Netflix released the latest legal drama by Aaron Sorkin, The Trial of the Chicago Seven, on Oct. 16. Already well-known for dramatizing the United States legal system in movies like A Few Good Men and The Social Network, this most recent film falls in line with Sorkin’s typical style of snarky back-and-forths and poetic monologues about the meaning of American democracy.
Though this film has been in the works for over a decade, its release feels very timely. This movie tells the story of seven—but technically eight—men who were charged with criminal conspiracy after riots broke out in Chicago during the 1968 Democratic National Convention.
The Trial of the Chicago Seven is an ode to the Bill of Rights, highlighting biases and flaws in criminal justice proceedings. It centers around Vietnam war protestors who, though accused of inciting violence, were peaceful until the police began an attack upon them.
Sorkin centers his narrative around probably the best remembered members of the group: Thomas Hayden—played by Eddie Redmayne—along with Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin—depicted as a charming comedy duo by Sacha Baron Cohen and Jeremy Strong, respectively. Standout supporting performances come from Mark Rylance as defense attorney William Kuntzle and Joseph Gordon-Levitt as his opposition, the conflicted prosecutor Richard Schultz. Moreover, Frank Langella plays the villain well as the unhinged Judge Julius Hoffman.
Overall, Sorkin’s second foray into directing fares better than his first. After the mess that was Molly’s Game, he certainly had something to prove. While The Trial of the Chicago Seven probably won’t be studied by film students of the future, there were some interesting directorial choices that felt very Sorkin, like certain music cues and the use of archival footage. The film was certainly gripping; however, I think that has a lot to do with the fascinating nature of the source material.
This film certainly left something to be desired when it comes to the actual history. For one, Black Panther Party founder Bobby Seale’s—played by Yahya Abdul-Mateen II—place in the story doesn’t seem to fit. Quite literally, he is the eighth member of the titular seven. While it’s true that Seale was ultimately severed from the case and tried separately, the mistreatment he faced as the only black defendant is possibly the most important and alarming part of the trial.
Seale argued that it was unjust to try him while his lawyer was incapacitated. He was literally bound and gagged for several days as he sat before the jury because the judge found he was disrupting the court. Not only does Sorkin place Seale’s storyline out of order, but Sorkin places the blame for Seales’ mistreatment on Seale himself. This hinges on a plot point entirely constructed by Sorkin—Seale’s violent outburst upon learning the news that Fred Hampton was killed. In reality, Hampton wasn’t killed until after Seale had already been severed from the case. Moreover, in Sorkin’s version, it’s Richard Schultz who has a sudden rush of morality and saves the day by convincing the judge to let Seale go.
While the ending of the film served its purpose, the portrayal of the trial’s finale was trite compared to the actual trial’s conclusion. In Sorkin’s film, Tom Hayden is given the task of speaking on behalf of all seven men at their sentencing and chooses to read a list of names—all the men killed in Vietnam. This speech inspires protestors inside and outside of the courtroom. In reality, each man was allowed to speak, and each of their statements are genuinely powerful indictments of the Vietnam War and the U.S. as a whole. Why change so much when the actual history could have the same, if not greater, impact?
As a whole, this trial is a fascinating piece of American legal history, but Sorkin glosses over a lot of the details. In the actual trial, witnesses called to the stand included Judy Collins, Norman Mailer and Alan Ginsberg. This is never mentioned in the movie. Also, Michael Keaton’s portrayal of former Attorney General Ramsey Clark, a man barred from testifying, is so brief that it basically amounts to a cameo. Perhaps this particular story would have benefitted more from a miniseries than a film. There is so much to say about this trial and simply not enough time to say it. Besides, who gave Aaron Sorkin the authority to recount this history? Sure, I was drawn in. Yes, the story was gripping. But I don’t think that has anything to do with the supposed genius of Aaron Sorkin.