Kramer Vs Kramer (1979) dir. Robert Benton
While many courtroom dramas focus on social issues impacting the world on a grand scale, I believe the most effective focus is on smaller, everyday legal issues. While it was incredibly impactful to see such a catastrophic case in ‘Trial Of The Chicago Seven’ and it was heartbreaking to go through McConaughey’s closing speech in ‘A Time To Kill’, I feel ‘Kramer Vs Kramer’ is a vital entry to the genre. Focusing on the custody case between Billy’s mum and dad, the film shines a light on just how toxic a family matter can become.
On my first watch, it was love at first sight. So much so that when Noah Baumbach’s ‘Marriage Story’ came out, I was too quick to call it a rip-off. Reflecting on both films now, they focus on different aspects of divorce and child custody. While ‘Marriage Story’ focuses more on the couple’s hurt and reciprocated love for each other, slowly corrupting what should be a fairly simple transaction, ‘Kramer Vs Kramer’ focuses more on the impact of the child/children birthed during that relationship. We don’t see much of Azhy Robertson as Adam Driver and Scarlett Johannson get down and dirty with legal tactics but we see a hell of a lot more of Justin Henry as Dustin Hoffman and Meryl Streep get lethal with their testimonies. Director Robert Benton makes it painfully clear that (to paraphrase ‘Platoon’s tagline) the first casualty of divorce is innocence. Marriage is only the second.
Ted Kramer comes home one night after the best workday of his life to find his partner, Joanna, leaving him and their son Billy to find herself after suffering in their marriage. Ted struggles to find a proper work/family balance as he becomes a single father, always disappointing Billy or his boss and sometimes both. As Ted gets the hang of it, Joanna returns, wanting Billy back, to which Ted lawyers up and prepares to fight for full custody, calling Joanna an unfit mother. As the trial progresses, the lawyers waste no time arguing viciously and unfairly and we’re left to wonder how this will leave Billy as a child of divorce.
I hardly believe I need to justify the actors when each of the main actors were nominated for Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor and Best Supporting Actress, with Justin Henry being the youngest actor to be nominated in his category at the age of 8. You couldn’t ask for a better actor for Billy than Henry, he makes you tear up in almost every one of his scenes. His whimpering as he’s getting stitches is so realistic, you want to reach into the screen and cuddle him, telling him it’ll all be alright.
Dustin Hoffman is always a pleasure to see, he paints a nice portrait of a conflicted father, always questioning his moves. It’s beautiful to see his transformation from a “just the basics” father to someone who genuinely enjoys taking time for their child. While you won’t be on his side at the start, you’ll certainly be rooting for him by the end.
Meryl Streep plays Joanna and does a great job portraying her as neither a hero nor a villain. It’s important to understand that any of us can find ourselves in Joanna’s position, looking for some kind of guidance or purpose. Hell, I’m in my 20s, sometimes I feel that way too, but though it’s easy to point the finger, saying she walked on her child and that’s unforgivable, she left Billy in the hands of a man who was supposed to be his father. Joanna’s an easy target, but I believe Streep successfully shows that she’s an every-person.
Mason’s Top 3 Reasons to Watch ‘Kramer Vs Kramer’
- An unflinching look at the legal system on a micro-scale
- A beautiful, blossoming relationship between father and son
- One of the best child performances you’ll ever see
Breaker Morant (1980) dir. Bruce Beresford – By Daniel Fagan
“Was your court at the trial of Visser constituted in any way like this? What rule did you shoot him under?”
“Like this? Well, no sir, it wasn’t quite like this. No-no. No, sir, it wasn’t quite so handsome. And as for rules, we didn’t carry military manuals around with us. We were out on the veldt, fighting the Boer the way he fought us. I’ll tell you what rule we applied, sir. We applied Rule 3-0-3. We caught them and we shot them under Rule 3-0-3!”
In the conversation of the great courtroom dramas of cinema there is a plethora of eras and sub-genres from which to pull from. There are, of course, the classics of the fifties and sixties which defined the genre (To Kill a Mockingbird, 12 Angry Men, Anatomy of a Murder) those which continued the tradition of those classics following the new Hollywood shakeup of the late 60’s, 70’s (The Verdict, Primal Fear, In The Name of the Father) and the many adaptations of John Grisham novels in the 90’s which saturated the market. Among the dozens of great courtroom dramas, there are those that stand above the rest whether by challenging the conventions of the genre to form something unique or by playing those conventions straight, with a total sincerity that almost forces the film to become an undisputable classic. Bruce Beresford’s 1980 Breaker Morant sits firmly in the latter description.
“And a man’s foes shall be they of his own household.” Matthew 10:36. The inscription Harry ‘Breaker’ Morant (Edward Woodward) requests on his headstone as a part of a terrific conversation between himself, another defendant Peter Handcock (Bryan Brown) and their lawyer Major James Thomas (Jack Thompson). It is one of a series of electrifying conversations and monologues which drag audiences to the edges of their seats. There’s never a dull moment in this 110 minutes of exceptional Australian filmmaking that rivals the works of Peter Weir, George Miller and Baz Luhrmann.
But the dialogue is not all Breaker Morant has to offer. As an adaptation of Kenneth G. Ross’ two-act play of the same name it is almost an expectation the dialogue would be terrific but the film’s roots in the theatre also contribute to some wonderful uses of lighting and stage-like blocking which enhance the viewing experience. Incorporating these elements – most distinguishable during moments of flashback, or dream sequences – provide the film with a unique visual quality. Donald McAlpine (who would go on to work with Baz Luhrmann on Moulin Rouge! and Romeo + Juliet) does a stellar job. His work along with the production design team ensure there is no other film that looks or feels quite like Breaker Morant.
Morant, Handcock and the young George Witton (Lewis Fitz-Gerald) are on trial for the murders of several POW’s during the waning months of the Second Boer War in South Africa, 1899-1902. The trio were a part of the Bushveldt Carbineers, an unconventional mounted infantry group created by the colonial British to combat the increasing use of guerilla tactics by the meagrely equipped Boers. Their trial shook the colonial hold Britain held on the Australian Federation.
All stories live and die by their characters and the characters in Breaker Morant are some of the most fully realised in the history of film. With very brief insights to their personal lives Beresford and the other writers – Jonathan Hardy, David Stevens and Harold Lander – ensure these characters are wholly developed beyond what one could expect for an ensemble courtroom drama. This is where the strength of the film truly lies. Breaker Morant is a complex individual, a poet from the bush who has a great affection for his fellow Australians and little for anyone else. He’s clearly well-educated – quoting verses from Byron and the Bible as simply as anyone else would say what day it is – yet he spends his days wrangling horses and enlisting in imperial wars on the other side of the planet. He and the other lead characters are rare in film because they feel so alive.
1901 is foreign to our world today. The empires of that world exist only as spectres. No one makes a name breaking horses, and everyone involved in the real trial that inspired Breaker Morant is dead. It seems all that has remained is war and its many, indescribable injustices. At the tail end of the trial, facing the judges, with a sweat lathered body, defence lawyer Major Thomas delivers one of the great monologues of film.
“The fact of the matter is that war changes men’s natures. The barbarities of war are seldom committed by abnormal men. The tragedy of war is that these horrors are committed by normal men in abnormal situations. Situations in which the ebb and flow of everyday life have departed and have been replaced by a constant round of fear and anger, blood and death.”
When the weight of the last hour of film is bearing down on the audience this moment hits like a southerly breeze on a scorching afternoon. Beresford suffocates the audience and only allows them to breathe when he deems it fit. That is a mastery of this artform.
Beresford weaves a beautiful exploration of humanity at its lowest and of the men fighting when they know the house has rigged the cards. Breaker Morant is a tale of complexity, of humanity, desperation and above all, resistance. The strength to defy, and never break is what Harry Morant has come to represent in Australian culture. The bush balladist who defied an empire. That’s the way the movie portrays it anyway. There were, of course, murders of innocents, and cover-ups and someone is to blame. Perhaps Morant is not the ideal folk hero but no one ever is. Harry Morant, Peter Handcock, and George Witton were all tried twice, once in South Africa in 1901, and once on film in 1980. Both times it is likely they were judged with slightly inaccurate information and both times the judges were biased in some way. But perhaps most importantly, both times Harry ‘Breaker’ Morant gave his immortal words of defiance that transcended reports of the event, the play, and the film to become a permanent fixture of Australian folklore,
“Shoot straight, you bastards. Don’t make a mess of it.”
Philadelphia (1993) dir. Jonathan Demme – By Emma Cranby
I struggled for a long time with how to write this review, because although I’ve seen Philadelphia quite a few times now I still don’t fully know how to articulate its effect on me. The film is devastating, but it doesn’t make me teary. It’s hopeful and bright, but it doesn’t make me smile. In fact, the only thing I can say about it for sure is that it moves me very, very much.
So because of this, I think I’m going to start with the music. After all, this is how the film first moved me, long before I actually watched it. I was lying on my bedroom carpet, and Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Greatest Hits’ CD had just clicked over to the fourteenth track. I was reading a book, hardly paying attention to the music, but then a haunting, gritty melody reached out of my pink CD player and something inside me was jolted. The melancholy tune proved unforgettable, and I made a promise to myself that I’d watch Philadelphia someday.
Obviously, I’ve since done this, and so the music is where my history with Philadelphia starts. It’s also where the movie itself starts, with ‘Streets of Philadelphia’ drifting high over a sprawling, grand city. As the camera closes in, the city becomes people talking, laughing, working, living their lives on the streets of Philadelphia, and Springsteen’s voice welcomes us in to join them.
The song is a fitting start to the film, because from the first lines – “I was bruised and battered, I couldn’t tell what I felt” – ‘Streets of Philadelphia’ tells us exactly what we’re in for with Philadelphia. It’s difficult to watch, seeing its protagonist not physically bruised and battered but nonetheless struggling tremendously, and I’ll be the first to acknowledge that I couldn’t tell what I felt when I finished it. Profound suffering mingles with extraordinary hope in Philadelphia, and it offers layer upon layer to think about for days afterwards.
If I had to choose one thing that Philadelphia most urges viewers to consider, it’s another idea the Springsteen song foretells, right about when The Boss says “ain’t no angel gonna greet me, it’s just you and I my friend”. For all that it’s a film about death – telling as it does the story of a man dying of AIDS – Philadelphia is not about heaven; nor is it about hell. What Philadelphia is most concerned with is life. No angels, no magic, no supernatural beings or anything at all, really, particularly unusual – just plain, ordinary life.
In depicting its protagonist, Andrew Beckett’s, ordinary life, the film did something few mainstream films had done before. It allowed a gay person to be presented in a positive light – or at least, as an ordinary person – and in doing so, left a cultural impact still remembered today. It invites audiences to reexamine their prejudices and biases, and confront their own homophobia. The film does not demonise Andrew Beckett. He listens to opera, has a loving family and friends, and excels at his job. True, that he is dying of AIDS is inescapable, as the court case that provides the film’s central dramatic scenes is literally about this. But the film also allows him to be more than his illness or his sexuality.
When the film opens, Beckett is a brilliant lawyer at one of Philadelphia’s top law firms. He’s just been made a senior associate and his future is looking bright. When he is suddenly fired, Beckett suspects he has been dismissed because he has AIDS. However, he struggles to find an attorney to take his case to court. Eventually he teams up with lawyer Joe Miller, who accepts Beckett’s case when he recognises parallels between Beckett’s treatment and his (Miller’s) own experiences of racial discrimination. The court case that eventually occurs is harrowing and brutal, but electrifying, and audiences are given a thrilling insight into the cold and cut-throat world of the law.
The performances are striking. Each actor is compelling in their own way, and not one of them is anything less than convincing. As Andy Beckett, Tom Hanks is sharp and believable, and Denzel Washington is assured and captivating as Joe Miller. The supporting performances are arguably even more impressive, especially Antonio Banderas as Andy’s partner Miguel and Mary Steenburgen as the prosecution lawyer. Banderas’ performance is earnest and full of warmth, with his characteristic magnetism meaning viewers can’t help but like him. Steenburgen, meanwhile, plays her character with nuance and thoughtful complexity; said character transcends what could otherwise be a disappointingly one-dimensional role, and takes on some sense that she has life beyond the courtroom. Indeed, perhaps this is the charm of all of the acting in Philadelphia. For all the nuanced ordinariness of the lives the characters live within the movie, they also live beyond that, and it really seems at times they could be out there, as Springsteen said – on the streets of Philadelphia.
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