Lessons from Criterion:"12 Angry Men" by Sidney Lumet

Released in 1957 on the cusp of Hollywood’s new fascination with hard-hitting legal dramas, Sidney Lumet’s “12 Angry Men” was a film seemingly destined to forever tread the tide of cinematic obscurity. While initial reviews had ranged from middling to respectable, desires for commercial appeal had been set adrift by most box office analysts; the endeavor had not been released to the public under any substantial promotional campaign, and studio executives scoffed at the challenge of marketing a picture that featured only one prominent mainstream actor (Henry Fonda) in the middle of an audience boom for epics and star vehicles. That the movie had also been the filmmaking debut of a small and unknown director of teleplays did little to add to their enthusiasm, inevitably casting his work in a shadow of uncertainty. Yet when one takes part in any discussion about the use of the American Justice system in motion pictures today, nearly every reputable source cites it as a watershed moment for the genre, a stubborn relic that refuses to fade from the periphery of vivid moviegoeing experiences. In some way that has less to do with the premise (an important factor all its own) and more to do with how the characters echo the volatile nature of extreme human behaviors in a state of agitation. These are not actors playing up the parts of fictionalized projections; they are embodying the facets of common middle class men of their era, all of whom must burrow their way through the demand of deciding the fate of a human life in a case where evidence may not exactly paint the clearest portrait of guilt.

Lessons from Criterion:"The Killing" by Stanley Kubrick

Stanley Kubrick was a mere 27 years old when he undertook directing responsibilities for “The Killing,” but his overwhelming sense of perspective was indicative of a natural-born talent reaching the frenzied thrust of possibility. Seldom (at least up to that point) had a relatively new face in the world of film so audaciously risen to the demand of such ambitious challenges; with a small budget and an even tighter shooting schedule (not to mention no personal salary), his endeavors yielded a picture of reputable prowess that declared his impending importance over the coming years. For a time as volatile as the late 50s, that was more profound than it was revelatory. Because Hollywood was fairly impenetrable in the days of dominant personalities like Cecil B. DeMille and Billy Wilder standing behind the camera, how far could a lowly aspiring photographer from New York realistically go? Against all odds and a plethora of obstacles that would have instigated mental collapse in a host of others, here was a man who possessed distinct vision, controlled every element of his composition and orchestrated an end result that was as sharp as it was methodical. In its gorgeous frames rests one of the greatest prophecies of modern cinema: the coming of the most important filmmaker of his generation.

Lessons from Criterion:"The Seventh Seal" by Ingmar Bergman

A sobering awareness rushes across the face of Antonius Block as the waves of the ocean crash on his beach like relentless reminders of a bleak reality. His eyes glance suspiciously to a vision beyond his comprehension: a man in a hood who observes the spot at which he rests, his face grimly sinking into the visage of a skull, and his dark robes all too eager to invite one into an unknown fate. There is no moment of reaction, only short exchanges. “Who are you?” he asks. “I am Death,” the figure responds. “Have you come for me?” “I have long been at your side.”  The dance of banter leads to an indomitable wager: Antonius and Death will engage each other in a game of chess, one in which the outcome will offer the determined knight reprieve from his stalker’s grim clutches, or to mortal conclusion. But in all things for this simple being of a thousand internal struggles, is the final destination really relevant if any of the answers he has agonizingly pursued throughout the painful trek of his life do not come?