Out of Frame: Chicago 10
Chicago 10 is a thoroughly entertaining look at the infamous 1969 trial of the group that came to be known as the Chicago 7 -- which is to be expected, as its director, Brett Morgen, previously made a similarly inventive and engaging documentary on legendary movie producer Robert Evans, The Kid Stays in the Picture. The two docs couldn't be about more different subjects, and Morgen wisely ditches the wink-and-a-nod ironies of his previous film in favor of a more serious tone here. But the director is a consummate entertainer, and in the animated segments scripted from the courtroom transcripts, it's hard for the material to not come off as an extremely well-executed Court TV re-enactment, rather than the historical document the material requires.
The facts of the case have been covered in enough 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 Convention, which could then 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 convention, had the festival and marches monitored, regulated, and blocked by riot gear-clad officers. The result 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. Morgen sidesteps that issue by animating these segments, and having actors voice the parts in the transcripts. In theory, it sounds like a great idea; in practice, it's problematic.
Mostly, the problem lies in the fact that the animated segments make 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 animated format. Particularly egregious is the scene where Bobby Seale, who clashed frequently with the judge over 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 enough of a removal from reality to make 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 also glosses over 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 make the focus as wide or narrow as he sees fit, but at times it feels like there are pieces missing.
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. Morgen deftly makes unspoken parallels with the obvious civil rights violations of the late 1960s, particularly of the court case (every single 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 Morgen 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 make the historical medicine go down. Its thought provoking messages come through its shortcomings loud and clear.