Sorkin's America - The Trial of the Chicago 7
There is perhaps no greater hallmark in all of cinema than Aaron Sorkin dialogue. It has become a cliche to notice it at this point, but the sharp quips, protracted speeches and barrage of one-liners have become his calling card. Every character is 20% smarter than they’d be in real life and every speck of dialogue is punched up to create the most clever take on every scene. But Sorkin’s writing was never in question. It is always top tier. The real question posed in The Trial of the Chicago 7 is can he direct—can he use that flowery rhetoric to its fullest potential and create true dramatic heft? On that question, the jury is still out.
The film opens with an introduction to an array of characters. Sorkin weaves together casual introductions to Abbie Hoffman (played by Sacha Baron Cohen), Jerry Rubin (played by Jeremy Strong), David Dellinger (played by John Caroll Lynch), Tom Hayden (played by Eddie Redmayne), Rennie Davis (played by Alex Sharp), John Froines (played by Daniel Flaherty) and Lee Weiner (played by Noah Robbins)—the Chicago Seven. After joining forces to demonstrate at the Democratic National Convention in a protest against the Vietnam War, the collective is arrested. Black Panther leader, Bobby Seale (played Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), is tried with them in an effort to use racial prejudice to make their countercultural acts seem even more sinister.
The trial is largely a circus, with Judge Julius Hoffman (played by Frank Langella) attempting to rule with an iron fist in the face of irreverence and disdain for the institution. As the men stand trial, the differences in their particular strains of liberalism become points of contention. While the Abbie Hoffman wing views rapid revolution as the only acceptable goal, Tom Hayden argues in favor of incremental progress. The result is a clash of worldviews that gives Sorkin a canvas on which to moralize.
As an entertainment vehicle, The Trial of the Chicago 7 largely works. This is a very talented group of actors and they look right at home firing the Sorkinisms back and forth. Sacha Baron Cohen in particular seems especially adept at being the gravity the film needs. When he is funny, so is the film; when he is somber, the mood shifts with him. One of the film’s framing devices is his character doing standup and retelling certain key events. These scenes offer an incredibly effective juxtaposition of castual storytelling and intense imagery.
Philosophically, however, the film is a somewhat muddled picture. It lives in a lane Sorkin is very comfortable in. That being the heartfelt retrospective that asks whether it was worth it. The Social Network, Steve Jobs and so on all represent looks back at whether someone made the right decisions along the way. This film, in its own way, seems to be asking the same, but its thesis that grand speeches and the moral high ground are all that’s needed to win the day feels hollow. In the face of the division and rancor present in the real world, it all feels like not enough.
There’s also the film’s quick disposal of the Seale/Black Panther storyline. Yes, his case was dismissed and he was not a part of the final judgment, but his abrupt exit makes his inclusion feel like a ploy rather than an integral part of the story. The film seems satisfied with saying ‘this happened and it sucked,’ rather than the deeper questions it asks regarding the other defendants.
Overall if you enjoy thinking about American history, this is a worthy entry. Its highs are well executed and many are at the top of their game. It lacks the grit you might expect from a retelling of the modern peak of America’s unrest, but it’s good enough to become the definitive take on an interesting moment.
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