The Trial of the Chicago 7

In many ways, "The Trial of the Chicago 7" is an old-timey social justice film in the vein of "To Kill a Mockingbird" or "12 Angry Men."

Of course, I mean this as a compliment, and it's also not a surprise given Aaron Sorkin's penchant for American ideology and social issues. Most of his work, from "The West Wing" and "The Newsroom" to "A Few Good Men," "Charlie Wilson's War," and "The American President" provide audiences with a sort of political primer, giving glimpses into political machinations, assigning good and bad guy roles, and discussing how an individual incident should be scrutinized given the American ideals that we so righteously pump up at every rah-rah opportunity we get.

And indeed, so too does he do this in his directorial debut, a powerhouse film based on his own powerhouse script, and the brawn he showcases emanates from the page to the screen via the dynamic cast he assembles, with Oscar winners or nominees seemingly everwhere: Eddie Redmayne ("The Theory of Everything"), Mark Rylance ("Bridge of Spies"), Sacha Baron Cohen ("Borat"), Joseph Gordon-Levitt ("7500"), John Carroll Lynch ("Zodiac"), Frank Langella ("Robot and Frank"), and at least one surprise I don't want to ruin here in case, like me, you come into this film cold.

The acting is uniformly stellar, not a surprise given this cast and the material they're working with, but Sorkin's film shouts from the 1960s (and 70s), showing how something as simple as a new presidential election can change everything, and of course we hear the echoes in 2020.

The "Chicago 7" is a collection of Vietnam War protestors, who assembled a demonstration outside the Democratic National Convention in 1968, in the wake of the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy. Met with hostile, aggressive police forces, the peaceful demonstrations quickly turned violent, and a conservative Nixon Administration Attorney General, eager to stick it to his predecessor, gleefully decides to throw the book at the protest's organizers, charging them with conspiracy to incite a riot while crossing state lines, throwing in Bobby Seale (Yahyah Abdul-Mateen II) for good measure.

The trial is a farce, presided over by a judge (a wonderfully evil Langella) who stymies the defense at every turn, squashing one piece of key evidence or testimony after another, and being openly racist against Seale, whose attorney was not present due to a medical emergency, but was forced to continue without his right to having counsel.

The 7 is a motley bunch of hippies, idealistic suburbanites, and college boys without a clue as to what they're up against. One sequence comedically outlines how the police easily infiltrated their ranks and even manipulated their actions, with new "friends" showing up to join the cause, only to reveal themselves on the stand one by one. They're revolutionaries, but clumsy, even naive ones.

As Richard Schultz, the young prosecutor charged with putting the 7 away, Gordon-Levitt again shows that he's one of the more underrated actors working today. He brings depth as a lawyer whose star is on the rise, hand-picked by the new Attorney General, but whose personal ethics may be compromised.

Abdul-Mateen and Baron Cohen have the showiest roles, perhaps, as the railroaded Seale and Abbie Hoffman, respectively. Baron Cohen plays up the comedic element as is his wheelhouse, but also shows strong chops as the not-as-dumb-as-he-seems visionary. Both are stellar, but Lynch's understated David Dellinger, along with Redmayne's Tom Hayden, the de facto leader of the group, both exude a calm exterior and a hair's breadth from losing it at the same time.

The system too, is transparent in their agenda, but has little interest in justifying their cruelty. When the U.S. Government is set on making an example out of someone, come hell or high water they're going to do it.

"The Trial of the Chicago 7" is a name you're likely going to hear a lot come awards season, and with good reason: for me, it's easily the best film I've seen in a subpar cinematic year (though that's hardly the fault of the cinema produced for 2020). It's filled with tour-de-force performances, is as timely and important a topic as the country has, and has a clear message: the true American ideal is not truth and justice, but displays of brute force designed to squash anyone who opposes them.

Funny how history has a way of repeating itself, and that the same people tend not to recognize it.