‘Action Jackson’ (1988), or Pure Fun On A Weekend Afternoon

I try not to do much “back in my day” monologuing, partly because it’s a surefire way to become a crushing bore at parties and partly because I’m too young to tell such stories. Sometimes, however, my nostalgic side feels a loss so keenly that I have to say something about it. One such case has to do with movies shown on TV.

For my fellow millennials and those of a couple generations preceding my own, catching movies on TV was a prime method of making film discoveries and forging bonds with lifelong cinematic favorites. Many of my generation and those a little older talk about watching HBO and falling in love with the movies the network played most often. Usually, these were movies that unfairly bombed during their theatrical run, movies that HBO showed often because the rights-holders sold the TV rights for a song. It’s in this way that great movies like John Carpenter’s The Thing (1982) and Don Coscarelli’s The Beastmaster (also 1982) finally found their audience.

Unfortunately, our house was HBO-free during my childhood years. I never really felt this loss, though, because I had something that was, to my mind, just as great: KTLA 5. To my southern California desert town, KTLA, broadcasting out of Los Angeles a couple hours away, was our local station, and it’s just as beloved to me as WPIX is to my fellow nerds who grew up on the East Coast.

Although KTLA later became our area’s affiliate for The WB (spurring a whole other set of memories I’ll probably discuss in a later article), my most formative experiences with the network took place during its independent years. It’s through their annual Twilight Zone marathons that I first discovered Rod Serling’s seminal work of art; it’s where I first experienced classic sitcoms through afternoon re-runs, and, most importantly, it’s where I tuned into Weekend Film Festivals and KTLA Movie Theatre screenings.

These movie viewings were so formative that, to this day, there are still films I consider “KTLA movies.” This has less to do with whether or not I actually saw those movies on the network than with the vibe the movies emanate. Basically, there’s a comfortable, broken-in quality to certain movies that bring back the feeling of childhood Saturday afternoons spent watching movies on KTLA. While movies of any genre can bring on this feeling (and I hope to discuss several of them in the future), it tends to be action movies that carry this vibe.

I don’t know why the action genre tends to carry the KTLA feeling more often than other genres. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the network carried the Action Pack, an awesome collection of TV shows with a killer theme song:

The Action Pack has nothing to do with Action Jackson. I just wanted to share the theme song with you!

At any rate, whenever a movie brings back memories of those magical weekend afternoons, it earns a warm place in my heart. This applies both to movies I distinctly remember seeing in this way (Alien Nation and the hated-by-all-but-me Super Mario Bros., for instance) and movies that feel like I could have seen them back then. Walter Hill’s Streets Of Fire brings on that feeling, along with Roland Emmerich’s Universal Soldier…

…And Action Jackson!

Action Jackson‘s plot unfolds like this: Jericho “Action” Jackson (Carl Weathers) is a Detroit cop, demoted from Lieutenant to Sergeant after arresting the son of powerful businessman Peter Dellaplane (Craig T. Nelson). Two years later, he’s riding a desk, enduring the jeers of his fellow cops and trying to avoid the wrath of Captain Armbruster (Bill Duke). While investigating a string of murders of auto union officials, Jackson discovers that Dellaplane may be the ringleader behind these crimes, along with a team of assassins known as “The Invisible Men.” Ultimately, with the help of Dellaplane’s mistress (Vanity) and a wide variety of colorful supporting characters, Jackson sets out to take Dellaplane down.

Now, you could say that Action Jackson‘s plot is run-of-the-mill, something you could get from any number of action movies, and you’d be right. In fact, you could say that not only is the plot somewhat thin, but both Craig T. Nelson and Carl Weathers are playing a fairly typical set of action hero and action villain. This, too, is a valid criticism (although Nelson and Weathers do good work with their roles), but these truths do nothing to negate the qualities that make Action Jackson so much fun!

See, when one looks into the the behind-the-scenes story of Action Jackson, it’s defined by a relaxed sense of “let’s do something fun between big jobs.” As Carl Weathers says in an AV Club interview, the idea for the project came about during downtime on the shooting of Predator (1987), during a moment where he and producer Joel Silver were discussing their mutual love of blaxploitation movies. This mutual passion led to a potential project when Silver invited Weathers to concoct a story for a blaxploitation homage. After Weathers sketched out a basic outline, Silver hired a young writer with one TV credit to his name (Robert Reneau) to flesh out the story into a script. The team then got the film greenlit at Lorimar, attaching Predator‘s second unit director-Craig R. Baxley, a stunt coordinator best known at this point for a long stint as Warren Beatty’s stunt double-to the action-packed project for his feature-length directorial debut. It really did come together as simply as that!

Craig R. Baxley on the set of his directorial debut.

I think that breeziness and high energy shines though Action Jackson in ways that make the movie unique and fun. See, the film is populated by people approaching the project from two unique perspectives: Joel Silver, Carl Weathers, and the other seasoned actors just looking to do a fun homage to blaxploitation, and fellows like Craig R. Baxley and Robert Reneau, up-and-comers in their respective jobs looking to make a name for themselves. The results-a sense of “just having fun” along with a feeling of “let’s do our best and show them what we’ve got”-makes for a fast-paced blockbuster experience with some stellar action sequences and plenty of quirky characters to make up for the thin plot.

Speaking of those quirky characters: they, more than anything else, are what make this movie stand out, and what make Action Jackson just as fun to watch today as I’m sure it was back in 1988. Every supporting character boasts an interesting quality that instantly creates a sense of appeal and likability. There’s Dee (Armelia McQueen), the fast-talking hairdresser who also serves as Jackson’s chief informant. There’s “Kid” Sable (Chino ‘Fats’ Williams), the former boxer and Flintstones fan who runs the motel in which Weathers and Vanity hole up. There’s Officers Lack and Kornblau (Roger Aaron Brown and Thomas F. Wilson), the Rosencrantz/Guildenstern-like officers who serve as the film’s comic relief. (That’s right, Biff Tannen plays a good guy, and if that’s not enough to get you to pull the trigger on this film…I’m not sure how what to say.) There’s Edd (Prince Hughes), the huge, intimidating-looking bodyguard who doesn’t like to rough people up as it goes against his religious beliefs. It’s small roles like this that give the standard action plot flavor and enough of uniqueness to make this film incredibly fun to watch!

A lot of those supporting roles are filled by members of the unofficial Joel Silver stock company of actors, a fact made especially interesting by Action Jackson‘s place in the timeline of ’80s action movies. Let me see if I can explain by citing another film critic: on the excellent podcast Junkfood Cinema, film critic Brian Salisbury has referred to (the underrated) Predator 2 (1990) as a “waiting room for the ’90s,” a movie full of ’80s character actors waiting to see if their careers would carry over into the new decade. I feel that Action Jackson is another waystation, albeit on a smaller scale. In this case, Action Jackson is a place where Joel Silver regulars mingle on their way from and/or marching toward larger Silver projects. As we’ve discussed, the film itself was born on the set of Predator (1987), carrying Carl Weathers and Craig R. Baxley from that production. However, Weathers and Baxley aren’t the only carryovers from that blockbuster hit; Bill Duke and Sonny Landham join the cast of Action Jackson from that movie. Mary Ellen Trainor joins the cast from another Joel Silver hit, Lethal Weapon (1987). These Silver alums enter Action Jackson along with a group of actors waiting on another Silver flick, Die Hard (1988), which would be released just a few months after our film in question. Avid action moviegoers going to see Bruce Willis fight off “terrorists” would already have remembered De’Veroux White, Robert Davi, and Al Leong from their prior roles in Action Jackson. Again, looking back to our loose “let’s put on a show!” motif, it’s fun to picture Joel Silver walking into the lobby of his production offices, seeing these actors milling around, and signing everyone on with a simple statement of “Hey, you guys wanna make something cool?”

Carl Weathers re-teams with his Predator co-star Sonny Landham, this time on opposite sides of the knife…

In the end, though, what’s most important about Action Jackson (to me, anyway) is the feeling of nostalgia it carries. It’s easy to nitpick the faults in this movie if one is inclined to do so, and I hope I’ve pointed those flaws out in a way that allows me to retain my critical respectability (whatever that means). I also hope I’ve discussed the movie’s positive qualities sufficently enough to get at least one of you to give the flick a try.

While all of this is worthwhile, I love Action Jackson first and foremost for the feelings it invokes in me. I hope you’ll pardon me for being corny, but as I watch this movie, I truly feel like a kid again, sitting down in front of the TV for another KTLA Weekend Film Festival or preparing to watch an action film with the folks during a prime-time airing of KTLA Movie Theatre. I cherish those memories, and Action Jackson has proven to be a great way of reliving those experiences. For that, the movie has my love!

Beyond A Reasonable Doubt: Revisiting ’12 Angry Men’ (1997)

Unless you were there to experience it yourself, it might be difficult to explain the furor that surrounded the O.J. Simpson murder trial. While books and TV shows (including the fantastic American Crime Story: The People v. O.J. Simpson) have done a fantastic job dramatizing the facts of the case, thus eliminating the need for me to do so, such books and shows can only go so far in depicting the media circus and massive public interest that followed the trial. Like the Charles Manson and Leopold/Loeb trials of prior generations, the Simpson case seemed to be all anyone could talk about during January through October of 1995.

I was only five and six years old as the Simpson trial unfolded, but the case had so pervaded American culture that even a kid like me was aware of how the trial was unfolding. (This may also have something to do with the fact that I grew up a couple hours from the scene of the crime, but that’s beside the point.) I distinctly remember being at my grandma and grandpa’s house, playing with action figures on the floor of their living room and paying partial attention to the TV as newscasters reported that the bodies of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goodman had been found. The trial seemed to be inescapable for most of 1995.

At any rate, the trial stretched for months stacked upon months. After all the witnesses had been cross-examined and the evidence discussed, the jury deliberated and came back with a verdict of not guilty. Said verdict caused no small stir among every American who had been following the trial (in other words, everyone). Legal pundits, journalists, and everyday citizens examined every possible situation that could have led to the unexpected verdict; mishandling of evidence, botched prosecution techniques, racial divides, and biased jurors were all explored as possibilities. Whatever theory one subscribed to, or even if one dismissed all the theories as hogwash, one attitude was common among much of the population: the jurors had made a major mistake.

Director William Friedkin, as he looked in the 1970s.

It’s at this point that William Friedkin enters the picture. Friedkin had had an interesting career up to this point: after getting his start directing TV documentaries for producer David L. Wolper, Friedkin broke into the feature-film business, eventually becoming one of the top-tier directors of the 1970s with the back-to-back punch of The French Connection (1971) and The Exorcist (1973). Unfortunately, however, his next film, Sorcerer (1977), had the misfortune to be released the weekend after Star Wars, a little sci-fi film with the distinction of being one of the highest-grossing films of all time. Unfortunately, George Lucas’s success meant that Sorcerer got steamrollered at the box office. Since then, Friedkin had worked steadily, making a smattering of good movies, but none of them achieved the phenomenal success of his early-1970s pictures.

By the late 1990s, Friedkin had enjoyed some success by going back to his television roots, directing episodes of series and TV movies for Showtime. As he sought his next project, his mind turned to the O.J. Simpson verdict and the public’s reaction to it. As he thought about the legal and social implications of the situation, his thoughts turned to a story crafted to address such themes: Reginald Rose’s 12 Angry Men.

Rose had first written his courtroom drama for television, and that is where it first appeared, as a 1954 episode of the revered live-television show Studio One. Three years later, Rose adapted his teleplay for the big screen, and Sidney Lumet made a magnificent directorial debut bringing the story to the screen. Given that 12 Angry Men had already received two highly-regarded adaptations, it might have been easy to be intimidated by the idea of undertaking a remake. However, Friedkin had a powerful ally in his corner: Reginald Rose himself, who was eager to expand and update his story for 1990s audiences. As it turned out, little rewriting was required; with the exception of a couple new scenes and updated references, the story remained largely the same as it stood in 1954 and 1957.

And so, with an updated script in his hand and a roster of high-caliber actors (presumedly attracted by the prestige of appearing in a pay-tv TV movie directed by a major filmmaker), Friedkin set about bringing a classic to the small screen. How did the film turn out? We’ll talk about that in a second. First, though, here’s a trailer for you!

12 Angry Men‘s plot is so simple that it can be summed up in a single paragraph (especially if one is trying to dodge spoilers, as I will). However, the plot’s simplicity is deceptive in the way it conceals the complexity of the characters and the important theme. Basically, the movie revolves around a murder trial, in which a teenaged Latino boy (Douglas Spain) is accused of murdering his father. We join the trial after the prosecution and defense have presented the arguments, at the moment the judge (Mary McDonnell) adjourns the jury into deliberation. Most of the jurors-an eclectic group of men of varied races, ethnicities, and social classes-think their deliberation will be over swiftly and painlessly; after all, the case appears to be open-and-shut in favor of the boy’s guilt. However, one juror- Juror #8 (Jack Lemmon) votes not guilty, feeling uneasy about sending a person to death row without some discussion. The rest of the movie depicts the jury’s deliberation, as evidence is examined, arguments are had, and prejudices rise to the surface.

When I was young, I loved 12 Angry Men as a courtroom drama, with only a vague awareness of the bigger concepts that powered the story. While the film can certainly be enjoyed on that level (and there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the story in this way), there are much deeper ideas at play, including the concepts of being “innocent until proven guilty” and what it means to be found guilty in a court of law, including the idea of being found guilty “beyond a reasonable doubt.” As we watch this band of imperfect men discuss and debate the guilt of the alleged murderer (and, therefore, said murderer’s fate), we get a sense of what makes the American justice system tick-and what makes it unique.

As I watched the film, I was filled with an immense sense of gratitude for our justice system. While it doesn’t always work as we wish it would (as the innocent people who have been convicted of crimes could tell you), the idea of having guilt decided by “a jury of one’s peers” is quite beautiful in the way it’s meant to work. While there potentially can be jurors whose views are colored by prejudices or personal experience, it’s statistically unlikely (unless the jury’s been stacked in a corrupt way) to get a complete jury of 12 prejudiced, bloodthirsty people. Hopefully, among that mixture of people, there’s someone like Juror #8, willing to stand up for the way the court system is meant to run, and unwilling to give that up in the name of convenience, simple answers, or prejudice.

Juror #3 (George C. Scott), making a point to Juror #8 (Jack Lemmon) in a rather “pointed” manner.

Speaking of the jurors, let’s talk about the cast! More than many stories, 12 Angry Men lives or dies on the strength of the casting, and William Friedkin generally did a good job populating his jury with a diverse cast of well-chosen actors. In fact, some of the casting is so fine that it highlights character traits that are obscured in the 1957 film. For instance, Courtney B. Vance depicts Juror #1 as a man who feels the weight of being the jury foreman and tries tirelessly to keep proceedings moving smoothly, but also feels inadequate in the face of the task. As much as I love Martin Balsam as an actor, he didn’t quite reach that level of characterization in the ’57 film. Tony Danza portrays the light-minded, impatient Juror #7 with a natural ease that Jack Warden didn’t quite conjure, and William Petersen really conveys Juror #12-an easily influenced, eager-to-please advertising executive-in a believable way that Robert Webber, an actor who always felt authoritative and sure of himself, couldn’t accomplish. Mykelti Williamson does an especially good job as the blatantly, unapologetically racist Juror #10, bringing the character to a more believable conclusion than Ed Begley, Sr. (although Begley was also great in the role).

However, the casting isn’t perfect across the board, and this is where we come to what I think is the film’s biggest fault: the casting of Jack Lemmon as Juror #8. In the 1957 film, Henry Fonda depicts Juror #8 as a humble man who seeks to help his fellow jurors talk through the deliberation in the way the justice system intended. In other words, he treats his fellow jurors as equals. Lemmon, on the other hand, treats his fellow jurors like ignorant children, talking down to them and lecturing them as if he’s the most intelligent person in the room and knows it. The lines Reginald Rose puts in the character’s mouth are still well-written, and I agree with the ideas the character presents, but the way Lemmon delivers them give the ideas a little less punch. It pains me to say this, because I think Jack Lemmon is a good and somewhat underrated actor, but I think this particular performance hurts the remake.

However, that’s really the only bad point I have to make about this film, and there are a couple things that I think the remake does better than the original movie. For one thing, I think Friedkin does a better job depicting the hot, stuffy, claustrophobic setting than Sidney Lumet. There are moments in the film where Friedkin uses a handheld camera to depict just how small, cramped, and run-down this jury room is, made even more so by the dozen bodies inside. Depicting the setting as uncomfortable and awkward only serves to ratchet up the tension of the story.

The most important improvement, however, comes at the end of the film, and it’s due entirely to the writing and acting. In the 1957 film, (SPOILERS START) it’s revealed that Juror #3 (Lee J. Cobb) clings to his guilty verdict not because of the facts of the case but because he’s projecting his troubled relationship with his own son onto the murder story. This is revealed in a scene that’s heartbreaking but runs a little short for my tastes. It seems that Reginald Rose might have felt the same way, because, in this updated version of his story, he gives Juror #3 (played by George C. Scott this time around) a longer monologue to accompany this revelatory moment, giving us a rawer, more detailed look into this man’s psyche. It’s hard to watch, but in a beneficial way; in laying bare a character’s mental process in such a raw way, it invites us to empathize with them, and that’s definitely what happened in my case. In fact, Juror #3’s enhanced monologue brought me to tears, feeling immensely sorry for a man who, until this point in the story, had been an antagonist. That, my friends, is great storytelling.

In the end, though, what’s most important about 12 Angry Men-and the reason the story still endures today-is what it tells us about the Constitution, and what it truly means to stand up for one’s rights, or the rights of others. Unfortunately, in recent years, we’ve seen political groups and factions of people try to re-define the word “patriot” to only apply to people who share their limited set of ideas and beliefs, or to describe people striving to restore a specific “ideal” to one’s country. Personally, I believe that patriotism extends to a wider, more inclusive view than the descriptions I cited; to me, from my American point of view, true patriotism entails a love for the freedoms and ideas defined in a country’s Constitution, and striving to preserve the rights guaranteed in said Constitution for EVERYONE, regardless of race, gender, religion, political affiliation, sexual orientation, etc. In my mind, 12 Angry Men is the story of a true patriot fighting for the Constitutional rights of another citizen. That’s why the story-in every version-resonates for me, and why it’s one of my all-time favorites.