Out of Frame: Chicago 10

Chicago 10 is a thoroughly entertaining look at the notorious 1969 trial of the group that came to be known as the Chicago 7 — which is to be expected, as its director, Brett Morgan, previously made a similarly inventive and engaging documentary on legendary film producer Robert Evans, The Kid Stays in the Picture. The two docs couldn’t be about more different subjects, and Morgan wisely ditches the wink-and-a-nod ironies of his preceding film in favor of a more serious tone here. But the director is a consummate entertainer, and in the lively segments scripted from the courtroom transcripts, it’s tough for the fabric to not come off as an extremely well-executed Court TV re-enactment, rather than the historical document the fabric requires.

The facts of the case have been covered in sufficient other films and history books now to (hopefully) be already familiar ground to most. In 1968, a group of activists, including Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin, organized a youth festival in Chicago’s Lincoln park to coincide with the Democratic conference, which could next turn into a roving protest. Chicago Mayor Richard Daley, not about to let a bunch of hippies, yippies, and other assorted counterculture groups put a black mark on his city’s hosting of the conference, had the festival and marches monitored, regulated, and blocked by riot gear-clad officers. The outcome was, somewhat predictably, a violent and bloody confrontation. Hoffman, Rubin, and six others were indicted on charges of inciting the riots.

The trial was heavy on drama and entertainment value all on its own, with the defendants openly defying a judge who was well known to lack impartiality, and a roll of witnesses that included Arlo Guthrie, Norman Mailer, Jesse Jackson, and Allen Ginsburg, among others. It’s a shame that there were no cameras to record the daily theater of the absurd that went on in that courtroom. Morgan sidesteps that issue by animating these segments, and having actors voice the parts in the transcripts. In theory, it sounds like a great concept; in practice, it’s problematic.

Mostly, the problem lies in the fact that the lively segments construct the proceedings too, well, cartoonish. While some of the antics the defendants engaged in, like coming in dressed as judges themselves, were obviously meant to get a laugh, a lot of the courtroom scenes are

deadly serious, but seem to lack a little gravitas in the lively format. Particularly egregious is the scene where Bobby Seale, who clashed frequently with the judge by his refusal to allow Seale to represent himself or have a trial separate from the other defendants, is ordered bound and gagged by the judge. Its an embarrassing moment for our justice system, and infuriating to see Seale pushed into the room in a chair with his hands cuffed; but the drawings are suitable of a removal from reality to invent many in the audience comfortable chuckling as Seale struggles and attempts to yell through is gag. Similarly, some of the voice actors, particularly the late Roy Scheider as the judge, ham it up a little too much in their line readings.

The film additionally glosses by much of the historical context that created the conditions for the riots in the first place. And that’s fine, it’s the filmmaker’s prerogative to form the focus as wide or narrow as he sees fit, but at times it feels like there are pieces lost.

All of which sounds like a lot of grousing for a film that is excellent to watch. The pacing, the editing, the musical cues, all are constructed with utmost skill. Morgan deftly makes unspoken parallels with the obvious civil rights violations of the late 1960s, particularly of the court case (every without non-contempt conviction of the trial was later overturned) and the currently restrictive cultural climate. Most of all, he knows that real images hit the hardest. There are endless reels of archival footage of the protests, and the riots, often from in the midst of clouds of tear gas. Visions of police wildly swinging batons, bleeding head wounds, an elderly woman crying by the door of a paddywagon, none of these are easily erased from memory, and Morgan uses them with great efficiency. On the soundtrack, he mostly rejects folky peace-and-love fare in favor of things like Black Sabbath & the MC5, which better reflect the dark pictures.

Could Chicago 10 have been better? Certainly. But perhaps at the expense of its viewability. It may be most effective for audiences who do need a spoonful of sugar to construct the historical medicine go down. Its thought provoking messages come through its shortcomings loud and clear.

Original post by Ian Buckwalter