3 out of 5

Directed by: Nikita Mikhalkov

12 Angry Men is one of those story templates – people locked in a room, disagreeing on a central subject – that, like Ten Little Indians (and probably other ‘numbers in title’ concepts), can forever be interestingly remade, even if it’s not a true remake of the source.  12 is a remake, though, but recast as a Russian set of jurors, debating the guilt of a teen in the stabbing of his stepfather.

Something those 12 Angry Men variants do generally share: serving as an actors’ / writer’s showcase, as it allows for impassioned monologues and observations on any social ill you care to dither upon.  Nikita Mikhalkov’s version certainly does this, and though I might lack the proper worldly awareness to assess the impact of its rants, the flick hits its hitches when it offers its 2+ hour runtime to this indulgence fully: character spotlights for odd stories that sorta I guess say or prove something maybe I dunno.

To be fair, Mikhalkov, appreciably, isn’t heavy-handed, even when employing potentially obnoxious extras like a bird that gets trapped in the gymnasium in which our jurors debate, or some weird fantastical stuff with a trophy shelf that appears to have caught a particular juror’s attention.  And the flashbacks to the accused’s past and incarceration do not force a story upon us: they’re often wordless; have Malick-like surrealism on occasion; and feature impressively staged outbursts of action or gun violence.  Even the rather obvious method of writing explicitly different class types for each jury member (doctor; blue collar; college-educated; actor; etc.) proves much less obnoxious than an American take on the same would probably manage – the actors are quite amazing in fleshing out their roles, and the conversation, when focused on the case, ebbs and flows contextually realistically, and fascinatingly.  So it is a long movie, but it could have been much longer; for much of its runtime, it is an effectively edited, shot, and acted work of tension.

But there are those hitches; what we would consider Oscar bait, if that kinda thing was a motivation for Russian cinema.  (Is… it?)  The debate reaches for personal connections from each jury member, leading to some vignettes that are supposed to be powerful, or meaningful, but end up coming across as rather tired, and, like, what are you saying, dude?  Initially, these are interestingly odd additions to the formula, but then you glance at the runtime and realize we’re likely going to go around the room and hear something similar from everyone, and… yup.  There’s also a bit of post-debate fiddle faddle that, frankly, undermines what came before.  Part of the concept here is in the unknowing of certain specifics, and while said post- stuff doesn’t exactly put a clean ending on things, it feels like an attempt to placate, which is dispiriting in the face of a mostly spirited debate on the nature of perceived guilt.

12, even without awareness of the political / social climate that inspires its roles, easily manages to capture attention with its confident performances and direction.  However, once you’ve been through a couple of innocent / guilty cycles, the pattern of the conversation becomes a bit predictable and, in its excesses, hollow.