The film opens as the camera enters an anonymous courtroom in America and floating through the halls before settling, seemingly at random, on a judge delivering final instructions to a jury of twelve white men. They silently file into the jury room and after several minutes of milling about, a preliminary vote is taken. Eleven men vote guilty for the crime of murder in the first degree. A single juror, played by Henry Fonda, votes not guilty. He is slow to provide any reason for his doubts; while everyone else feels the case is open and shut, Fonda feels they should at least discuss the vote that will decide a young man’s life. With storm clouds slowly building outside the stuffy jury room, he draws out his arguments and attempts to turn the rest of the jury to his side.

Everyone has heard the term “guilty pleasure” to describe a film. 12 ANGRY MEN is a “simple pleasure.” It is a movie of rhythms and pacing, of morality and the emotional context of decisions, of strong dialogue and terrific performances. There isn’t a single stunt, or effect, or love scene, but the movie feels far shorter than its ninety minute running time. It sucks you in and doesn’t let go. I always get hooked when one character slams a knife into a table to highly dramatic effect. No matter how many times I see it, that image always gets me.

If you can take yourself out of the plot (trust me, it’s not easy), you’ll find a movie that has more to say than simple thrills. Though we don’t even learn the characters’ names, we grow to understand and relate to them in ways that allow us to see ourselves and our own feelings in their decisions. Even if we identify with and cheer for Henry Fonda as the underdog hero, we can understand the cool logic of E.G. Marshall or the good-natured trust of John Fiedler.