Where Are the Liberals? The Jury's Still Out

In 1954, when Reginald Rose wrote the teleplay 12 Angry
Men for CBS Studio One, he wrested liberalism from Joe
McCarthy. Judging by the way it was used in the most recent
presidential election, it’s time to reclaim the meaning of
the word again. The Roundabout Theater Company is taking charge of
this fight to save liberalism from being used as a slur by Rush
Limbaugh and Ann Coulter with its production of the Broadway debut
of 12 Angry Men.

The play itself is not a polemic; even its black and white
characters are fall into gray areas. Their debates about reason and
emotion, love and hate, law and order, justice and truth do not
produce answers on their own, but are instead carefully layered
until the accumulation of subtleties produces stark clarity. The
occasion for these debates is the gathering of 12 men in Jury Room
2A as they deliberate the fate of a young man charged with the
murder of his father. The evidence is unimpeachable: two
eyewitnesses, the murder weapon, and the erratic behavior of the
defendant.

Unimpeachable, that is, to all the jurors save one: Juror Number
Eight (Boyd Gaines). Three-time Tony winner Gaines is not a man one
would pick out in a crowd: deliberately spoken but slightly built,
he is not a “star” in the conventional sense of the
term. And that’s perfect casting for the manifestation of the
liberal conscience. He does not set out to own the stage, but
rather to absorb everything on it and then pursue the truth with
calm determination. “I don’t really know what the truth
is,” he tells the other 11 men in the room; the defendant may
even have committed the crime of which he is accused. “But we
have a reasonable doubt,” he says, “and this is a
safeguard which has enormous value to our system.”

Juror Eight’s chief rival is Juror Three (none of the
characters are named), a crusty, loud-mouthed zealot played by
Philip Bosco. One would hope that Three is not truly Eight’s
opposite, for if Eight is the conscience of liberalism, Three would
have to be the conscience of conservatism, and that’s a scary
thought. Three ignores the facts that don’t match his
worldview, in which minorities are “no good,” children
are “rotten,” and the death penalty is the only way to
rectify these problems. “You come in here with your hearts
bleedin’ all over the floor about slum kids and
injustice,” he shouts. “I’ve had enough!
He’s got to burn!” Bosco grabs the audience (and
occasionally his fellow jurors) by their throats and never lets go,
his anger becoming almost majestic in spite of his hateful
rhetoric. Logic, truth, and even decency are but minor obstacles
for Three as he pursues revenge.

The 10 other men in the room must decide whether to align
themselves with Juror Three or Juror Eight, and while their
characters are never developed far beyond stereotypes (the
obnoxious Madison Avenue adman, the impatient sports fan, the
idealistic European refugee), most of the actors manage to give
interesting performances. Larry Bryggman, as the idealistic
refugee, blends just enough humor with his otherwise pompous role
to make Juror Number 11 lovable. “What are you so polite
about?” snaps the belligerent Juror 10 (Peter Friedman).
“For the same reason you are not: it’s the way I was
brought up,” Eleven responds with just the right mix of
self-righteousness and self-deprecation.

Where this show falls short is in the production details: a
strange set and showy lighting distract fromBy Jared Spencer

Spectator Senior Staff Writer

In 1954, when Reginald Rose wrote the teleplay 12 Angry Men for
CBS Studio One, he wrested liberalism from Joe McCarthy. Judging by
the way it was used in the most recent presidential election,
it’s time to reclaim the meaning of the word again. The
Roundabout Theater Company is taking charge of this fight to save
liberalism from being used as a slur by Rush Limbaugh and Ann
Coulter with its production of the Broadway debut of 12 Angry
Men.

The play itself is not a polemic; even its black and white
characters are fall into gray areas. Their debates about reason and
emotion, love and hate, law and order, justice and truth do not
produce answers on their own, but are instead carefully layered
until the accumulation of subtleties produces stark clarity. The
occasion for these debates is the gathering of 12 men in Jury Room
2A as they deliberate the fate of a young man charged with the
murder of his father. The evidence is unimpeachable: two
eyewitnesses, the murder weapon, and the erratic behavior of the
defendant.

Unimpeachable, that is, to all the jurors save one: Juror Number
Eight (Boyd Gaines). Three-time Tony winner Gaines is not a man one
would pick out in a crowd: deliberately spoken but slightly built,
he is not a “star” in the conventional sense of the
term. And that’s perfect casting for the manifestation of the
liberal conscience. He does not set out to own the stage, but
rather to absorb everything on it and then pursue the truth with
calm determination. “I don’t really know what the truth
is,” he tells the other 11 men in the room; the defendant may
even have committed the crime of which he is accused. “But we
have a reasonable doubt,” he says, “and this is a
safeguard which has enormous value to our system.”

Juror Eight’s chief rival is Juror Three (none of the
characters are named), a crusty, loud-mouthed zealot played by
Philip Bosco. One would hope that Three is not truly Eight’s
opposite, for if Eight is the conscience of liberalism, Three would
have to be the conscience of conservatism, and that’s a scary
thought. Three ignores the facts that don’t match his
worldview, in which minorities are “no good,” children
are “rotten,” and the death penalty is the only way to
rectify these problems. “You come in here with your hearts
bleedin’ all over the floor about slum kids and
injustice,” he shouts. “I’ve had enough!
He’s got to burn!” Bosco grabs the audience (and
occasionally his fellow jurors) by their throats and never lets go,
his anger becoming almost majestic in spite of his hateful
rhetoric. Logic, truth, and even decency are but minor obstacles
for Three as he pursues revenge.

The 10 other men in the room must decide whether to align
themselves with Juror Three or Juror Eight, and while their
characters are never developed far beyond stereotypes (the
obnoxious Madison Avenue adman, the impatient sports fan, the
idealistic European refugee), most of the actors manage to give
interesting performances. Larry Bryggman, as the idealistic
refugee, blends just enough humor with his otherwise pompous role
to make Juror Number 11 lovable. “What are you so polite
about?” snaps the belligerent Juror 10 (Peter Friedman).
“For the same reason you are not: it’s the way I was
brought up,” Eleven responds with just the right mix of
self-righteousness and self-deprecation.

Where this show falls short is in the production details: a
strange set and showy lighting distract from the masterly acting on
stage. Perhaps the limited aesthetic possibilities of the play
frustrated director Scott Ellis, but his attempt to “jazz
up” the stage falls short. The set is equipped with bizarre,
unnecessary hydraulics, and it lumbers back and forth to reveal a
men’s room set adjoining the set of the jury room. Allen
Moyer’s scenic design is appropriately drab for a New York
City jury room, but is overwhelmed by its unyielding, well,
drabness.

Lighting designer Paul Palazzo seems similarly irritated with
these constraints, projecting reflections of sunlight on water onto
the ceiling of the jury room, creating a dramatic thunderstorm, and
turning on hideous industrial-strength fluorescent lights.

These weaknesses cannot, however, mask the timeliness and
importance of 12 Angry Men. The need for liberalism has
never been more acute, but it seems as remote as ever, and
that’s a frightening prospect.�� the masterly acting on
stage. Perhaps the limited aesthetic possibilities of the play
frustrated director Scott Ellis, but his attempt to “jazz
up” the stage falls short. The set is equipped with bizarre,
unnecessary hydraulics, and it lumbers back and forth to reveal a
men’s room set adjoining the set of the jury room. Allen
Moyer’s scenic design is appropriately drab for a New York
City jury room, but is overwhelmed by its unyielding, well,
drabness.

Lighting designer Paul Palazzo seems similarly irritated with
these constraints, projecting reflections of sunlight on water onto
the ceiling of the jury room, creating a dramatic thunderstorm, and
turning on hideous industrial-strength fluorescent lights.

These weaknesses cannot, however, mask the timeliness and
importance of 12 Angry Men. The need for liberalism has
never been more acute, but it seems as remote as ever, and
that’s a frightening prospect.