so much that I would be writing a review and felt I had to see the whole film. This is not good film-making in the slightest. It is Friday night fodder. Even the film’s title is gratuitous rubbish: what does it mean? What does it refer to?
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