The year is 1968.
Chaos abounds in cities big and small amid protests, destruction and violence. A polarizing presidential campaign has hatched a candidate hell-bent on law and order. Racial tension hangs heavily over national discourse. Social unrest and political turmoil have now bred a general disenchantment with the American establishment—or maybe it’s the other way around. The promise of calm has all but vanished.
Wait a second…
Yes, Aaron Sorkin’s latest Netflix-produced film is nothing if not timely. Echoes of today’s headlines hover over much of The Trial of the Chicago 7.
We have long appreciated Sorkin for his fantastical, fast-talking forays into historical events. He’s built a formidable audience with quick-witted gems like Molly’s Game, his directorial debut, and The Social Network, for which his screenplay garnered an Oscar. Here, he delivers on many counts what we’d expect from one of his ventures—a sharp and provocative exploration of defiance, bureaucracy and injustice, all dripping with modern-minded parallelism.
There’s a lot for Sorkin to work with here. And in many ways, he is up to the task. The problem is, all the bells and whistles laced into his script—the same ones we generally applaud him for— actually weigh down the story at times rather than fortify it.
In deference to his unflappable wit and signature dialogue, Sorkin shrinks the narrative space for the emotional heft needed to make this story resonate. In the absence of subtlety and room for his characters’ words to breathe, we’re left with what might be considered temporal (if deftly crafted and well-intentioned) entertainment.
The film chronicles the criminal trial for a group of revolutionaries accused of starting a riot in protest of the Vietnam War. Charged with conspiracy amongst other crimes, the group must determine their goal and agree on a path forward, whether that’s standing up to a corrupt institution at all costs, or the less abstract objective of avoiding a 10-year prison sentence.
The film spends the bulk of its runtime fixated on the antics of legal proceedings rather than the events that catalyzed them, although there are a few well-placed flashbacks. The ensemble cast boasts assured acting and several engaging sequences, even if there are a few too many characters to keep track of.
I guess the film’s villain is the judge in charge of the trial, played by Frank Langella, whose obstinacy lingers precariously between ineptitude and pure evil. He is stubborn — not to mention racist — and blatantly partial to the prosecutors, clearly flagging for the audience who we’re meant to root against. His scenes make for rousing conflicts, but they’re painted too broadly and ultimately detract from the more interesting parts of the story: the people on trial, their motivations, and the actual events of the night in question.
The audience sees too little beyond the doors of the courtroom. When we do, it’s rarely for long and only to illustrate what is often already being stated via voiceover. In terms of character interaction, Sorkin is more interested in what people are saying than why they’re saying it (everyone in the movie likes to argue, let me tell you, and they always seem to have a comeback locked and loaded). While the incessant banter makes for entertaining theatrics, the movie’s sporadic comedic outbursts produce a confusing tone. In those moments, the movie feels less like a social drama with gravitas and high stakes, and more like one of the more earnest episodes of “Gilmore Girls” unfolding in a courtroom.
So much works about this movie. Because of that, the things that don’t are even more frustrating.
In essence, Sorkin the Writer wields too much power over Sorkin the Director, leaving his directorial duties behind. There’s little experimentation in the vein of cinematography, blocking, set design, or any other inspired visual cues. His screenplay is the star of the show, and there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. But the script needs editing and nuance. Above all, it needed a director.
In all honesty, my issue isn’t with Sorkin’s dialogue-centric formula. It’s worked well many times before, at least when applied to less-contentious topics like an underground poker empire or Mark Zuckerberg’s rise to fame. I can’t help but wonder what this project might have looked like as a limited series, allotting Sorkin more time to marinate with the characters and the consequences of their actions (and inactions). Or, had he desired to lean more heavily into the procedural happenings of the courtroom, perhaps he should have considered writing a play.
But here with The Trial of the Chicago 7, he idles somewhere in between the entertaining and the profound, falling disappointingly short on both.