Anatomy of Suspense: An essay on Anatomy of a Murder

A courtroom drama can be told from any number of perspectives and often in combination to give a more complete view of the case.  Where 12 Angry Men gives a look into the jury room, Anatomy of a Murder (playing at the Louisville Palace Aug. 26^th at 8:00 P.M.) gives the audience a step-by-step recipe for how to defend a client who admits to the crime.  Anatomy of a Murder also gives the screenwriter a tutorial on how to build suspense.  Primarily, create conflict, provide opposition, increase the tension and maintain doubt up until the very end.

  

Anatomy of a Murder (1959) is a film from director Otto Preminger, screenwriter Wendell Mayes, and stars James Stewart as the defense attorney for a decorated soldier who admits to shooting a man. Michael Asimow, from UCLA Law School, called the film, “probably the finest pure trial movie ever made.” A big reason for that accuracy and its influence on future films is that it is based on a book written by a Michigan Supreme Court Justice John D. Voelker, under the pseudonym Robert Traver. The film walks the line of truth and ethics and holds the distinction of being one of the first movies to grapple with the graphic nature of sex and rape.

Creating conflict shouldn’t be a problem for a courtroom drama since you always have prosecution versus defense as a base.  What this film shows is the presence of conflict at every turn.  The main character, defense attorney Paul, doesn’t just have the prosecution to overcome but his client, Lt. Manion, and the client’s wife aren’t always forthcoming about information vital to the case.  “Almost unaware of his physical movement, he balances on the white line on the floor, walking it carefully as if it were a rail” (Mayes 31).  This scene leads to Manion’s eventual plea of insanity but also shows a calculated mind capable of falling on either side of that “white lie” line.  The audience has been shown that Manion is not someone that can be completely believed by us or Paul.  That conflict provides another hurdle for our protagonist to overcome as he strives for the ultimate goal of winning the case.

Paul represents the defense and we have already been told that the initial prosecuting attorney is a “lesser man” (Mayes 15).  For a proper building of suspense, we need to believe that Paul won’t rollover his adversary during the trial.  Enter big city lawyer Claude Dancer, brilliantly portrayed by George C. Scott, to assist the overmatched prosecutor.  In a recess in the Judge’s chambers, Mayes writes that, “the judge’s shrewd eyes move from Paul to Dancer, knowing that these two men are the real adversaries in the case” (90).  Now, we have a battle.  Not only has Paul found a worthy opponent but the writer’s use of the word shrewd indicates that the judge should not be taken lightly either.  The protagonist needing to fight battles on multiple fronts, i.e. opposing a slick attorney in front of an astute judge while defending a difficult client in a case that seems cut and dry for the prosecution, is a great method of keeping the audience engaged.  If we blink, we may miss something.

Now that we have a lot of conflict and tension, it needs to be increased.  When the doctor who examined Mrs. Manion for evidence of her being raped is questioned, a classic case of “one-upsmanship” occurs between Paul and Dancer with each one wanting the last word.  The two engage in a litigil dance of speculation and personal opinion that would appear sexist and demeaning today.  The idea of both sides needing the last word indicates their belief, at the time, of a verdict in their favor.  The fact that both sides are confident leaves an aura of reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury as well as the film audience.  What’s going to happen?  That’s a question every screenwriter wants to leave us with at the end of a scene.  It keeps them wanting more.

 Reasonable doubt has been seeded in the mind of the audience, now we need to maintain it. Lt. Manion, after his trip to the witness stand is met with relatively “soft ball” questions from Dancer, returns to his seat next to Paul. “I thought you said he’d skin me alive”. To which Paul responds, “Just wait” (155). The term “just wait” indicates to the audience, as well as Manion, that the heavy stuff is yet to come. The first round of questions serves as a breather for the film goer that is now informed that the road ahead may be too much for the soldier to handle and may just turn the case in favor of the prosecution. Further doubt is found when both sides have conflicting expert psychoanalytic witnesses that admit to the possibility that the other witness is correct in their diagnosis of Lt. Manion. Doubt is continued after the verdict is delivered but there won’t be any more spoilers here, you’ll have to check it for yourself.

Anatomy of a Murder plays for nearly two and a half hours but it flies pretty quickly once the trial actually begins.  The story of Paul and his defense of Lt. Manion reads like a textbook on how to write an exciting screenplay.  Take a character that the audience cares for then create conflict for him, provide a worthy opponent, increase the tension between the two rivals and then maintain doubt as to what the outcome will be.  When you watch the film, you’ll also notice that other screenwriters have gone to school with this film when writing their courtroom movies, e.g. The Verdict, My Cousin Vinny, and more recently The Lincoln Lawyer.  You should study it too.

~       Jeff Whitfill