Homage to "Anatomy of a Murder"

Let's indulge in what, in the law, used to be called "a frolic and a detour" from the onerous and distasteful duties imposed on us by this miserable world.  In other words, let's do something for purely personal reasons.  Well, I will in any case.

I happened across the film Anatomy of a Murder playing on TV at the home of a relative, and saw what must have been the last half of it.  I'd seen it before, but seeing it again reminded me of something I think makes it remarkable.  It's a good movie, of course, but what makes it special to me is its mostly realistic portrayal of lawyers and what takes place in a courtroom.  

This is unusual in my experience.  The portrayals of lawyers and trials I've seen, though reflective of what seems to be a fascination with them both, are for the most part inaccurate, sometimes wildly so.  I've made a point of ignoring TV shows and movies which purport to describe them for that and other reasons.  I imagine health care professionals feel much the same regarding the ubiquitous dramas involving doctors and hospitals which likewise fill screens large and small in our Glorious Union and probably elsewhere.

There are good reasons for this movie's accuracy.  The novel on which the movie is based was written by a Michigan Supreme Court Justice and derived from a case in which he was involved as defense attorney.  As a result, it's faithful, for the most part, to what actually takes place in a courtroom.  There are embellishments, as might be expected, but its realism impresses me.

The performances by the actors are quite good.  As to the lawyers, Jimmy Stewart is beguiling as the shrewd small-town attorney for the defendant and George C. Scott is sharp playing the big city lawyer brought in to assist in the prosecution.  It was good to see Stewart in a film which isn't maudlin and sentimental.  I'm ashamed to admit that until recently I didn't know that the judge was played by none other than Joseph Welch, who represented the U.S. Army in the Army-McCarthy hearings and famously smashed Joe McCarthy by asking him if, at long last, he had no decency.  His judge was wise to the antics of the lawyers and sardonic, but presided over the proceedings fairly and quite well. 

Mirabile dictu, lawyers were shown actually researching the law, though they used books to do so, the film having been made in 1959.  They investigated; they interviewed witnesses before trial; they brainstormed.  The examination of witnesses was lawyerly as were the objections.  They engaged in some histrionics in the courtroom (it was a murder trial), and crowded the witness stand a bit too much, but perhaps that's more common in a criminal trial than it is in a civil trial (I'm not a criminal lawyer).

The defense raised to the charge of murder was that of "irresistible impulse"--the defendant knew what he was doing was wrong but was overwhelmed by an impulse he couldn't control due to his mental condition.  Experts testified, and their testimony was credible.

Interestingly, there was some coaching of the witnesses, and particularly the defendant.  Rather adroitly, the defense lawyer played by Stewart suggested to his client what defense could be successful while others would fail without actually telling his client what to say and how to act.  I have no doubt that this happens.  

The American Bar Association once asked 12 "prominent lawyers" what they felt were the best "legal movies."  Anatomy of a Murder was one of them selected.  Frankly, I don't understand why some others making up the 25 selected were chosen, and this makes me wonder just what "prominent" meant in these circumstances.  My Cousin Vinny was amusing in a silly way, but wouldn't be one I'd choose.  I have no idea why Chicago appears in the list.  Finding Miracle on 34th Street on the list was a shock.

Is this post entirely "a frolic and a detour", an utterly frivolous bit of fluff on my part?  Perhaps not.  It's important, I think, that people know what actually takes place in a courtroom and what should take place according to the rules of evidence and procedure.  It may be even more important that people understand why matters result in a trial.  We're witnessing a series of trials being brought which are believed to be baseless and brought for political or malicious reasons by those being told that is the case by the defendant and his minions.  They're believed, although anyone with knowledge of how the system works would understand there's nothing unusual about them.

The death of O.J. Simpson reminds us of the bizarre trial which took place in which his "dream team" and it seems overwhelmed prosecutors, an easily manipulated Judge, poor witnesses and a jury suspicious of the police combined to create a circus.  That should not and need not happen, though it might for a number of reasons.  The system has checks in place to prevent such things from taking place, though, and the perversion of the process isn't easily achieved.  Unfortunately, the unrealistic portrayal of it has added to a tendency to distrust it in many.

 

My Own Private Pooka

Pictured above are Jimmy Stewart in his capacity as Elwood, and his pooka friend, Harvey, in his capacity as a very tall rabbit.  The image is of course from the film Harvey.  It appears during my favorite scene.  It actually made me laugh out loud--no mean feat, I fear.  Elwood replace a painting above the fireplace with this portrait. 

Harvey had otherwise been a creature we were required to imagine.  We knew him to be a pooka as he was described as such earlier in the film.  A "pooka" is, as Google will tell you, a Celtic fairy, or goblin, or spirit variously referred to as mischievous or benevolent or malignant, also referred to as a shape shifter, or a horse, or a bull.  It's somewhat confusing, and the character of a pooka presumably varies with the legend being retold.  Even the name is variously spelled.  Harvey, happily, though something of a joker was kind and friendly, particularly to Elwood who had a fondness for drink and was thought of as eccentric if not harmlessly insane.

Friends are surprisingly hard to find in these times when we all purport to have so many.  Facebook friends, and I would think all kinds of other friends.  Are there Twitter friends?  In any case, friends who are identified as "friends" who exist, primarily if not entirely, in cyberspace.  I'll confess to being on Facebook, though not as Ciceronianus.  My Facebook friends are all members of my family or old friends, and so are relatively few.  But I know that others have hundreds, and for all I know thousands, of friends.  Facebook is constantly advising me of people I or others of my friends know, and asks if I'd like to make them my friends.  Thus far, I do not.

In all honesty, I don't know why I would want them for my friends.  Already my Facebook page is crowded with dogs and babies, those being it appears among the fascinations of those who have access to it by virtue of the fact I've granted that access.  God only knows what else would show up, unsolicited, were I to allow access to others.

But just what are friends, anyway, now?  Friends are like a second self according to Cicero.  If that's true, I have very few friends indeed.  Cicero may have had high standards of friendship, but I think of friends as being something different from the "friends" that are all too available to us all.  Friends are those we can share intimacies with, enjoy conversation, activities, food and drink with; rely on, trust, consult, without fear of being harmed.  We must know our friends and know them well, in order for them to be friends.

And so I wish for a pooka for my very own.  Well, perhaps not for myself alone; the pooka, being magical, could no doubt patronize others and still seem more than adequately present to me.  The pooka would have to be benign, however.  Mischief I have no problem with, so that it could indulge in as much as it likes.  And if pookas are especially fond of drinkers, I drink, though not with the frequency it seems Elwood did.  I would hope to drink enough for the pooka.

The pooka would have to be fairly well read, fond of irony, fond of history.  I'm not sure just what shape I would prefer.  I've always liked the Cheshire Cat; liked most cats, in fact, so that would likely be best.  An enormous rabbit would do in a pinch. 

Imaginary friends are not all that different from those friends we have so many of these days, who pop in and out whenever we wish to see them or their pictures or read their little comments.  I suspect they would even be better.