‘Juror #2’, ‘Aattam’ and the enduring legacy of ‘12 Angry Men’
How these three films question the reliability of eyewitness testimony and dramatize the pursuit of justice
From left, Nicholas Hoult in "Juror #2", Henry Fonda in "12 Angry Men", and Kalabhavan Shajohn and Zarin Shihab in "Aattam."
Photo illustration by Ryan Quan
Words by Gayle Sequeira
Twelve men walk into a room. Disagreements turn into debates, and arguments spill over into pointed accusations—but all must reach a unanimous decision before they exit. Inside, the pressure intensifies. Outside, a life hangs in the balance.
Sidney Lumet’s 1957 drama 12 Angry Men is timeless, but in two recent reworkings of the template this year, it’s never been more timely. Like the original, both are as much an examination of men’s souls as an investigation into a crime, but the Malayalam-language drama Aattam is 12 Angry Men for the post-#MeToo era, and legal thriller Juror #2 captures the pervasive sense of disillusionment with government systems, particularly in the wake of the 2024 U.S. presidential election. Both films also detonate the notion of an “impartial” jury, implicating their jurors in the crimes and making the stakes incredibly personal.
In Juror #2, it’s only during the trial that the titular character, magazine writer Justin Kemp (Nicholas Hoult), realizes that he’s the one responsible for the death of young Kendall Carter (Francesca Eastwood), and not the accused, her boyfriend James Sythe (Gabriel Basso). A year ago, Justin rammed into her with his car as she was walking along the road, the sheer force of the impact hurtling her off a bridge. The low visibility at the time, coupled with a deer-crossing sign, had led him to assume he’d hit a deer. Now, he’s gripped by the terror of the truth being revealed. Unlike 12 Angry Men—in which the audience doesn't know for sure whether the accused is really guilty, and tensions arise from one juror systematically poking holes in what appears to be an airtight case against the accused—Clint Eastwood’s Juror #2 makes its guilty party clear early on in the film. This makes the final judgment all the weightier, and the leadup to it all the more tense. We don’t want to see an innocent man convicted, but the film also encourages sympathy for a guilty one shattered by what he’s done. Justin becomes the jury’s Henry Fonda figure, sowing doubt about the likelihood of the accused having committed the crime, but this time, also trying not to implicate himself.
Aattam, directed by Anand Ekarshi, swaps the courtroom for a stage, where the spotlight of judgement is no less harsh. When a theater troupe’s sole female performer, Anjali (Zarin Shihab), alleges that fellow actor Hari (Kalabhavan Shajohn) groped her as she lay asleep, their 12 other (male) colleagues find themselves cast in the role of jurors, deliberating over whether to expel him. However, over the course of the movie, Anjali is the one put on trial as they ask her to prove her case, casting aspersions on her character and her motives. Unlike 12 Angry Men, these jurors aren’t strangers, but friends who’ve worked together for years. But familiarity breeds contempt and it isn’t long before the group begins tearing itself apart.
Both films break away from the all-male cast of Lumet’s classic, enabling misogyny to become a significant theme. “Ask Anjali to wear her clothes properly,” says one of her male colleagues as they lounge around during a break, despite her being clad in a long-sleeved top and pants. The film then cuts to another troupe member, clad only in his briefs, as he prepares to jump into a pool, highlighting their double standards. In Juror #2, however, it’s the perception of misogyny that influences the case. The prosecution paints James as an abusive and violent boyfriend, an argument that seems to resonate with one of the female jurors, who says little but conveys the impression of forming her assumption of his guilt based on her lived experience.
A shot in Juror #2 lingers on an emblem in the courtroom that reads “In God We Trust”—the official motto of the United States—but just how much faith can we put in our fallible fellow men? In depicting a public defender (Chris Messina), who believes in his client’s innocence but can’t prove it, the film underlines how lofty governmental systems are ultimately staffed by imperfect, overworked people. Even the prosecutor (Toni Collette) begins having second thoughts about the seemingly sound case she’s put together when one of the jurors (J.K. Simmons) goes beyond the ambit of his job and begins investigating the crime on his own, prompting her to revisit it too. As Justin drives to court, there’s talk of the looming U.S. election on the radio, reminders to send in mail-in ballots emphasizing the consequence of a vote. Despite the corrosiveness of his guilt, however, he leans towards committing the sin of self-preservation. A conviction in the case means he gets to keep his image as a family man, and the prosecutor gets to uphold hers as a champion of women’s rights. Similarly, the theater performers in Aattam are merely performing allyship. It’s more important that they be seen advocating for women, whether or not they actually do. If the news of Hari’s assault got out, it would end the troupe—what female artist would ever want to work with them? When Hari offers to use his connections to help them take their play international, however, they’re too enticed by these monetary and career prospects to stick to the courage of their convictions.
Costumes and masks play a pivotal role in both films. During a Halloween weekend, Justin and his wife (Zoey Deutch) dress up as the subjects of American Gothic, figures intended to be seen as “survivors” by painter Grant Wood. Justin is likewise a survivor, having pulled through a car crash while driving under the influence in the past and turning his life around, and now he intends to keep surviving—even if he has to kill another man’s reputation in the process. In Aattam, the troupe’s masks of being good friends, of being upright and honest men gradually come off and they descend into physical violence. Dignity is yet another mask they’ve shed.
Justin (Nicholas Hoult) and his wife (Zoey Deutch) dressed as the subjects of "American Gothic."
Still frame from "Juror #2"
Both films ask whether people can truly change and, by extension, whether they deserve a second chance. One of Aattam’s performers recalls how he would have been ousted after getting into a brawl if not for Hari defending him. Does he not owe it to Hari to stick up for him now? Similarly, Justin sees himself in James, someone with a lot of baggage and hopes of redemption. His lawyer advises him not to confess because his history of DUIs would tip the scales against him. James is also a prisoner to his own image. He’s heavily tattooed, with a surname just one letter away from “scythe,” which reinforces the perception of him as a harbinger of death.
As these characters weather their personal storms, the weather itself reflects their moods. 12 Angry Men takes place on the hottest day of the year, the rising tensions exacerbated by the rising temperatures. The jury room’s sole fan doesn’t work. The camera captures the beads of sweat on the juror’s foreheads, their soaked-through shirts. Later, the torrential downpour comes to reflect the furious churn inside. Once a verdict has been reached, the jurors walk out into a clear day. The storm has passed. Likewise, in Aattam, the inverter at the home in which the deliberations are being held stops working, the sweltering heat symbolizing the boiling point these men have reached. When it does rain, it’s at a point of betrayal. As it pours outside, they wash their hands off the crime inside. The film then cuts to a stricken Anjali, the rain evocative of all the tears she’s holding back. Justin’s accident also takes place in the pouring rain, on Old Quarry Road, a fitting site for a man who’s hit rock bottom.
The broken fan in "12 Angry Men."
Still frame from "12 Angry Men"
All three films question the reliability of eyewitness testimony, with Juror #2 and Aattam offering up video recordings instead as seemingly incontrovertible evidence. But even those don’t add up to the whole picture. Is justice really blind or blinkered by bias and discrimination? Do some people only see what they want to see? The sound of the gavel resounds across cinema through the ages, but as these films prove, in art, as in life, there are more snap judgments than easy answers.
Published on December 27, 2024
Words by Gayle Sequeira
Gayle Sequeira is a film critic and reporter. Her work has appeared in The Guardian, Vulture, GQ, Sight and Sound, The Daily Beast, and more. You can find her on Twitter @ProjectSeestra.