The Plot: Paris, 1976. Pierre Goldman (Arieh Worthalter) is back in the courtroom after a series of violent robberies, now appealing a double murder charge of two pharmacists against him. He’s a left-wing revolutionary who isn’t afraid of expressing his opinions or whipping up the courtroom into a frenzy – much to the chagrin of his lawyer Maitre (Arthur Harari). As the evidence begins to mount against Pierre, he fights back and maintais his innocence to the last…
The Verdict: It’s not hard to see why directors and actors are often drawn to the legal theatre of the courtroom. It’s an enclosed environment that’s ripe for drama, by its very nature a battle of words between opposing sides with the jury judging the guilt or innocence of the accused. Barristers have been known to take acting classes, to emphasise their case and sell it more convincingly in this real-life theatrical environment. Most courtroom dramas are fairly still and civilised affairs though – an objection here, an objection there, a momentary revelation from a potentially unreliable witness, the cranky judge calling the opposing barristers to one side in his/her chambers. It’s the stuff of Hollywood lore, but what if the courtroom drama was as close as possible to real life and more engrossing as a result? The answer to that is to be found in The Goldman Case, an intensely involving French film that recounts a notorious trial from the 1970s which gripped the nation and whose themes of political, ideological and racial tensions still resonate today.
Cédric Kahn’s film charts the appeal trial of Pierre Goldman, contesting his double murder charge and insisting that he’s innocent because he’s innocent. He admits to being something of a gangster and a revolutionary with a dubious past, but he claims that doesn’t make him a murderer. Over the course of nearly two hours the film stays mostly within the confines of the courtroom, with Kahn only coming up for air in a few brief interludes between Pierre and his legal team. This is a pressure cooker of a film that keeps the audience guessing throughout, immersing them in the courtroom procedures and the various personalities involved. The police maintain their position on Pierre’s interrogation and guilt, while he simultaneously tears it down. Witnesses to the robbery may or may not be reliable. The prosecution and defence are as far apart as they can be. The jury watches with interest. The public gallery becomes rowdy, responding to the charismatic Pierre as he becomes his own best/worst witness.
Is this how criminal trials were run in the Civil Law system on mainland Europe in the turbulent 1970s? If so, they’re a lot more lively and gripping as a piece of cinematic theatre to sit down to. Kahn’s script with Nathalie Hertzberg was reconstructed from newspaper accounts of the trial, so it has an air of authenticity to begin with. The fact that it was shot on a set built on a tennis court is entirely appropriate, given the fast-moving dialogue that bounces back and forth like a frenzied tennis ball. Some of the subtleties of the French language will be lost in the translation, but the subtitles do a good job of expressing the high emotions on display on all sides. It’s a strong script to begin with, which gets more interesting as the story unfolds. The film is simply mounted with static cameras and no showy angles, extreme close-ups or even music to distract from the performances – which are superb across the board.
By stripping the film down to a lean performance piece, Kahn reduces the artifice of cinema to instead approach something closer to the real thing. It works because it has a solid foundation to begin with and then Kahn builds upon that to still deliver a film presentation in a theatrical environment. There’s much to admire in The Goldman Case, so it’s guilty as charged for being a worthy night at this courtroom cinematic theatre. Tres bon, Monsieur Kahn.
Review by Gareth O’Connor
Rating: 4 / 5
In short: Cinematic theatre
Directed by Cédric Kahn.
Starring Arieh Worthalter, Arthur Harari, Stéphan Guérin-Tillié, Nicolas Briançon.