When we first meet Frank Galvin (Paul Newman) he is a washed up, alcoholic lawyer scamming his way into funeral homes to pass his business card to grieving widows. When he’s exposed as an impostor and an ambulance chaser, he goes back to his office and proceeds to destroy his desk, his files, photographs and whatever remnant of a life he has left. Galvin is on his last legs — a washout with no foreseeable future. It’s a brave opening. Director Sidney Lumet and screenwriter David Mamet (in one of his very best screenplays) eschew convention by presenting Galvin’s circumstances as a product of his own doing. There is no pandering sugar coating. We are introduced to a character that is deeply flawed and, at first, deeply unsympathetic. If not for Paul Newman playing Galvin, there’s no telling whether the audience would emotionally invest themselves in his plight. Soon enough, Galvin is helped by his long-time friend, and lawyer, Mickey Morrissey (Jack Warden), who offers him a sure thing: a medical malpractice case that’s left a woman in a vegetative state. The perpetrators are a pair of prestigious doctors working for a hospital owned by the Archdiocese of Boston. The offer is simple: Galvin should take the case and accept the settlement, of which he is sure to pocket one-third of the total. Not a bad deal, especially for a lawyer looking to drink himself to death. Galvin agrees and takes the case.
What soon follows is a brave reversal whereby Galvin, in a moment of emotional clarity, refuses the settlement and forces the case to trial. What was once a case taken out of financial necessity literally becomes a David and Goliath tale of one man’s attempt at redemption. All around, the acting is superb. Newman’s radiant blue eyes remind us of the jovial Butch Cassidy but his mannerisms, delivery and emotional honesty transform Galvin into more than just a character on the page and into a living, breathing person. Edward Concannon, played by James Mason, as Galvin’s powerful and distinguished opponent, is a remarkable creature who is at once a person to admire and fear. Rounding out the cast is a string of strong character actors that are all given rich material to work with. Galvin’s love interest, Laura (Charlotte Rampling), has little to say but her eyes and her face tell us all we need to know. What’s most remarkable about The Verdict is how unobtrusive and assured the directing is. Lumet doesn’t pummel the audience with emotional cues or self-reflexive shots that call attention to themselves. No, instead, Lumet lets the characters tell the story. His camera simply observes, letting us completely lose ourselves in the story.
David Mamet has to be given credit for writing a screenplay that moves beautifully and seamlessly. The structure is so tight, the story feels inevitable, as if no amount tinkering was ever necessary. There is not a single wasted scene or throwaway line of dialogue. And what dialogue it is: direct and elegant, with a street-level poetry that is Mamet’s trademark, but without the showy one-liners that populate his later screenplays. The Verdict feels like a classic, even from its opening frames. It’s clear the film is a “prestige” picture, but removed of all the pretentious trappings normally associated with such titles (I’m looking at you, Mr. Weinstein). There are some obvious moments that stretch credibility, namely a judge that is so unabashedly biased that the character threatens to become a cartoon. I half expected him (Milo O’Shea) to grow a moustache so he could twirl it maniacally. That said, though, the judge’s behaviour further strengthens Galvin’s crusade against the system he represents. Simply put, The Verdict is superb and one of the best films of the ’80s.
Richard Saad
© Cinephile Magazine, 2009