BROADWAY SNAP-SHOT
by Russell Bouthiller

Dateline: November 7, 2004

TWELVE ANGRY MEN

Originally written as an early 1950s television drama and later adapted as a feature film which starred Henry Fonda, Reginald Rose's TWELVE ANGRY MEN examine the pitfalls and trumpets the virtues of the American jury system. In this first-ever Broadway production, brought to you by the Roundabout Theatre Company, Tony-winners Boyd Gaines and Philip Bosco head a cast of fine, colorful performers.

Directed by Scott Ellis, TWELVE ANGRY MEN takes a dozen nameless jurors from various walks of life and places them in a stark, florescent-lit deliberation room to hash out the merits of a murder case. They've all heard the same facts presented into evidence and they all have come to the same conclusion, save one.

The case focuses on an inner-city youth who allegedly stabs and kills his father. All the testimony seems to point to one conclusion. Initially, the jurors have no doubt about the evidence on the table. They want to quickly convict and get out of the stuffy confines of this municipal building. But, at the first polling, Juror Eight (Gaines) has a few questions and suggests they take a closer look at all the particulars before sending a man off to his death.

There is little mystery as to where this is going to lead. Juror Eight systematically debunks the supposed facts, slowly steering his fellow jurors toward his way of thinking. Rose has his hero not necessarily refuting the testimony, but questioning whether or not the case rises to that lofty legal state of "beyond reasonable doubt."

One by one, each character gets his big monologue as they flip to acquit. Juror Six (Michael Mastro), the lone ethnic on the panel, reconsiders his vote after contemplating the prejudices of others. Juror Nine (Tom Aldredge), the elder statesman of the group, changes his mind out of sympathy for Juror Eight's courage. Juror Seven (John Pankow) sides with a growing majority so he can catch a ball game. And, Juror Four (James Rebhorn), a businessman, caves only after some dogged analysis.

All performances in this fine company are excellent. Peter Friedman sizzles as a worked-up racist who collapses under pressure. Larry Bryggman enkindles the ardor of a Post-War immigrant moved by American values. Bosco, the panel's final hold-out, takes the gold medal in the closing argument. And, even though you can't help but hear Henry Fonda's echo, Gaines does a fine job at amateur sleuthing and avoids puffing up with virtue.

Scott Ellis directs Rose's take on crime and punishment with keen precision. As a collection of disparate portraitures, his performers come together and create a wholesome, unifying image that embraces a cherished American ideal. Ellis also keeps the design elements at an unobtrusive minimum, allowing the situation to dress the set. There is a clever element to Allen Moyer's design—the stage moves laterally to reveal a bathroom—that allows for a bit of fancy stagecraft. TWELVE ANGRY MEN, dusted off and still glowing, now at the American Airlines Theatre.