12 Angry Men (1959)

Title: '12 Angry Men' (1959)
Genre: Awesome
Rating: 8.75/10

Fucking finally. I sit down to watch a good movie, and it is just that, good. A friggin' great idea, clever direction, hookin' dialogue and 12 awesome actors. One angry man for each of the shitty movies I've been keel-hauled through over the last week or so. Keel-Hauled. For real. Do you know what that means? That's when the Pirate Navy has one rope tied to your wrists and another to your ankles, then they toss you over the bow, and try to scrape as many barnacles off the bottom as possible as they drag your thrashed ass to the stern. Deep flesh wounds and salt water. Try to experience that objectively and carry a tune. Can't do it, can ya? Just thank fuck this movie is waiting at the surface ready to give you the kiss of life.

This movie made it clear that I never want to get caught doing anything ever. You know what, bring on all that Aldous Huxley 'Brave New World' and 'Gattaca' (1997) shit. If it means I don't have to trust my life to a room of 12 strangers, friggin' come on in and start going through my photo albums while I pee in this cup for ya. Thanks, see you tomorrow... Or maybe a surprise inspection tonight, whatever my friend, everything is on the straight and narrow.

And this is from watching a room full of guys who can actually string a sentence together. Verbs, possessive nouns, the whole bit. Criminey, can you imagine if they made this today? You'd be lucky to have the foreman seated between a guy who's stoked to get out of doing a dumpster jump back at the local pak 'n save and some fattie who's trying to remember how many grams of carbs were in her beef nugget salad. And that's if you're not newsworthy. If you are then you are truly fucked. Because if the girl who was contemplating a Brazilian wax for her playboy spread and the guy planning his 'Judging Amy' cameo can't agree whose pencil belongs to who, then you might as well shoot yourself in the neck right now.

I don't mind telling you this film was a wee bit unsettling, and so brilliantly executed. Examples of exemplary in-your-faceness:

1. The actors. Holy Matrimony! This is the real deal. Henry Fonda's name is all huge on the slip case, so you know he's totally a big deal. I haven't seen him in anything but this, but this was enough. He was the lead train car on this Stud-Pony Express. Holy crap. Stop everything. He's in 'Rollercoaster' (1977)! Friggin' blow my lips off and call me sold. He is the goods.

Just one moment. Let's appreciate how much cooler German movie posters are...

The other actors rule too. But they probably aren't who you think they are. Like Red Buttons and Slugworth? I checked, it's totally not them. Just a couple of raging dopplegangers. Also, this movie has the raddest old man in the history of the wrinkle. When that guy's face fills the screen it's like the god damn rapture of black and white imagery.

2. The script. There's a structure here that will blow your melon clear off. I'd try to explain the friggin' symmetry and dips and curves and divergence, but I'm not a fucking wise elf, so blow. My head can't deal. The dialogue is as good as you're going to find in a movie. The scene with the racist dude gave me my first pubes.

It's so good that you don't realize that not one character has a name until the credits start rolling. That shit is crazy. Fuck.

3. The Director. Sidney Lumet. Congratulations. This movie is it. I need to watch it again. A second helping to try to spot all the different ways you made me squirm like a worm. Broken air fans and pit stains, progressive focal lengths and close-ups, is there a doctor in the house? For the lov'a the water cooler, save me a cup. This is the dude that hammered it home with 'Dog Day Afternoon' (1975) and 'Network' (1976). He's hanging out in the pantheon with Kubrick and Zeus.

If you're here for a recommendation you just found one.

Judgment: Rent to Own.