The Trial of the Chicago 7
- Daniel Tihn
- Oct 25, 2020
- 4 min read
Updated: Apr 11, 2022
The Trial of the Chicago 7 is a well-written dramatisation of true events that follows a stereotypical format which, after all is said and done, leaves less of an impact than expected.
Across multiple works, Aaron Sorkin has delivered beautiful dialogues that have not only dictated the flow of films and episodes but has submerged viewers into abstract ideologies presented by morally grey characters, each piece of the puzzle becoming a dilemma. This verbose yet intellectual style has been present across many of his biopics such as Steve Jobs, Moneyball, and The Social Network, creating a level of expectation for the new ensemble court case. Unfortunately, The Trial of the Chicago 7 falls short of the mark in regards to its intellectual depth, replacing it with a greater focus on the events; a choice that leads to a one-sided political monologue which won't offer much after thought.
From the moment the film opens, we are immediately thrusted into the defendants' worlds, their names fading in and out as we cut from one life to the next. Scored by upbeat music, the intro creates a nice bubble of exposition as each relevant player speaks about the coming protest in Chicago while also setting up a few storylines that leave the film a little face up: David Dellinger (John Carrol Lynch) advises his son to always take the non-violent path clearly indicating his eventual surge of anger. Many of these vignettes are forgotten about only until their slight relevance comes to light further down the timeline in an attempt to increase the emotional impact, an impact that at its core feels half-hearted.
What does play into Sorkin's favour is the clever casting: Sacha Baron Cohen as Abbie Hoffman feels ever so perfect as he balances the anarchistic character with a witty intelligence that plays brilliantly against Eddie Redmayne's portrayal of Tom Hayden; the two constantly at blows with each other. It is quite obvious how their relationship is going to pan out, yet the cliché of it doesn't ruin their chemistry in the slightest allowing for an honest exchange as each begin to recognise the other. The rest of the cast of characters support the main plot line while we also earn snippets of their backstory which only bog down the flow of the film instead of enhancing their importance.
This lack of centrality creates a major problem in most of the film's payoffs. By attempting a balancing act between several key figures, Sorkin loses sight of what to show and what might be better left unsaid: Yahya Abdul-Mateen II creates an anger in the audience as we are left appalled by Bobby Seale's treatment in the courtroom yet each powerful blow is accompanied with a hollowness; the act of jumping from one thing to the next doesn't allow for much of a reaction to be held long enough to create a depth to the plot. The horror of Seale's injustice does eventually hit, yet the whole affair swings to the perspective of the white defendants and turns into another antagonistic device for Hoffman and Hayden; blurring the Black Panther leader into the background.
The spotlight on the two liberals doesn't only detract from the whole but solves the challenge of the immense quantity of information. For those not versed in American politics, following the opening of the film may be a bit tough as we are shown names and events, most of which won't mean anything and may illicit a weary anticipation for what is to come. The answer: show more later. After seeing the main cast discuss the upcoming protests, we skip to months after the riots and only see them through flashbacks during the court case which appear seamlessly as tapes are played and testimonies heard.
The courtroom is filled with tense encounters between everyone involved, Hoffman and Rubin (Jeremy Strong) using comedy to rebel against the system while Rennie Davis (Alex Sharp) writes down all the deaths that have been caused by the Vietnam War since their case began. The scenes are gripping and the characters flourish under the gaze of the biased Judge Hoffman (Frank Langella) who represents a corrupt system that echoes today's turmoil, but something that is not captured is the gruelling nature of the case. Across the 2 hours and 10 minutes, the days of the case flash by at the bottom of the screen which create a fast-paced montage aesthetic instead of the tiresome and frustrating nature of American Crime Story's first season; here the jury are nothing more than cardboard cutouts and the frustration of the protagonists comes from their personal relations more than the contempt we feel towards the court.
The films position is clear on what happened, a point of view that tastes a bit too forceful at points. At no point is there a possibility where the prosecution are seen as just or even slightly moral apart from a handful of brief moments that try and spin an empathetic look onto Joseph Gordon-Levitt's Richard Schultz, a 'villain' whose motives are as confusing as his casting. When compared to other Sorkin works, we are offered next to no depth in terms of the films political arguments but are served an answer on a silver platter. The unoriginal approach to a biopic creates an enjoyable film that will last in the mind of its viewers for about as long as the stereotypical "where are they now" text lasts on screen.
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