Karl Delossantos

The Trial of the Chicago 7 tells the very true and very relevant story of seven protesters on trial for inciting a riot during the 1968 Democratic National Convention

Despite it’s stacked cast, relevant topics, and high-production value, The Trial of the Chicago 7 is too interested in portraying the facts and not enough in portraying the real-life characters at its center.

Look at the greatest films Aaron Sorkin has penned. I’m thinking of David Fincher’s The Social Network or Bennett Miller’s highly underrated Moneyball. He structures his screenplay—often non-linear or playing with pace—and writes his dialogue—meant to be delivered in a quick quippy rhythm—with the cinematic expression in mind. You can tell he’s asking himself how this is going to translate to the screen. He’s not looking to emulate reality, even though many of his works are based on true events. Instead, he focuses on telling the story in the most engaging way possible. But what makes those two films great is how their respective director’s balancing of Sorkin’s tricks.

However, what’s clear from Sorkin’s first two directorial efforts, Molly’s Game and now Netflix’s newest film The Trial of the Chicago 7, is that as a director his interest is enhancing those storytelling choices rather than balancing them. I say that because it’s those choices in the screenplay, more than any other of the films he’s penned, that bog down The Trial of the Chicago 7—a look at the Chicago riots during the 1968 Democratic National Convention and the ensuing riots.

The film is told in fits and starts cutting between the trial and the actual events of the riots in question. The prosecution, led by Richard Schultz (Joseph Gordon-Levitt in his most subdued role in recent years), is contesting that the seven men—a group of mostly unconnected activists against the Vietnam War—went to Chicago with intention of inciting a riot. The defense, led by William Kunstler (Mark Rylance) and Leonard Weinglass (Ben Shenkman), attest that it was the cops that instigated the violence. On the periphery, the leader of the Black Panther Party Bobby Seale (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) has been roped into the trial as a way of connecting the seven men to the group. 

Sorkin is quite clinical in his narrative. He embellishes as much as he has to, but not more than he’s done in the past in service of the story he’s trying to tell. In this case, he’s clearly tapping into the very relevant story of the failure of our justice system, especially in cases of protest in support of civil rights and equality. Though this was filmed before the murder of George Floyd and the ensuing protests, the movie is only made more relevant by it. And for a time that gives the movie a rhythm that is hard not to get swept up in. However, the momentum quickly gives way to monotony. 

That’s largely because we’re not entirely focused on a single character—or even any character really. Of the seven, we spend the most time with Tom Tom Hayden (Eddie Redmayne) for a reason that becomes clear towards the film’s conclusion. However, his motivations and feeling are left opaque as a way to lend impact to the end of his arc. But in return all we feel is a disconnect. Secondarily, we get to know Abbie Hoffman (Sasha Baron Cohen) and Jerry Rubin (Jeremy Strong), two hippies who are a strong juxtaposition to Tom’s more straight-laced activist, and their reasons for protesting a bit more. If any of the cast were to be up for Oscar consideration it ought to be Baron Cohen whose comedic schtick is underlined by the complex and contradictory thoughts that Abbie feels in relation to the movement. 

But because we’re so focused on the proceedings of the trial rather than the character impact, the real focus is on Rylance’s Kunstler, whose passions and frustrations are most front and center—especially his confrontations with the judge of the case Judge Julius Hoffman (Frank Langella), who is clearly biased against the seven. That focus does give us several Oscar-baity moments with Abdul-Mateen’s Bobby who is clearly being used as a pawn by the prosecution and the target of discrimination by Judge Hoffman. However, that story, at times more compelling than the main one we’re following, is on the periphery. 

The final 30 minutes of the film, which is filled with the dramatics that is to be expected of a courtroom drama, give a lot of what I was craving throughout the whole film: humanity. What directors like David Fincher and Bennett Miller do with Sorkin’s material that he doesn’t do himself is infuse it with humanity. Sorkin writes characters and he directs them as such. In two pivotal scenes we see Tom prepare for testimony and Abbie take the stand. There we are treated to the character study that The Trial of the Chicago 7 should have been. I could have read the facts of the case on Wikipedia, what I’m interested in is the politics, the emotions, and the characters. As great as Sorkin can be, he can also be his own worst enemy. 

Hi, I’m Karl ? Follow me on Twitter and Letterboxd! I’m also a Tomatometer-approved critic on Rotten Tomatoes ?

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