There's a great temptation to make comparisons between Reginald Rose's first version of the classic play, premiered in CBS's STUDIO ONE anthology series and Sidney Lumet's film released three years later. Other reviewers have made detailed studies of the two films, so it would be repetitive of me to do so here.
Directed by Franklin J. Schaffner, a veteran of STUDIO ONE who would subsequently carve out a film career, this TWELVE ANGRY MEN brings out the claustrophobic surroundings of the jury-room. All twelve jurors are cooped up in a confined space on a hot evening, unable to escape until they have made a decision. They do not know one another, but they are expected to work as a team to reach a unanimous verdict. The sheer strain of reaching consensus proves too much for them; through an intelligent use of closeups focusing on the jurors' expressions, Schaffner makes us aware of just how stressed they actually are. Hence it comes as no surprise to find them continually moving around the confined space - sitting down, standing up, walking around in circles, moving towards and away from the camera, and finding a brief refuge at the back of the room near the door. Schaffner's camera tracks them; it's clear that he will never give the actors any respite from its penetrating lens.
The play as a whole has distinct religious echoes, with the twelve disciples of justice sitting round a long wooden table pronouncing judgment. For juror #3, excellently played by Franchot Tone, anyone voting against the decision is a Judas, as they have willfully ignored what would appear to be clear evidence to the contrary. However Juror #8, played in low-key fashion by Robert Cummings, refuses to accept the majority's will; he does not appear entirely sure of himself on occasions, but he is prepared to weigh up the evidence in a careful manner that contrasts starkly with Tone's impetuosity. The religious echoes are here used to remind us about the importance of considering all people good until they are proved guilty "beyond reasonable doubt." To do otherwise is simply unchristian.
The drama unfolds as a series of movements, each punctuated by a commercial break, and rises to a climax as Juror #3 is finally left isolated. Tone's performance is a memorable one, as he clasps and unclasps his hands, hangs on to the back of a chair and pretends to draw the switchblade knife on Juror #8 before leaving the room. It's clear he shares the same pathological tendencies as the boy he sought to commit to the electric chair.
When first broadcast, TWELVE ANGRY MEN had such a powerful effect that it resulted in a rethinking of the American justice system. Over six decades later it still has the power to command our attention as a brilliantly staged piece of drama.