Directed by Clint Eastwood, Juror #2 (2024) is a poorly written legal drama. Nicholas Hoult adeptly plays a juror, Justin, examining a defendant who is being tried for a “crime” Justin himself is responsible for. Most of the trial’s jurors are made to seem stupid. Justin is simply weak and ignorant—too much so. The case is ridiculous, and there is an appalling witness whom everyone appears to find credible. (For those who have seen the film: Why wasn’t the witness asked in court to describe the defendant’s car?) Juror #2 isn’t boring but it isn’t good either.

I know nothing about the direction the Greek filmmaker Michael Cacoyannis‘s career gradually went in, albeit the critic John Simon was very displeased with it. In the 1950s, however, he wrote and directed some notable examples of that decade’s artistic Euro-cinema, among which was A Matter of Dignity (1958). Mr. C.’s script, original to the screen, is sensible and palatable. Its themes are financial collapse for a family, moral responsibility, and the elusiveness of being in love, of intimate connection. The film owes a lot to actress Ellie Lambeti, who is luminous with versatility and charm, while other performers, e.g. Athena Michaelidou, grippingly make the grade as well. Surprisingly, my most recent viewing of Dignity was on Tubi.

(In Greek with English subtitles)

After a man’s young son dies in a hit-and-run accident, This Man Must Die (1969) quickly concentrates not on the father’s grief, although that is there, but on his thirst for revenge. He intends to find the driver and kill him. Claude Chabrol‘s film, adapted from a novel by Cecil Day-Lewis, deals with furious moral rejection of an individual: namely, Paul Decourt, the driver (finely acted by Jean Yanne). The film’s problem is that Decourt is a man whom no one would tolerate, yet people around him do tolerate him.

Typically, Chabrol insisted on visual or pictorial excellence in Man. It is a damn nice-looking picture. The sequence in which the terrible accident and the aftermath are presented is tastefully done brilliance. Man isn’t great, but it isn’t forgettable either.

(In French with English subtitles)

The world of Little Murders (1971), a dark absurdist comedy, is one of subverted traditional values (they’ve been “murdered”) and of hope swallowed up by anomie. Actor Alan Arkin turned Jules Feiffer‘s off-Broadway play into a film, which is for a long time delightfully intelligent and mostly skillfully acted. Plus, this is one of the few movies concerned with big-city violent crime. Feiffer’s writing is impure, however. He doesn’t know how to end Little Murders. All he can do is rub out noses in human depravity, then the film’s over. This isn’t good enough.

(All reviews are by Earl Dean)

The 1971 Western, A Gunfight, ought to have been better but is still a modest pleasure. Kirk Douglas and Johnny Cash star as gunslingers with little money and arid lives, who contrive to get prosperous by selling tickets to their own gunfight to the death. No one is horrified by the idea except Douglas’s wife (Jane Alexander), but she simply doesn’t want to lose her inadequate husband. The contest is popular, with plenty of wagers made.

Although A Gunfight can be obtuse, it’s also sinewy and even unique. Cash means business but is an unsatisfying actor. Douglas is just Douglas, which is okay. Alexander is true and distinguished. Her serious face is pretty, her clothed breasts lovely. Most Western fans won’t regret seeing this forgotten flick.

Directed by Lamont Johnson.