Critical Screening

12 Angry Men was filmed, edited, and ready to be released. It was September, and we planned to show the film at the Toronto Film Festival. But first, Chris, Dave, Sam, and I were in New York, where we were going to show the film to a private screening for some top critics.

As we waited in the screening room, I took in the luxurious surroundings. The room was intimate, with plush leather seats arranged in tiers facing a large screen. Rich, dark wood paneling lined the walls, and soft, ambient lighting created an atmosphere of sophistication. I already recognized some famous film critics taking their seats, their faces familiar from countless reviews and television appearances.

"Ron and Tom are already in Toronto meeting up with some academy voters there," Chris said as we watched the critics enter the room.

"Better get that Oscar," I muttered before following them into the room, with the three following behind me.

We took a seat in the back while the critics all sat a respectable distance away from each other.

I looked to see Chris, Sam, and Dave looking worried.

"Guys, they are going to love it," I said confidently.

"You know, Danny, sometimes I wish I had your confidence," Dave said.

I grinned as the lights dimmed and the logo of Stardust Entertainment came on the screen. The film began to play, and the room fell into a hushed silence.

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Critics' POV

David Edelstein walked towards the small gathering of his fellow movie critics as he entered the screening he was invited to for the movie titled 12 Angry Men. He could see A.O. Scott, Rex Reed, J. Hoberman, and Peter Travers talking animatedly.

"Gentlemen, good to see you," David greeted them.

"Ah, David, you finally got here. I thought you weren't invited," Peter said, laughing.

"The traffic was bad," David replied. "Now, what's this all about?" he added, looking at the poster, which was displayed prominently.

The poster for 12 Angry Men was captivating. It featured the faces of the cast, each looking tense and contemplative, against a stark black background. The title was bold and white, with the tagline underneath: 12 jurors. 1 verdict. A story of justice.

"Hanks has been telling me how great this movie is," A.O. Scott commented.

"Oh yeah? Let's see how great this is. Written by some kid," J. Hoberman said skeptically.

"Gentlemen, let's not begin an argument. Let's watch the movie," David said, leading his fellow critics into the room.

They all sat down away from each other, maintaining a respectful distance. There were others there as well, including some industry insiders. As the lights dimmed and the room quieted, the movie began.

The screen lit up with the logo of Stardust Entertainment, and soon the opening scene of 12 Angry Men started to play.

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Rex Reed was captivated from the first scene. The film's tension was immediate as the jurors took their seats and the foreman called for an initial vote. He could feel the weight of their decision.

The camera work was meticulous. Close-ups of the jurors' faces highlighted their initial reactions. Rex noted the subtle expressions, the shifting eyes, and the nervous glances that spoke volumes without a word. The use of black and white surprised him; it was a bold choice in an era dominated by color films, yet it added a timeless quality to the story. It felt like a classic film, something that could stand the test of time.

When Juror 8, played by Tom Hanks, stood alone against the eleven guilty votes, he felt a rush of admiration. The calm, deliberate manner in which Juror 8 presented his reasonable doubt was compelling. The scene where Juror 8 methodically dissected the evidence, questioning each piece with quiet confidence, was a masterclass in writing and acting.

As the camera zoomed in on Juror 8's face, capturing the intensity of his conviction, Rex couldn't help but be impressed. The cinematography, combined with the powerful performance, made this moment unforgettable. He found himself on the edge of his seat, eager to see how the drama would unfold.

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A.O. Scott was struck by the use of black and white and the authenticity of the set. He felt like he had been transported back to the 1950s. The film's commitment to period detail was impressive, and the monochrome palette added a layer of gravitas that color might have diminished.

From the start, Scott found himself instantly invested in all the characters. The diverse personalities and backgrounds of the jurors were immediately engaging. He had initially wondered how the film would balance such a star-studded cast, but it was doing a fantastic job. Each character felt distinct and essential to the story.

Juror 3, played by J.K. Simmons, intrigued Scott the most. He was the perfect antagonist to Tom Hanks' Juror 8. The tension between them was palpable, and their ideological clash added depth to the narrative. Juror 3's forceful demeanor contrasted sharply with Juror 8's calm rationality, making their interactions some of the film's most compelling moments.

As the movie progressed, Scott found himself enraptured by the murder mystery. He was drawn into the case, piecing together clues alongside the characters. Juror 8's methodical dismantling of the evidence was convincing, and Scott found himself agreeing with the argument that the boy might not have committed the murder.

However, what captivated Scott the most were the characters themselves. He found himself loving and hating them in equal measure. The film's portrayal of their flaws, prejudices, and virtues was nuanced and deeply human. It had been some time since a movie had captured his attention like this.

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Hoberman found himself particularly invested in some of the characters, especially Juror 3. There was something about Juror 3's stubbornness and unyielding nature that reminded him of his uncle—a man firmly set in his ways. This personal connection made Juror 3's arc even more compelling to Hoberman.

The movie had so many layers. The interplay between the jurors, their individual backstories, and their evolving perspectives added depth to what could have been a straightforward narrative. Each scene peeled back another layer, revealing the complexities of human nature and societal prejudices.

Hoberman felt like this movie would be studied by generations of film students. Its rich character development, combined with its concise, single-location setting, provided a masterclass in filmmaking. The dynamics between the jurors and the escalating tension showcased the brilliance of the screenplay and direction.

He felt like he would have to watch it a few times to fully dissect these characters. There was so much to unpack—the subtle glances, the body language, the shifting alliances. 12 Angry Men, he felt, was a film that demanded and rewarded repeated viewings, each time offering new insights into its meticulously crafted world.

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David Edelstein had seen many movies, but none had captivated him immediately as this one did. As Juror 8 slowly wore down the other jurors, Edelstein felt the mounting tension, waiting for the final holdout—Juror 3. He anticipated the climactic moment, knowing it was going to be powerful.

"Rotten kids, you work your life out," J.K. Simmons, as Juror 3, angrily tore the photo, but then quickly regretted it. The camera focused on his face as he played the part perfectly. J.K. hid his face with his hands and fell to the table, sitting down and hiding his face.

Then he softly said, "Not guilty."

As the camera focused on the torn photo, everything fit together for Edelstein. The layers of emotion, the breakdown of Juror 3, and the culmination of the story were executed flawlessly.

'What a movie,' he thought, and all this was written by a teen; he could not believe it. He had to meet this young man.

As the critics exited the screening room, they all had one thing in mind. The movie they had just seen was a masterpiece.