The Case for Anatomy of a Murder

Stewart as Biegler pleads his case.

Anatomy of a Murder is the best courtroom drama ever made.

Otto Preminger’s enthralling motion picture requires multiple viewings to be fully appreciated. When I first saw it, I focused on the riveting story, which treats the viewer much like the jury. We listen to testimonies, watch the lawyers try to manipulate our emotions, and struggle to make sense of the evidence. When I saw Anatomy of a Murder a second time, I knew the case’s outcome and was to able to concentrate on the splendid performances. James Stewart, Arthur O’Connell, and George C. Scott earned Oscar nominations, but the rest of the cast is also exceptionally strong. In subsequent viewings, I’ve come to appreciate the film’s well-preserved details, from the small town upper-Michigan atmosphere to Preminger’s brilliant direction (e.g., in one shot, as Scott's prosecutor cross-examines a witness in close-up, Stewart—the defending lawyer—is framed between them in the background).

Lee Remick and George C. Scott.

The opening scenes quickly establish Stewart’s shrewd lawyer. After ten years as Iron City’s public prosecutor, Paul Biegler has lost his office and gone into private practice. He’s also lost his passion for the law—he spends most of his time fishing, playing the piano, smoking Italian cigars, and reading old cases with his elderly, alcoholic friend Parnell Emmett McCarthy (O’Connell). His life takes a dramatic turn when he eventually agrees to defend Lieutenant Frederick Manion (Ben Gazzara), who is being tried for the murder of a man who may have raped Manion’s wife Laura (Lee Remick). Manion doesn’t deny killing the man, whom he shot five times. His lack of remorse, his wife Laura’s open sexuality, and the couple’s coldness toward one another tip the scales against them from the start.

Perhaps, it’s those very drawbacks that attract Biegler to the case. With a newly sober McCarthy assisting him, Biegler builds his defense around an old Michigan case in which a man was acquitted of murder because he acted out of “irresistible impulse.” As a psychiatrist (Orson Bean in a great bit part )  explains on the stand, it didn’t matter if Manion knew the difference between right and wrong. He was compelled to act (in the words of another witness, he was a “like a mailman delivering the mail”).

Saul Bass's opening credits as justly famous.

Once the drama shifts to the courtroom, an already-engrossing story seems to shift into a higher gear. The sparring between Stewart and Scott, as an ambitious assistant state attorney, is played to perfection. Remick has a splendid scene as Scott interrogates her on the witness stand. Joseph Welch provides welcome dry humor as the judge, who seems more like a referee trying to keep two fighters from killing each other. Interestingly, Welch was a former Army lawyer who participated in the McCarthy hearings; his real-life wife also appears in Anatomy as one of the jurors.

At the time of its release, Anatomy of a Murder was quite controversial, much of it stemming from the frank discussion of the crime. Preminger seemed to relish in breaking barriers on film content. His sex comedy The Moon Is Blue (1953) shocked audiences with its plot about older men (David Niven and William Holden) pursuing a young virgin. Preminger’s The Man With the Golden Arm (1955) was one of the first mainstream films about drug addiction.

Our favorite Preminger works are the film noir classic Laura (1944), Bunny Lake Is Missing (1965), and, of course, this one. You may disagree with me on whether it's the finest courtroom drama, but I'm not alone in my assessment. Back in 2021, I interviewed Michael Asimow, a professor at the Santa Clara Law School and co-author of Real to Reel: Truth and Trickery in Courtroom Movies. When I asked him what film did the best job of presenting a case realistically, he replied: "Our all-time favorite is Anatomy of a Murder. Almost all of it is a gripping murder trial, with two great lawyers going after each other, full of twists and turns and with an ambiguous ending. Watch this movie—you’ll be amazed at how good it is."

The Five Best George C. Scott Performances

1. Patton (1970) - Judith Crist, then a critic at New York magazine, called Scott's portrayal of General George S. Patton, Jr. "one of the great performances of all time." It's hard to argue even though the film as a whole doesn't resonate today as strongly as it once did. Still, his opening speech on a stage in front of a huge American flag is an iconic moment in 1970s cinema. Scott famously refused his Oscar for Best Actor in 1970. Actually, he tried to refuse the nomination, just as he did for Best Supporting Actor for The Hustler in 1961. Scott played Patton again in the 1986 made-for-TV movie The Last Days of Patton.

2. The Flim-Flam Man (1967) - George C. Scott was 40 when he played elderly, gray-haired con artist Mordecai Jones. It could have easily become a gimmick, but Scott's performance is so masterful that one quickly forgets the age difference between actor and character. His make-up is adequate, but it's Scott's voice and physical gestures that allow him to transform into an old man. He owns the character, balancing Mordecai's enthusiasm over successfully pulling off a con with his paternal friendship with a young Army deserter. He boasts of holding the degree M.B.S., C.S., D.D. in one scene (that's for "Master of Back-Stabbing, Cork-Screwing and Dirty-Dealing"). Then, in another, he reflects, with a tinge of remorse, about how he became bitter toward the human race.

3. They Might Be Giants (1971) - In this cult favorite, George C. Scott plays Justin Playfair, a former judge who imagines himself to be Sherlock Holmes in contemporary New York. Joanne Woodward plays his psychiatrist, Dr. Watson. While the film is only partially successful, it provides a showcase for the mesmerizing Scott, who effortlessly transitions back and forth from the confused Justin to the supremely confident Holmes. In the film's most touching scene, a tired Holmes reads the biography of Justin Playfair, a once influential judge who retired from the bench and lost his wife the previous year (thus explaining why Justin became Holmes).

4. Anatomy of a Murder (1959) - Scott has a field day as an ambitious, theatrical prosecutor in a high-profile murder case in one of the best (if not the best) trial films. In her memoir, actress Colleen Dewhurst stated that it was "the part that would explode him in the public eye." Scott, who had earned good notices for his stage and television work, was originally offered the small role of the bartender. However, he lobbied to play the prosecuting attorney and earned his first Academy Award nomination.

5. Hardcore (1979) - It's too bad that writer-director Paul Schrader's dark drama isn't better known. Scott plays a conservative father from the midwest who learns that his missing daughter is involved in the adult film business. He goes to L.A. to find her and bring her home. Scott gives an emotionally-charged performance as a morally rigid man thrust into a seamy underworld. However, it's his scenes with Season Hubley, playing a streetwalker who helps him, that bring out the complexities in his character.

Honorable mentions:  The Hustler, The List of Adrian Messenger, Dr. Strangelove, and The Changeling.

Cult Movie Theatre: They Might Be Giants

George C. Scott as Holmes, sort of.

When Blevins Playfair receives a blackmail note demanding $20,000, he decides to commit his wealthy brother Justin to a psychiatric institution. It solves two problems: Blevins can gain power of attorney and access to his brother's fortune and Justin (George C. Scott) is delusional--he believes he's Sherlock Holmes.

Justin makes an impressive Holmes, not only looking the part but acting it, right down to some impressive displays of deductive reasoning. Thus, psychiatrist Mildred Watson (Joanne Woodward) insists on a thorough evaluation before signing off on the institution's paperwork. For his part, Justin/Holmes has no time to dally with a psychiatrist--after all, he's chasing his arch-nemesis, Professor Moriarty. But then, he realizes that Mildred is Dr. Watson and it's obvious that she must become his partner and chronicle his exploits. Mildred quickly gets caught up in Justin's fantasy world and, before long, the game is afoot as the detecting duo scour New York City for clues to Moriarty's location.

Joanne Woodward as Dr. Watson.

Based on James Goldman's stage play, They Might Be Giants is an entertaining lark for most of its running time. It's also a showcase for the mesmerizing Scott, who effortlessly transitions back and forth from the confused Justin to the supremely confident Holmes. In the film's most touching scene, a tired Holmes reads the biography of Justin Playfair, a once influential judge who retired from the bench and lost his wife the previous year (thus explaining why Justin became Holmes).

One could argue that Joanne Woodward has the more difficult part. She must convince the audience that lonely, intelligent Mildred Watson could get swept up in Justin's delusional mystery. Even if parts of the mystery display a weird logic, her actions and sudden confession of love for Justin defy belief. Perhaps, that's the point. Heaven knows, there are many films from the late 1960s and early 1970s that throw logic out the window and I'm quite fond of some of them (e.g., I'll Never Forget What's 'isname).

Jack Gilford as Wilbur.

In addition to Scott's excellent performance, They Might Be Giants provides Jack Gilford with arguably his best film role. He plays Wilbur, a librarian who has known Justin from childhood, and wishes he could immerse himself in another identity. He would choose the Scarlet Pimpernel, fop by day and hero by night. (Gilford's recitation of "They seek him here..." is a little gem.)

As it builds to what appears to be a whimsical climax, with Holmes and Watson joined in a march by all the quirky people they've met, They Might Be Giants suddenly changes tone. It closes on an odd note, leaving one to wonder if the couple have lost their sanity forever or simply found contentment in their complete fantasy. (Although there are different running times for the film, I have not found any indication that the final scene was tampered with in any way.)

That's not a reason to dismiss They Might Be Giants. Even if its grand ideas don't ultimately come together, you shouldn't miss a chance to see George C. Scott play Sherlock Holmes.

George C. Scott Is the Flim-Flam Man

George C. Scott and Michael Sarrazin.

George C. Scott had a pretty impressive career in the 1960s with Dr. Strangelove, The Hustler, and The List of Adrian Messenger. If you stretch things a bit, you could also count Patton in 1970 and Anatomy of a Murder in 1959. Lost amid these excellent films, though, is one of his finest performances: his portrayal of Mordecai Jones in The Flim-Flam Man (1967).

Army deserter Curley Treadaway (Michael Sarrazin) first encounters the elderly con artist when Mordecai is hurled from a moving train in the rural South. The two men become unlikely partners with Curley serving as the shill for Mordecai's various con games. While Curley has ethical misgivings, his new partner ensures him that he only takes advantage of greedy people.

That's not entirely true, as shown when they "borrow" a red convertible from a nice family whose attractive daughter Bonnie Lee (Sue Lyon) catches Curley's eye. During a police pursuit, the car is destroyed--along with much of a small Carolina town. Curley sneaks back to apologize to Bonnie Lee and discovers they share a mutual attraction. He continues his secret romance with Bonnie Lee while working scams with Mordecai--but she wants Curley to turn himself into the police.

What I haven't mentioned is that George C. Scott was 40 when he played the elderly, gray-haired con artist. It could have easily become a gimmick, but Scott's performance is so masterful that one quickly forgets the age difference between actor and character. His make-up is adequate (though Mordecai's gray hair never moves), but it's Scott's voice and physical gestures that allow him to transform into an old man.

He owns the character, balancing Mordecai's enthusiasm over successfully pulling off a con with his paternal friendship with Curley. He boasts of holding the degree M.B.S., C.S., D.D. in one scene (that's for "Master of Back-Stabbing, Cork-Screwing and Dirty-Dealing"). Then, in another, he reflects, with a tinge of remorse, about how he became bitter toward the human race.

Michael Sarrazin and Sue Lyon.

Michael Sarrazin, in his feature film debut, is appealing as the naive Curley. The rest of the cast is peppered with marvelous veteran character actors, such as: Harry Morgan (the sheriff), Jack Albertson (Bonnie Lee's father), Alice Ghostley (her mother), Albert Salmi (the deputy), and Strother Martin and Slim Pickens as two greedy victims of Mordecai's cons.

Filmed in eastern Kentucky, The Flim-Flam Man is the rare Hollywood film that captures the atmosphere of rural Southern towns and backroads. It's all there on the screen from the signs on the barns to the fields of corn, the trains, the moonshiner's still in the woods, and a small town A&P.

Curley and Mordecai swindle Slim Pickens' tobacco farmer.

I'm not sure why The Flim-Flam Man is little more than a footnote in George C. Scott's filmography. It's well directed by Irvin Kershner (The Empires Strikes Back) and features another perfect Jerry Goldsmith score. Most importantly, it's a great opportunity to see one of the best actors of his generation at the peak of his acting prowess. Scott made some pretty humdrum movies later in his career--but this one is among his best.

George C. Scott Unravels the Mystery of "The Changeling"

George C. Scott as John Russell.

When we recently asked our Twitter followers to name their favorite scary movie, several responded with an unexpected choice: The Changeling (1980). Since October evenings are a fine time for ghost stories, we took an opportunity to watch this atmospheric tale about buried secrets and restless souls (which we found on YouTube).

George C. Scott stars as John Russell, a composer whose world has been shattered by the accidental deaths of his wife and young daughter. Russell accept a position to teach music at his alma mater in Seattle, where he rents a large historic home. The house has been vacant for twelve years (which is never a good sign in a horror movie).

A house of secrets, nestled in the woods.

Almost immediately, John begins to hear unusual pounding sounds and fleeting whispers. But it's the sudden shattering of a fourth floor window that leads him to a closet that conceals a shuttered door. Behind the door is a staircase to a small child's room, where John finds a manuscript from 1909 and a still-functioning music box. The music box's melody is the same as John's latest composition.

Like all good ghost movies, The Changeling is essentially a mystery in which John tries to learn the identity of the house's resident spirit and what it wants. The former question is answered in the film's finest scene: a seance in which the medium (well played by Roberta Maxwell) asks questions in an emotionless voice while madly scribbling the ghost's answers on paper.

Trish Van Devere.

Much of the film's effectiveness is derived by its atmospheric settings: the isolated snowy highway where John loses his family; the rainy NYC streets and his empty apartment; and, of course, the haunted estate and its muted-green woods. The house itself is almost a character, with director Peter Medak embracing the long staircase, the overly spacious chambers, and the dark, dreary child's room. Medak employs frequent high-angle shots to give the impression of a child hiding on the stairs, watching and listening to the adults below.

George C. Scott, looking older than his 53 years, is quietly effective as the "detective" that unravels the house's mystery and, in doing so, digs himself out of his own depression. I love that the script pairs John with an attractive history society volunteer (played by Trish Van Devere, aka Mrs. Scott), but never muddies the story with a romance. That would have detracted from the central stories of an ultimate deception and coping with grief.

Henry Treat Rogers house in Denver.

Russell Hunter, who wrote the screen story for The Changeling, claims the plot was inspired by his real-life experiences while living in the Henry Treat Rogers house in Denver in the 1960s. In a 1980 article in Denver Magazine, Russell writes about unusual sounds, a stairway leading to the house's third floor where he found a child’s trunk, and a seance. While others have debunked parts of Hunter's tale, it still makes for a memorable backstory.

When Martin Scorsese named his picks for the 11 Scariest Movies of All Time, The Changeling came in at No. 6. Personally, I wouldn't rank it in my Top 25--I just didn't find it all that scary. Still, it's a well-directed, well-acted film that unravels effectively as it reveals what the title really means (hint: it's not a supernatural creature). And The Changeling turned out to be a perfect choice for an October evening as we count down to Halloween.

A Month of Mysteries: Who Is Murdering the People on "The List of Adrian Messenger"?

John Huston’s 1963 mystery is best known for its gimmick: several famous stars make cameos in heavy make-up. While trying to spot the stars is undeniably fun, the gimmick disguises the fact that The List of Adrian Messenger is a highly-entertaining, crafty film that starts as a mystery and evolves into a suspenseful cat-and-mouse game.

At the Gleneyre estate In England, author Adrian Messenger (John Merivale) provides a list of ten names to his friend Anthony Gethryn (George C. Scott), a former MI5 operative. Messenger, acting both concerned and mysterious, asks Gethryn to quietly find out if the ten people on the list are still alive. Gethryn agrees to undertake the assignment. A few days later, a bomb explodes aboard a plane carrying Adrian as a passenger. Everyone dies in the crash, except for a Frenchman called Raoul Le Borg (Jacques Roux), who hears Messenger’s final words as they drift together in the icy ocean.

When Gethryn learns that most of the men on Messenger’s list are dead, he surmises that the plane crash was designed to kill his friend. He interviews Le Borg, who recalls Adrian’s last words before dying...but they don’t make sense. Was Adrian trying to leave an important message in code with his final breath? What’s the connection between the men on Messenger’s list and why is someone murdering each of them?

Gethryn solves the mystery with a third of the film’s running time remaining. The action then shifts back to Gleneyre—home of the wealthy Bruttenholm (pronounced “broom”) family—as Gethryn tries to outfox the killer, who has now also arrived on the scene.

Based on a 1959 novel by mystery author and screenwriter Philip MacDonald, The List of Adrian Messenger borrows the killer’s motive from another famous detective novel (no spoilers here!). But the “why” is only part of the fun in The List of Adrian Messenger. It’s the “how” that differentiates it from other mysteries. Among his many skills, the murderer is also a master of disguises, which provides the opportunity for Kirk Douglas to don a number of incredible “looks” designed by make-up master Bud Westmore. Thus, the killer appears as a pointy-chinned priest, a short mousey man, a white-haired elderly villager, and others.

George C. Scott grounds the story with a finely-etched portrait of a man just past his prime professionally, who realizes he will only be friends with the woman he loves. One wonders if Gethryn’s zeal in solving Adrian’s murder can be partially attributed to the fact that it provides a mental challenge for the former espionage agent. Gethryn even notes his admiration for the killer’s cleverness at one point. It’s a shame that Scott didn’t appear in additional films as Gethryn (MacDonald wrote 12 novels with the character; The List of Adrian Messenger was the last one).

Though the film would have worked just fine on its own merits, there’s no denying that the guest star cameos are amusing. Look closely and see if you can spot the heavily-disguised Tony Curtis, Frank Sinatra, Burt Lancaster, and Robert Mitchum (an easy one…he looks like an old Bob Mitchum). After the closing credits, each actor removes his disguise. According to some sources, other actors played the disguised characters in one or two scenes. I’m not sure about that, but some of the voices are definitely dubbed. Allegedly, Elizabeth Taylor turned down the chance to do a cameo because the make-up was so time-consuming.

There are other pleasures to be gained from The List of Adrian Messenger. Director John Huston keeps the plot moving quickly and does a wonderful job of foreshadowing (e.g., watch carefully and you can guess how the killer will meet his end). Jerry Goldsmith’s terrific music score is both playful and disturbing. And the English country setting provides the ideal backdrop for a climax that culminates in a fox hunt.

So, while you may enjoy the gimmicky guest stars in The List of Adrian Messenger, you’ll remember it for being a smart, inventive mystery. Maybe that’s why it’s one of those films that’s fun to watch over and over.