I first saw 12 Angry Men as a 14-year-old, by way of a stage production undertaken by students in the year above me at St Aloysius’ College, in Sydney’s north shore. From that first viewing, I was ensorcelled. The film, now almost 70 years old, remains as relevant as it was when it first hit the big screen.

For those who haven’t (yet) seen it, 12 Angry Men is a courtroom drama (based on a 1954 teleplay of the same name) that, ironically, features only a passing scene in the film’s early minutes in the courtroom itself. The balance of the movie takes place entirely within the confines of a small, stuffy jury room, save for a final scene exiting the courthouse.

The film, released in 1957 and directed by Sidney Lumet, centres on the deliberations of a jury determining whether a teenager charged with the murder of his father should be convicted or acquitted – for which they must come to a unanimous verdict. At first instance, all but one of the dozen titular characters resolves to find the defendant guilty. The holdout, Juror 8 (played by Henry Fonda), is not so sure whether the son actually committed the crime, and he takes his fellow jurors through the evidence, the implications of that which was presented during the trial, and – ultimately – whether they, too, can be sure to the standard so synonymous in the common law system: “beyond a reasonable doubt”.

What follows is not simply a forensic analysis of evidence – the film fleshes out, among other things, how our biases, race, class, and family circumstances influence our sociocultural perspectives and, in this context, how we may vote in the jury room.

The discussions of evidence are still riveting, though. In a 2002 review of the film, famous film critic Roger Ebert wrote: “In its ingenuity, in the way it balances one piece of evidence against another that seems contradictory, 12 Angry Men is as meticulous as the summation of an Agatha Christie thriller.”

Perhaps most pertinent is the very real consequence of rushing to verdict. As Fonda’s character said at one point: “We’re talking about someone’s life here. We can’t decide in five minutes. Supposing we’re wrong?”

This, I think, is what so captured me as a teenager watching a play of this classic movie. The “reasonable doubt” standard is paramount in ensuring, as best as possible, that innocent persons are not deprived of their liberties (or, in countries where the death penalty remains legal, their lives). To this end, the pursuit of justice in our system is an inextricable cog in the machine of society and demonstrative of the nobility of law as a vocational pathway.

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One by one, the jurors are swayed to change their votes from “guilty” to “not guilty” (critically, not necessarily on the basis that they believe the son to be innocent). The obstinate determination of some of the dozen to convict comes from different places, ranging from Juror 10’s prejudice against the defendant’s ethnicity to Juror 3’s estranged relationship with his own son, and subsequent desire (conscious or otherwise) to punish the offspring in front of him.

Not all of you readers will agree with my assessment that 12 Angry Men is the best legal movie of all time (as I recently submitted in a podcast episode with a Momentum Media colleague). Some of you will prefer the “stick it to the man” tone of films like Erin Brockovich or Dark Waters, or the high-stakes tension of The Runaway Jury, and there will be those among you who prioritise the escapism and – dare I say it – the ridiculousness of Legally Blonde. To this end, our definitions of “best movie” will likely also vary.

But, in my view, no movie exploring the law, or following lawyers, has ever matched 12 Angry Men – so brilliant in its conceptual simplicity and equally elegant in its storytelling towards the eventual crescendo.

Driving home from that stage production at my high school, 22 years ago, I recall asking my dad that if the son didn’t commit the murder, then who did?

“That’s not the point,” Dad responded.

‘Guilty beyond a reasonable doubt’, indeed.

To listen to the recent episode of The Lawyers Weekly Show, exploring the greatest legal movies of all time, click below: