Review - 12 Angry Men

[Rhyme Astronaut]

In my most recent review (of Harold & Maude at Buck Creek), I confessed to a lack of understanding as to just how much a director is allowed to do with an unwieldy script. The rules of script licensing are a mystery to me, so all-too-frequently I leave a production with no real understanding of just how much credit (or blame) a given director deserves for a good (or bad) stage production.

As if on-cue, The Belfry’s production of Twelve Angry Men comes along and upends all my assumptions about what directors are and are not allowed to do. Twelve Angry Men offers a fascinating illustration of how directorial choices can affect a finished product – and leaves me even more confused than before as to a director’s proper role.

But first: the production itself. The Belfry has assembled a strong ensemble, most notably in the supporting roles. Daniel Shock is pitch-perfect as Juror #7, a loudmouthed lout who’d rather be at the ball game than deciding a young man’s fate. I’d say that Shock was under-utilized (he is always terrific), but his casting makes sense as the script’s few comic moments rest on Juror #7’s impeccable timing. Kudos, also, to Jeremy James whose turn as Juror #11 (the lone immigrant in the room) was quietly powerful. And, like Shock, he chose an accent he could master; it never slipped. Finally, a nod to Russ Clinton for a natural, believable performance.

Of the principal characters, Clay Mabbitt (as Juror #3) really steals the show, pulling off the best portrayal of this role I have ever seen. His self-righteous fury was so convincing, by the end of the play I was really hoping I wouldn’t run into him in the lobby. Yet at the same time, Mabbitt so artfully navigates Juror #3’s few moments of moral clarity, he somehow manages to make the character almost sympathetic. Simply superb!

Aside from the strong acting, the aspect of this show likely to elicit the strongest reactions from attendees – both positive and negative – will be the director’s decision to cast an actual, visible defendant for the audience to watch throughout the show. Having seen productions of the same show in Beech Grove and Tipton a few years back – productions which did not showcase a visible defendant – I can only assume that the accused is not listed as a mandatory character in the script. So does this mean the director chose to create this character out of thin air? If so, I am left conflicted. On the one hand, I feel compelled to applaud the director for stepping outside the box and trying something different; I am always in favor of pushing the envelope. But on the other hand, this upends everything I have ever been told about the role of a director in staging a licensed work. Setting aside for the moment the question of whether this was an effective choice, I remain flummoxed as to why this is a permissible choice.

[The accused (played by Brad Miller) paces, grimaces, and emotes in a very cool elevated, cut-out jail cell upstage of the action. When combined with the sleek, sterile, stainless-steel look of the jury room, this is one of the more visually-arresting sets I’ve seen in a while. High praise to the set designer!]

The decision to create the fourteenth character (12 jurors, the bailiff, and the newly-created defendant) might not be so jarring but for the fact that the director cast the defendant in such a way as to change the very meaning of the play. Without delving too deeply into its details, Twelve Angry Men is at its core an examination of prejudice in the hearts of men. By never seeing the accused (and given the pre-civil-rights timeframe), audiences are left to assume that there is a racial component undergirding the storyline. But by casting a white defendant with an (almost) exclusively-white jury, The Belfry’s production necessarily strips all racial overtones from the material. While in theory this might open the door to deeper, more interesting subtexts involving classism or jingoism, in practice it makes much of the dialogue (particularly from Juror #10) confusing. It likewise strips one of the more powerful moments of the play (a visual tableau of the jurors literally turning their backs on Juror #10’s overt prejudice) of nearly all meaning; can you imagine a room full of white men in the 1950s (or even today) so disgusted as to physically turn away from someone’s overt distaste for – what was the basis for prejudice against this particular accused? – poor people? immigrants? young people who shop at Sears? Me neither.

[ImagineTo Kill A Mockingbird cast with a white Tom Robinson. Sure, I guess you could do it – but why? In the end, have you improved the source material – or confused it?]

Yet while tinkering with the very meaning of the play in one respect, The Belfry’s production cleaves to certain other traditions. For example, the director chose to maintain the pre-civil-rights setting rather than pull the play into present day. In that same vein, The Belfry’s production sticks (mostly) with the traditional all-white racial makeup of the jury – an approach eschewed by other recent productions (both stage and screen) of this script. Similarly, a quick Google search will reveal innumerable productions of this show billed as Twelve Angry Jurors so as to allow for the inclusion of female cast members – an interesting choice which could add a fascinating subtext of gender bias to the group dynamic. Yet the director chooses to maintain the setting and the traditional casting. In other words, the director had a variety of choices available to her which could have altered the play in various subtle ways. Would any of us (myself included) be upset by an updated version with a more racially-diverse jury including some female members? Probably not. Then why does the choice to cast the defendant feel different somehow?

Likewise, the size of the jury room reflects another directorial choice which, in my view, radically changes the play. For those of us who still remember the 1957 Henry Fonda movie, Twelve Angry Men always seemed to me to be as much about the effects of stress-torture on group psychology as it was about racism in the judicial process. The claustrophobic quarters, the sweltering conditions, the implicit guarantee that they would remain trapped in that tiny room until they achieved unanimity – where many remember the movie as a laudable tale of justice triumphing over racism, I remember it as a cautionary illustration of how subtle stress techniques can melt even the iciest resolve. But when the jury room suddenly becomes 30+ feet wide and no one seems particularly uncomfortable except for the rare occasions when the script includes dialogue about the heat, suddenly this is a different show. Not necessarily worse – just different.

Whether good or bad, all of these were directorial choices – choices which lead me back to my core complaint/confusion from my review of Harold & Maude at Buck Creek: if directors are allowed to change subtext and character dynamic (by changing the racial makeup of a cast), if they are allowed to change the cast list (so as to accommodate newly-invented characters), if they are allowed to tinker with the core meaning of the play (by removing race from a play ostensibly about racism), and if they are allowed even to change the name of the play (to accommodate female casting), then should they also be allowed to cut scenes, trim lengthy monologues, adjust dialogue, or take other steps to improve unwieldy scripts? Why is one type of change permissible yet another will elicit angry bromides about fidelity to the author’s vision?

What do you think? Most of you will have significantly more experience dealing with directors, scripts, and playwrights than I, so please share your thoughts. What can a director do, and what should a director do? Does directorial discretion go too far if it changes the meaning of the play, or is that precisely what we want from directors, i.e., to challenge our understanding of certain scripts with new, novel approaches?

For me, the jury is still out.

[Snipas187]

I don't think you'll find a simple answer as to what the role of a director is. Edward Gordon Craig in his essay "On The Art of the Theatre" speaks about how things such as stage direction and setting written within a script are an infringement on the artistic creations of actors, directors, and mis-en-scene designers. And then you'll find the exact opposite in David Mamet, who will pull a show from production if he knows something isn't done exactly to his specifications. A lot of directors and actors will argue the importance to sticking to what the script says exactly. And I'm not talking about the lines, which this is generally always agreed upon regardless of who you ask (though line changes often do occur); instead, I am speaking of set design, stage directions, costuming, etc. This argument is usually about "respect" for the creator of the play and honoring that playwright's vision.

I know of several actors who believe that a director is an unnecessary part of a play and that a director usually does more to damage a play than help it. I think this idea stems from some director's refusal to play around with ideas and include others in the creative process of shaping a play. A lot of directors will become so fixated on their own ideas, they don't stop to listen to the actors whose unique perspectives can help to clarify, reject, or support the director's ideas about the play.

Every one of my teachers has essentially said to me that at least 70% of their job as directors is casting the right actors. The last 30% is spent creating the show with everyone's ideas and suggestions taken into consideration, and then once a decision has been made as to the direction the cast and crew want to take the show in, sitting back to help steer everyone to getting closer to that idea.

I think a director is generally in a better position to have formally analyzed a script rigorously compared to others involved in the show, and therefore have a huge voice in catching everyone else up to speed so to speak. Actors have to do this formal analysis as well, but also have to create characters and connect to them, leaving them with limited time to analyze a script on their own.

But to give an answer more suited to your original question: it is my belief that a director has the right to change whatever they want if it helps show an audience the seed and theme of a play, if it helps to expose the reason as to why the playwright wrote it in the first place. We have at our disposal tools that just weren't always around. Our modern audience, though they look and act like audiences of the past, have different experiences that may make it easier or harder for them to relate to the printed material. We have actors who may be able to perform a monologue better on a blank stage as opposed to having someone else on stage with them as the script suggests, thus allowing them to reach an audience's emotions more deeply. Or by completely redesigning the set one could cut 15 minutes off a long show, or keep an audiences attention (which is hard to do in today's fast paced electronic world).

Many people would agree, however, that above all what the director says goes. As an actor, whenever I didn't understand or agree with what a director said, if it's what they wanted, ultimately it's what happened. But I've had great fortune to work with directors who are willing to play around with ideas to find what works and makes sense for everyone.

And I should make clear that the point of any play, unless specifically stated by it's author, can be up for complete interpretation, and will probably have as many answers are there are words in the script.

[Daniel Shock]

I don't pretend to be an expert...

But, my take on the current production is to say that the character of the accused doesn't speak. No dialog is added. You could look at him as a set decoration. Totally within the director's discretion to add him. But, I do know that Ms. Ries, our fine director, notified the licensor of her intention and received no reply.

I will also add that this play has several different versions of the script. There is no definitive version. You might recall that the Spotlight Beech Grove production had significant differences. I don't know why there are differences... Google could probably tell me... but the fact that the differences exist seems to invite the director of a production to go further than they might normally to modify the content of the play to bring it more in line with their own sensibilities and or audience expectations.

[kries]

RA - thank you so much for being a part of our audience and for taking the time to write and share your thoughts about the production. First and foremost - thank you for your recognition of the very talented cast. Each and every one has worked tremendously hard and I am proud of all they have brought to their characters and this production.

I would like to address your questions around "artistic license" at least as it pertains to this production and myself as its director. I have had the vision of this staging for many years - and was very pleased to be able to bring that vision to life. I for one firmly believe that it is the director's right and responsibility to bring fresh perspectives to productions - otherwise we see the same staging over and over again. While the character of the accused is not named in the script - I have not introduced an unknown character. He is present in numerous mentions and is even seen in the original broadcast of the televised play. It is important to note that I did notify the licensing company of my vision and intention to stage the play in this manner so that we could proceed as planned.

As to casting the role as I did:
1. This is community theatre in central Indiana - and not surprisingly ethnicity (or lack of) always becomes an issue in casting.
2. Prejudice is an issue that spans many ethnicities - not just black vs. white. Having not walked in the accused's shoes - who can say what group he represents? And when #10 says "them" and "they" it should not have to apply to one specificly identified group. I wanted the audience to identify with the accused without having to pigeon hole the group - and I think I've accomplished what I set out to do. From feedback I've received - it started conversations and that is the goal of this particular production.
3. If, at auditions, I had a more diverse group of auditioners - I can not honestly say casting would have been any different. I can not say either, that it would have been the same. What I can say - with complete honesty - is that I would have cast the best auditioners for the roles. I did that with this cast! I stand by my casting decisions and I am proud of the show we have produced as a group.

Thank you again for your support of community theatre as well as for keeping the conversation alive through your shared thoughts after the show. Theatre should not end when you exit the show - it should continue to resonate and I hope the theatre I am a part of does just that.

Karla Ries
Director, 12 Angry Men

[DougPowers]

While I have encountered individual directors (not recently) who have been unnecessary or even detrimental to a production, I *never* think the job of the director--when properly executed--is unnecessary. Rather, I think it's vital.

Just as a director should, I think, strike a balance with the cast and designers between having no vision or clear approach to the script whatsoever on one hand and being a tyrant who entertains no collaborative ideas on the other, I think the director and the playwright must strike a similar balance.

With licensed material, I think there is an obligation to tilt that balance toward the playwright. As an actor, I strive to memorize my lines exactly as they're written, and as a director I strive not to alter lines or action. I don't, however, feel any such obligation to stick to blocking notes or set designs. The physical space of the theatre may dictate what is possible there, and as long as--for example--Character A moves away from Character B's attempt to embrace her I don't think it matters a whit whether she crosses down left or down right to do so (provided she does it the same way each time within a particular production).

Agents and lawyers may say that not a single detail of casting, stage direction, or set design is to be changed, and some of them actually mean it. But a play is a work of art, and as such it necessarily is filtered through the artistic sensibilities of those who realize it on a stage--the director, the designers, and the actors. That's just how it is. The central message is open to interpretation, and a good director will have a strong idea of the message he or she wishes to convey using the particular script. Elements that don't (significantly) alter the text and that serve the director's interpretation of the playwright's message and/or the ability to communicate that message to a modern audience seem to me to be fine. Substantive content changes, changes that are made on a whim, or changes that alter rather than interpret the playwright's intention are less fine in my book. How I Learned to Drive will never be a light-hearted farce, for example.

With public domain material, it's open season. Some of what people will do will work and some of it won't (I once saw a production of The Duchess of Malfi, a Jacobean blood tragedy, done on a set that looked like Romper Room, complete with a functional slide and primary-color paint hand prints everywhere. It remains the worst interpretation of a script I have EVER seen, and I hope it remains so).

The director should, though not all directors do, do a lot more than tell actors where to stand on stage. Whether you like the interpretation of a script or you don't, it isn't only the actors who have made it that way. It's the director too who bears some of the accolades or blame. It's true, though, that one of the best things a director can do for his or her show is to cast it well, and then communicate the parameters of the vision and get out of the actors' way.