Presumed Innocent
Revisiting a Classic Film
I have been teaching classes on media and crime for more years than I care to admit. Recently I noticed that my students are no longer familiar with many of the classic films and television shows that helped shape modern crime entertainment. When I started FRAMED I knew I wanted to write about some of these classics, yet I had not really decided where I would begin. Then Apple TV released a new adaptation of Scott Turow’s Presumed Innocent, spurring me to rewatch the 1990 film starring Harrison Ford. After thinking about what I had seen so far in the modern version and how the film conveyed the story, I decided to write a post on the film (As I am writing this post the final episode of the series has not aired. I do not know if it will have the same outcome as the film, so I will keep any specific details to myself).
Given its release date and my interest in crime films at that time in my life, I know that I saw this film in the theater while indulging in buttery popcorn and cherry coke. I no longer remembered the outcome, and had I not been watching the new series, I would not have remembered the basis of the storyline. Rewatching the film all these years later was like seeing it for the first time, but with a completely different set of eyes. Looking at it through a criminological lens always brings different elements to light.
Presumed Innocent depicts the tale of Rozat “Rusty” Sabich, a prosecuting attorney, who is accused of murdering his coworker and former lover, Carolyn Polhemus. He fights to maintain his innocence as his former coworkers set out with a vengeance to prove his guilt.
The film can be described as a courtroom drama combined with an erotic thriller. The latter was a popular formula in the late 1980s and 1990s. Although more than three decades later this slant makes some of the film cringeworthy (such as when Brian Dennehy’s character describes Carolyn as a sexy lady, or something to that effect, while discussing her murder).
Courtroom dramas are a cornerstone of crime entertainment. We might not be able to binge watch Law and Order shows had these films not made an impact in the 20th century. According to Nicole Rafter, a criminologist who wrote a seminal book titled Shots in the Mirror: Crime Films and Society, these movies convey tales centered on the difficulty of achieving justice. Traditionally, it is in the trial scenes that the audience witnesses the fallibility of manmade laws and the justice system. As these films evolved, less and less of the story unfolded in the halls of justice, as audiences expected not only drama but also action. In doing so, I think this also allowed the films to incorporate other ways of achieving “justice.”
Presumed Innocent’s opening scene sets the stage for this traditional theme. It begins with the camera panning an empty courtroom, eventually lingering on the empty jury box. Harrison’s voice, who the viewer soon learns is Rusty, narrates the opening:
“I am a prosecutor. I’m a part of the business of accusing, judging, and punishing. I explore the evidence of a crime and determine who is charged, who is brought to this room [courtroom] to be tried before his peers. I present my evidence to the jury and they deliberate upon it. They must determine what really happened. If they cannot, we will not know if the accused deserves to be freed or should be punished. If they cannot find the truth, what is our hope of justice?”
It is a simple, visibly uneventful scene, yet it is extremely powerful. It encapsulates the power of the court, as well as the challenges of justice. It sets the stage for the story that unfolds.
I will admit that in the modern, low-attention-span, experience of watching films, I was distracted during some of the trial scenes. However, when the true culprit is revealed, my eyes were glued to the screen and I was holding my breath. It was an instantaneous reminder of why this film was popular when it was released.
In the end, Presumed Innocent demonstrates the power of the prosecutor, as well as the complexity of justice. While justice for Carolyn’s murder was not achieved in the courtroom, one might say that another version of justice is—one outside the legal system.
The film closes much like it opens. The viewer is returned to the empty courtroom as Rusty continues:
“…I am a prosecutor. I have spent my life in the assignment of blame. With all deliberation and intent, I reached for Carolyn. I cannot pretend it was an accident. I reached for Carolyn and set off that insane mix of rage and lunacy that led one human being to kill another. There was a crime; there was a victim, and there is punishment.”
In this case, the punishment is private; the kind that is likely to eat away at Rusty for the rest of his life.
While Presumed Innocent is not the best example of a classic courtroom film, I am glad that I revisited it. As Tim Grierson recently commented, it was a “part of what now seems like an extinct era, that of the prestige adaptation of the page-turning blockbuster novel.” A time when they used “to make classy movies based on books everybody read.” I read the book and watched the film all those years ago. Yet watching the film today still surprised me in a way that I am convinced the new series will not. The modern adaptation has taken liberties with the original story, presenting a different characterization of Rusty and others. I am hoping that when the killer is revealed next week that it is not the same one as the original. Not because I already know who that is but because, to me, that ending does not fit this retelling of the story. What will be interesting to see is, if and how justice is achieved in this modern version of Presumed Innocent.