JUROR #2: Clint Eastwood’s Final Film [REVIEW]

When my high school teacher asked us what we wanted to be in the future, I always answered without hesitation: a lawyer. Life, being life, quickly reshaped my plans. Somewhere along the way, movies happened, then film studies, and eventually film criticism (read: prestigious unemployment). In the meantime, I also came to understand why, as a teenager, I was so determined to become a lawyer. The reason was mundane and boiled down to two words: courtroom dramas. For a long time, my list of favorite films was almost exclusively populated by representatives of this specific genre: Primal Fear, The Devil’s Advocate, 12 Angry Men. Only the last of these has withstood the test of time on rewatching, and I still consider it an unrivaled example of raw cinema built on acting and dialogue. Clint Eastwood must think similarly, as his latest – precisely his fortieth – film Juror #2 is packed with references to Sidney Lumet’s masterpiece.

The starting point is strikingly similar: a trial in which all evidence points to the defendant’s guilt (Gabriel Basso). A repeat offender, aggressive, muscular, and generally unlikable. All the jurors are convinced he cold-bloodedly murdered his partner as she walked along the roadside from a bar, drunk. Everyone except one. Justin, played by Nicholas Hoult – the titular Juror #2, with a perpetually beaten-dog expression – lacks the famed “reasonable doubt.” Justin knows exactly what happened that night. He knows because he is the one responsible for the woman’s death.

Eastwood and his screenwriter – debutant Jonathan Abrams – reveal their cards very quickly. The classic guilty-or-innocent opposition, around which nearly all courtroom dramas are built, takes a backseat. Instead, the focus shifts to the protagonist’s inner turmoil and moral dilemma. Should he confess and face the consequences of his actions, or stay silent and let an innocent man take the fall? Justin is not a bad person. The woman’s death was unintentional; until the trial, he believed he had hit a deer. Turning himself in would mean at least 30 years in prison. Yet Justin’s life has only just started to turn around – he’s gotten sober, rebuilt his life, and his wife is in her final month of pregnancy. How could he give it all up now?

The moral stalemate forces the protagonist to stall for time and step into the shoes of Henry Fonda from 12 Angry Men. Justin slowly convinces other jurors that the defendant might be innocent – driven not by a noble thirst for justice but by a crushing sense of guilt. The protagonist’s psychological portrait is inconsistent, but this inconsistency is intentional and narratively justified: at times, he fervently defends the accused, only to intentionally sabotage the efforts of those who come too close to uncovering the truth. The film derives its energy from the double life the protagonist is forced to lead – a man hounded by his own conscience, teetering almost to the very end on the thin line between right and wrong, altruism and selfishness.

A recurring visual motif in Juror #2 is the famous statue of Themis – the Greek goddess of justice, who traditionally holds a scale in one hand and a sword in the other. Eastwood, however, is uninterested in the goddess’s accessories – the camera focuses instead on the marble woman’s face, particularly her eyes covered by a blindfold. Justice can be blind, just as those who administer it can be – preoccupied with themselves and their careers. Eastwood critiques the American justice system through the subplot of Faith (Toni Collette), an ambitious prosecutor for whom the young woman’s death could serve as a springboard to a promotion as district attorney. Faith’s and Justin’s fates become intertwined almost imperceptibly. Both face similar choices, burdened with the knowledge that their decisions – whether they like it or not – will cast a shadow over the rest of their lives. The scene of their candid conversation, right after the trial concludes, is undoubtedly the film’s most compelling and certainly best-acted moment – a microcosm of the entire moral conflict of Juror #2.

One final, minor confession. Yes, Your Honor, I allowed myself a somewhat clickbait title for this review, lacking any indisputable evidence and relying only on speculation and media conjecture about the retirement of the Gran Torino director. Who knows, perhaps the 94-year-old Eastwood will step behind the camera again, continuing his race with Frederick Wiseman and Woody Allen for the title of the oldest active filmmaker. If he still feels the need to tell stories through film, I wish him all the best – may he continue making movies for as long as possible. However, if Juror #2 does indeed turn out to be the final entry in the rich and versatile career of this American legend, it must be said: it’s a classy farewell. Imperfect, yet an effective antidote to the apathy left by some of his recent projects. We couldn’t have asked for more.