coolranchdavidians

While it can't live up to the classic original, William Friedkin's update of the 1957 Sidney Lumet film mainly follows the same teleplay by veteran screenwriter Reginald Rose, preserving the rapid-fire dialogue and character-revealing monologues. A few short scenes have been added to comment on the new multi-cultural cast. Missing an excellent commentary on racial relationships in the mid90s, only years removed from the Central Park Five and L.A. Riots, one wishes Friedkin, and Rose further explored the black experience in a criminal and judicial system so tilted against them. The character of Juror #8, a man with a strong belief in the law and the catalyst for the entire movie, is a once again portrayed by a white man, this time with Jack Lemmon, replacing Henry Fonda.

Lemmon delivers an exceptional performance, but imagine how interesting it would have been to cast a black actor in the role; such a change certainly would have given Friedkin's update a stronger reason to exists. Like in the original, the defendant is a Latino, but the black jurors are revealed to be just as prejudiced against him as the whites. A black Islamic character, delivering almost the same monologue Lee J. Comb spewed in the original, goes on a late-period rant against "those people" in a speech worthy of a Donald Trump rally.

The main reason to watch the remake is the stacked cast. Even Tony Danza, playing the slimmest, unscrupulous juror, does the best work of his career. Director Friedkin, who was experiencing something of a career slump at the time, wisely hands the movies over to his characters and, at times, the results are magnificent.

One hopes for another remake with a few female jurors thrown into the mix. Maybe they can clear out some of the stubbornness and toxic masculinity that hangs heavy in juror room, but, then again, such a movie may only last thirty minutes.

When visiting a new city or state, I like to read a biography about a famous resident. During a trip to Seattle, I picked two books about serial killer Ted Bundy: The Stranger Beside Me by Ann Rule and The Phantom Prince by Elizabeth Kendall (referred to by her actual last name of "Kloepfer" in the documentary.) Both authors had close relationships with Bundy, and their books painted an intimate and searing portrait of the man and monster. Because Bundy formed a friendship with Ann Rule long before she became a published author, he may be the serial killer whose personal life we know the most about.

Bundy was a student at the University of Seattle and killed many young women who lived on campus. Bundy's victims were all physically similar: young, brunette women with long hair parted in the middle. The serial killer's murder spree would continue in Utah, Colorado, and Florida before he was eventually captured and executed. Bundy's crimes happened a generation ago, and he has gone from a boogeyman haunting newspaper headlines to a legitimate part of American history. He was one of the first serial killers to give authorities proper insight into the mind of a violent sociopath.

I've read several other books about Bundy, watched various documentaries, listened to podcasts, and even visited Ted's favorite watering hole. I didn't think there was much about the serial killer I had yet to learn, but Conversations with the Killer: The Ted Bundy Tapes offers new information to even the most diehard Bundy devotee.

Joe Berlinger, the director behind the Paradise Lost Films, has access to a vast collection of archival footage (some I've never seen before and all shown in pristine broadcast quality.) Berlinger's amazing dedication to this documentary just might render the upcoming feature film about Bundy rather superfluous.

The tapes that form the backbone of Conversations with a Killer have been available to the public for years, but only as low-quality YouTube files; you can also find the entire video of Bundy's Florida court case online.

I highly recommended this documentary to any Bundy devotee, true crime buff, or researcher of deviant psychology.