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Volume 30, Number 4 (1996) reprinted by permission of the Law Review © cite as 30 U.S.F.L. REV. 1181 By STEVE GREENFIELD
GUY OSBORN* LAW, THE LEGAL PROCESS, and in particular the genre of courtroom drama have a long history in terms of themes and backdrops for film. The popularity of "law" as a basis for filmic portrayal can be explained on a number of fronts and the trend has recently become even more pronounced.1 The process of "the trial" has itself been seen as an arena with dramaturgical potential, and law, being predicated on a number of binary themes2 provides great scope for screenwriters and directors. Courtroom drama also allows actors to give full reign to their oratorical skills by giving the great plea in mitigation or through a withering cross-examination. Their portrayals are often romanticized, and the films tend to concentrate on specific areas that avoid the mundane and highlight the extraordinary.3 While there are undoubtedly distinctive traits and predictable themes that can be observed in many "law" movies4 this is no different from any other genre that relies upon tried and tested formula. Within the context of legal films there is, however, a distinct sub-genre that utilizes "real life" factual events - a case of fact meeting fiction producing a hybrid called "faction." Examples of films based on such cases or events include 10 Ril- lington Place,5 Breaker Morant,6 Reversal of Fortune,7 Let Him Have It,8 and, more recently, the controversial In the Name of the Father.9 While filmic portrayals of factual events often prove controversial, as will be illustrated in the analysis below, cinematic conversions of fictional works may themselves prove problematic in terms of authenticity. When Judge Dredd10 was recently given the big screen treatment there was some disquiet as some believed the film did not remain true to the original source. As James has argued: It is one of the peculiarities of the current critical passion for pop culture that snobbery is inverted: few critics argue these days that a Joseph Conrad or an E.M. Forster adaptation should be strictly true to the book, but if a comic strip is substantially reworked, it is denounced as a violation.11However if the film purports to show a true story, the effects of editorial "amendments" may be even more contentious, often because notions of authenticity or truth are pushed even further to the fore and any element of artistic license is even more open to criticism. Essentially, within factually based legal drama, the question is one of which story to believe. Any story is by its nature subjective in that a story of events is based on perceptions of that event and the recounting of those events; for that reason any quest for the "truth" is unlikely to reveal the absolute truth. For example, at trial, stories are told that thread together to give some semblance of the overall picture; stories that are called evidence may be given greater weight than other stories because they are sworn on oath in a court of law. The essence of an autobiography12 is a personal account of an individual's perceptions of his or her own life. As such, it may be the absolute (subjective) truth but is incapable of verification as much is personal and only available to the writer. Lastly, films are essentially celluloid stories, rarely lasting over 120 minutes in length and driven by considerations of market and audience. In a film based upon a "true" story, the perspective is fostered by a mixture of stories. These stories are woven by players in the events that unfold, by media representations of those events, by the writers and directors' own impressions, and artistic and economic requirements. Indeed law, like film and fiction, is about telling stories. In the Name of the Father is a story based, however loosely, on one man's account of events (a story) concerning how he spent 14 years in prison because someone told stories about him. It also incorporates parts of the "official" story recounted during the trial process. This Essay analyzes two different stories that have appeared in at least three different forms: first, the formal story, told at trial, second, various written accounts, and third, the film, which draws upon both the previous accounts and possibly other sources.13 The two events concern the convictions of Derek Bentley and the Guildford Four.14 The filmic portrayals of these two events are the films Let Him Have It and In the Name of the Father, which themselves draw upon the "stories" of Christopher Berry-Dee and Robin Odell's Dad Please Help Me15 and Gerry Conlon's Proved Innocent.16 By attempting to analyze the debates concerning the issues relating to the effects of artistic license within these two miscarriage of justice cases, we hope to show that, notwithstanding that there may be some semantic and arguably more serious flaws within how a story is told or depicted, the filmic portrayals of these two events are important and legitimate for a number of reasons. I. The Events A. The Death of PC Sidney Miles On January 28th, 1953, at a few minutes after nine a.m., Derek Bentley was hanged at Wandsworth Prison in London following his conviction for the murder of PC Sidney Miles. Miles was shot during the course of an attempted robbery - robbery rather overstates the case - being carried out by Bentley and Christopher Craig at a warehouse, with the actual events taking place on the warehouse roof. Bentley was under arrest at the time of the fatal shooting, and not carrying a firearm of any description, although he did have a knuckle-duster given to him by Craig. Craig fired a number of shots from his revolver at the policeman who had ventured onto the roof to arrest the pair.17 While both were convicted of the murder, Craig was too young at sixteen years old to be executed and he was eventually released some ten years later. The original police version of events differed significantly from Craig and Bentley's version, and also from other evidence that has since come to light. The crucial issue at trial was the encouragement offered by Bentley to Craig with the phrase "Let him have it," which was argued by the prosecution to be an instruction to Craig to fire at the officers. Coupled with his supposed knowledge of Craig's weapon, this was sufficient to find Bentley guilty of murder. Despite widespread public campaigning for Derek at the time, and the jury's call for clemency when sentence was passed, Bentley was nevertheless hanged. B. The Guildford Pub Bombings The Irish Republican Army (IRA) initiated a major mainland bombing campaign in the early 1970s. On October 5, 1974, members of an active service unit (ASU) planted bombs at two pubs in Guildford, Surrey: the Horse and Groom and the Seven Stars. Both targets were chosen due to their popularity with army personnel. Five people were killed and many more injured in the bombing at the Horse and Groom, and just over a month later a bomb was thrown into the King's Arms Public House in Woolwich, killing two people and injuring many others. On November 21, two bombs exploded in the Tavern in the Town and at public housing in Birmingham City Centre, the Mulberry Bush; 21 people were killed and over 150 were injured.18 There had been a number of bombings prior to these, including the M62 coach bomb for which Judith Ward was later convicted. In October 1975, Patrick Armstrong, Gerry Conlon, Paul Hill and Carole Richardson (The Guildford Four) were, on the basis of confession evidence, convicted of the five Guildford murders19 and sentenced to terms of life imprisonment. The statements provided to the police during questioning linked Conlon's Aunt Annie Maguire and her family to the police inquiry with devastating consequences; later seven people (The Maguire Seven), including Annie Maguire and Gerry Conlon's father Giuseppe, were sentenced for their alleged involvement in bomb making activities - the bombs that the Guildford Four had allegedly planted in the Horse and Groom and Seven Stars public houses. In December 1975, the police arrested a group of IRA personnel after a siege in Balcombe Street London W1. During their interrogation the unit voluntarily admitted to carrying out the Woolwich and Guildford attacks. During their trial three of the "Balcombe Street Gang" acknowledged their involvement in the bombings for which the Guildford Four, and consequently the Maguire Seven, had been imprisoned.20 II. The Films There are two central questions that this Essay seeks to address with respect to the two films. First, what do the films add to (or detract from) our understanding of the events with which they are concerned? Second, what do the films tell us about the legal process and the legal system? In conclusion we will examine what contributions the films make to the substantial issue of the miscarriage of justice. A. In the Name of the Father The film begins by examining life in Belfast for the young Gerry Conlon; it shows Conlon stealing lead from a factory roof and being mistaken for an IRA gunmen by the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC). Soon after, his father, Giuseppe, intervenes to prevent Gerry from being kneecapped by the IRA.21 Even at this initial point of the film two crucial points are evident: First, more than being simply a film about a miscarriage of justice (such as 10 Rillington Place), this is a film about the relationship between a father and son;22 second, Conlon is portrayed immediately as the sort of undisciplined and untrustworthy character that would never be considered IRA material, sending us an explicit message about the incredulity of the events that follow. The action switches to Conlon's attempt to improve his life in England, and on the boat to London he meets up with an old friend, Paul Hill. In London they both become involved in the hippie scene, living in a squat with Patrick Armstrong and his girlfriend Carole Richardson and taking drugs. After an argument over the Irish troubles with other members of the squat, Conlon and Hill walk out. Unfortunately for the pair this is the night of the Guildford bombings. They spend part of the early evening in a park sharing a bench with Charlie Burke, an elderly Irish tramp. Later, they come across a set of door keys to a flat that has just been left for the evening by a prostitute. Conlon enters the flat, steals £700, and the two use the money on a spending spree for clothes. Conlon then returns to Ireland dressed in the latest London fashion.23 After the bombings a member of the squat gives information to the police, and first Hill and later Conlon are arrested, the latter in his parents' house in Belfast. Conlon is flown to England and detained under the newly passed Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA)24 After continual interrogation, Conlon and Hill confess to the bombing. Conlon is beaten, mentally abused, and finally shown a gun and told that his father will be shot if he does not confess. He signs a statement that implicates his Aunt Annie Maguire. When police raid the Maguire household they also arrest, along with the Maguire family, Giuseppe Conlon, who has come over from Ireland to help his son. Gerry shares a cell with his father in prison. While Giuseppe begins the campaign to prove their innocence, Gerry becomes involved in the prison drug culture and has little time for his father's activities. Joe McAndrew, the leader of the IRA group who carried out the bombings, is also incarcerated and admits his involvement to the Conlons. Gerry latches onto McAndrew, respecting his desire to fight back, a quality he finds lacking in his father. This respect disappears when the IRA man sets fire to the chief Prison Officer during an organized disturbance. Conlon not only acts to help the officer by throwing a blanket over him, but he also demonstrates his profound disapproval to the IRA man. Gerry then throws himself wholeheartedly into his father's campaign. Giuseppe's death in prison further steels Gerry's resolve to prove their innocence, and in particular to clear the name of his father. Their solicitor, Gareth Pierce, obtains a court order allowing her access to Giuseppe's file, albeit under strict control. The crucial turning point comes when Pierce obtains, by a degree of subterfuge, Gerry's, rather than Giuseppe's, file. Inside she finds a statement from Charlie Burke marked "not to be shown to the defence," which contains alibi evidence confirming that Hill and Conlon could not have committed the bombings. Pierce theatrically produces the file at the appeal hearing and the sentences are quashed. B. Let Him Have It The film opens in wartime London with Derek being rescued by his father from beneath a bombed building. Interestingly, in the same way that In the Name of the Father can be seen as a story essentially of a son's relationship with his father,25 Let Him Have It shows a father's passionate and determined attempts to save his son's life and protect his family. This point is neatly illustrated by Iris Bentley when commenting on her father's disposition during the last hours of Derek's life: "In the back of the car as we drove home all dad could say was, "I'm a disgrace. I can't save his life. What kind of father am I?'"26 His childhood is shown as slightly delinquent, with Derek being caught in a watchman's hut along with several other boys committing petty acts of vandalism. The other boys leave, and Derek suffers an epileptic fit. He is sentenced to a term in an approved school but later released back to his family on account of his good behavior. The next stage of the film is crucial as he mixes with the Craig brothers, firstly the young and immature Chris27 who introduces him to the older Niven. Both Craigs are portrayed as part of the postwar "gangster" culture with stereotypical clothing and ready access to weapons. At their first meeting Chris explains to Derek "I've got some jobs planned and I'd thought I'd cut you in." His streetwise criminal culture is emphasized by his comment to Derek, "welcome to the underworld." This point is reiterated by showing the younger Craig swapping guns and ammunition at school. Derek is shown as the outsider in Craig's young gang. Bentley dresses differently and doesn't engage in the same type of conversations or use the same language. Niven provides Derek with a jacket and hat so that he can fit into the gang. Derek also obtains some stolen cigarettes, which he gives as a present to his father, who realizes that they were not honestly obtained. All of the gang witness Niven's violent arrest, and he is subsequently sentenced to twelve years imprisonment for armed robbery, which deeply affects Chris. When Derek goes to see Chris, the image is of a child crying for his absent elder brother but with a gun under his pillow. Derek's parents are shown as being hostile to his friendship with Chris, and it is another youth, Monty, who gets Derek away from his home to be with Chris on the fateful night. A local butcher shop from which Bentley had stolen the keys is occupied, thus defeating their plans for a burglary. The other two gang members go to the pictures while Bentley and Chris move on to a warehouse. After some persuasion from Chris, both gain access to the roof, but some neighbors spot them and call the police. The police soon arrive, and after a scuffle, Bentley is arrested. As the officer approaches Chris, Derek yells: "Let him have it Chris." Chris shoots the officer in the shoulder and during a further bout of firing kills another officer, PC Miles. Rather than surrender, Chris eventually dives from the roof. The remainder of the film deals with Bentley's trial and his family's vain attempts to save him from the gallows. The trial scene shows a very confused Bentley unable to comprehend the proceedings; indeed throughout the post trial period he is seemingly unaware of his fate. Despite pressure from Parliament and the general public for clemency, no reprieve is forthcoming. The final harrowing scene shows his graphic execution by hanging while his anguished family watch the clock strike nine a.m., the appointed hour. III. Fables, Films and Falsehoods A. In the Name of the Father Both filmic portrayals have been the subject of a number of criticisms relating to how certain elements of the stories were altered or omitted. In tandem, there is difficulty in trying to ascertain any certain principles from the filmic depictions. Some of the criticisms were fairly mundane or semantic - for instance the issue of whether or not Gerry Conlon did in fact bring some sausages to his Auntie Annie is not particularly material or interesting. Other points have included the "false" depiction of Gerry and Giuseppe Conlon sharing a cell at times during their sentence. In fact, current practice dictates that persons convicted of such offenses do not share cells with anyone, let alone members of their own family, and the two were only in the same prison at the same time on a very limited number of occasions.28 The film also lacks substantial portions of Gerry Conlon's visit to England - noticeably the amount of time he spent in Southampton before moving to London. However, as Robert Kee notes: Some inaccuracies about the Belfast life and family of the Daniel Day-Lewis/Gerry Conlon character are reasonably acceptable as part of that artistic license with which the producers seek to justify their treatment of the whole story. These instances are no more important than the inevitable physical differences in having an actor portray a real person anyway.29Another problematic area is the portrayal of Gareth Pierce and, in particular, her role in discovering the evidence that effectively leads to the freeing of the Four. Early in the film she is introduced and identified by the camera moving from the wig on the passenger seat in the car to her face - instantly showing her legal credentials. However, not only was the use of the barristerial wig factually incorrect in that Pierce was in fact a solicitor, her heartfelt plea at the end of the film to the court of appeal in fact could not have happened, as she did not have a right of audience to appear in such a court. The evidence she is said to have discovered that forms the basis of her plea was unearthed by the Avon and Somerset police, and not - as the film depicts - by Pierce. Some of the more fundamental criticism relating to In the Name of the Father was based on a claim that the film exacerbated the persistent feeling in some quarters that the Four were in fact guilty. The Daily Telegraph emphasized this point when reporting on the acquittal of the three police officers charged with conspiracy to pervert the course of justice: Until now the received view of the Guildford Four, at least since they were released by the Court of Appeal in 1989, is that they were all innocent victims of a scandalous miscarriage of justice who spent many years in prison for crimes they did not commit. The acquittal of the three ex-policemen, and some of the new evidence heard in the course of their Old Bailey trial, suggests there are reasonable grounds for suspecting that two of the Guildford Four, Mr. Patrick Armstrong and Mr. Gerry Conlon, might have been guilty after all. This raises the disturbing possibility that the real miscarriage of justice in their case occurred when they walked free.30This notion that the Four were after all responsible lies at the heart of much of the film's criticism. There is no doubt that a persistent theme running throughout the Irish miscarriage of justice cases is not that the police had caught the wrong people but had merely been overeager in the investigation and collection of the evidence. This theme neatly ignores the central arguments concerning the reliability of confession evidence and the methods employed by the police to obtain them. By permitting appeals on the basis of unreliable scientific evidence, or corrupt police notes, the dispute concerning police behavior is never addressed. While police brutality was never admitted in court, oppressive police actions are shown in the film as being part of the interrogation process. The interrogation scene involves several police officers who are surrounding Conlon in an interrogation room. The scene starts with the senior officer talking to another police officer, who has already observed Conlon, outside of the room where Conlon is being questioned. The following exchange takes place: Senior Officer: "Is he leading us up the garden path?" Other Officer: "I dunno .... I can make him confess." Senior Officer: "Well why don't you have a word in his ear? You live in the same town; he'll understand you." Other Officer: "Will you have the bomber?" Senior Officer: "Our job is to stop the bombing."31 As both officers enter the cell, there is an atmosphere of brooding menace. While the other officers talk quietly in background, the junior one circles Conlon, and whispers in his ear softly: Police Officer: "I'm gonna shoot your da." Conlon: "What did you say to me?" Police Officer: "Little Bridie will have no daddy. I'm gonna shoot Giuseppe."32 Conlon then becomes hysterical and has to be restrained by the other officers, including the Senior Officer, who reassures him that no one will harm his father. Meanwhile, the officer who has made the threats leaves the cell, dementedly pointing a gun at his own head. Conlon breaks down completely and says: "Give me the [expletive] statement, for [expletive] sake give me the statement, give me a pen. Right there's my [expletive] name there, you can write what you like." The film also acknowledges the position of the police when the members of the Balcombe Street gang are arrested and confess to the Guildford and Woolwich bombings. The hard-natured, cynical, IRA terrorist McAndrew is used to contrast with a more sympathetic portrayal of Conlon; Sheridan makes his Gerry Conlon the archetypal loveable Irish rogue, while McAndrew is the murderous Republican psychopath that we read about in the tabloid press. By laying the blame for the bombings firmly with others, Conlon and Hill's alibi is accepted and they are shown to be in London at the time of the bombing. The film asserts their innocence and has no difficulty with the notion that while the Balcombe Street gang may have been primarily responsible, the Guildford Four may also have been involved. B. Let Him Have It There are similarly a number of criticisms that have been levelled against Let Him Have It in terms of what might be termed minutiae of detail or more peripheral issues that, while undoubtedly important to the people concerned or affected, are not crucial to the film. Examples of this include scenes such as those showing Derek meeting Niven Craig - Niven was in prison throughout this period and would not have met Bentley - and Derek being sent to buy pork chops and forgetting what he was sent to buy. These depictions are undoubtedly irritating to those with a thorough grasp of the events but are really only examples of the director using such contrived scenes to make certain points - in these instances that Derek was easily led and that he was intellectually challenged. Both of these instances add to our sympathetic view of Derek Bentley. Foremost in Let Him Have It is the sympathetic portrayal of Bentley as a weak, epileptic, unintelligent, easily led youth who falls under the influence of the "evil," streetwise Chris Craig. Chris is obsessed by guns and the glamorous lifestyle of his criminal brother Niven. The issue becomes one of whether a young man without the full range of mental faculties should be executed when he did not fire the lethal shot. The movie does not deal with the issue of police corruption and creation of the evidence alleged in various written accounts. Chris, Bentley, and a policeman, Claude Pain, have all indicated that Bentley never spoke the words "Let him have it," the very words that the Crown alleged indicated his incitement for Chris to shoot. The film shows a debate about whether the words meant "shoot him" or "hand over the gun." By embracing this territory the film clearly accepts the "official" version of the events on the roof that night and not that claimed by either of the defendants. In his first television interview on the subject, some forty years later, Chris supported Bentley's claim that the words were never spoken. Bentley is undoubtedly the film's victim, not at the hands of the police, but at the hands of Chris - himself a victim of his brother's glamorous lifestyle - who entices Bentley into crime and ultimately fires the shot that costs Bentley his life. The film fails to include any of the more recent evidence that was uncovered by journalists who have examined the case, and merely rehashes the original media arguments over the words "Let him have it." As Iris Bentley points out: [P]erhaps the worst was that they were so determined to keep the business of Derek saying "Let him have it," which by now there was evidence he never said, that they not only kept it in, but invented a whole scene in the court where they talk about what it meant. Did it mean "shoot him" or did it mean "give him the gun?" It was never talked about in court. It couldn't have been because Derek always said he didn't say it. So if he didn't say it, there was no point in the defence counsel talking about what he meant by it. It was only ever the press who cottoned on to this.33The film is important for its portrayal of Derek as slow and incapable of much independent thought. Fundamentally, the film adopts the police version of events on the roof. When finally interviewed for a television documentary, Chris' account of the events at the trial indicated a number of differences with the police version. IV. What Do the Films Tell Us About the Justice System? It might be thought that a legal system that allowed for two such appalling miscarriages of justice34 can only be shown in a poor light; however, this is not the case. In the Name of the Father lays the blame squarely at the door of the police officers, who both bully the evidence from the Four and lie in court. An important point that the film does draw out is the extent to which the confession evidence is used to drag others into the frame: Frighteningly, the effect of duress does not stop with the person who is subjected to it and in the case of Gerry Conlon and the others of the Guildford Four, things they said were used to enmesh Gerry's father, his Aunt Annie Maguire and five other relatives and friends who collectively became known as the Maguire Seven.35The police corruption is compounded when they find the "real" bombers. In Let Him Have It the legal process is seen as properly applied: the jury recommends mercy, and it is the political element, the Home Secretary, who fails to ensure that "justice" is done by rejecting the jury's recommendation. It is the existence of the jury that deflects much of the potential criticism, for it is a group of the accused's peers who have determined their guilt, not the police officers or politicians. The process is potentially pure, but it has been corrupted from within at both ends. When the judge in Let Him Have It dons the ritualistic black square, he makes it clear that he can only pass one sentence, that of death. The judge is, however, open to severe criticism for his appalling courtroom behavior, which is wholly supportive of the prosecution, most notably in his theatrical summation. This filmic view is borne out by the written accounts: The theatricality of putting the knuckleduster on his hand and showing his clenched fist to the jury, the request to have the knives handed up to him so that he could jab the air with them as he made his points, these were gambits that Lord Goddard frequently used when he sat in judgment.36 [1193] In both films the legal process emerges relatively unscathed and, in the case of In the Name of the Father, actually enhanced. After all, the Guildford Four are freed at an appeal hearing, indicating the ability of the system to correct original mistakes. The implication is that if the defense had been shown a copy of the alibi evidence, the Four would not have been convicted in the first instance. Fault lies clearly with those conducting the prosecution, not with the process itself. In Let Him Have It the jury convicts, believing the disputed police evidence, but they also request mercy, clearly not wishing to see Bentley hanged. This gift of clemency lies not with the judge, but with the Home Secretary, who refuses to exercise his discretion to save Bentley's life. In terms of personnel the police are not challenged in Let Him Have It, and there is no question of disputing the veracity of their evidence. The film deals with the reconstruction of the courtroom events of 1952, albeit somewhat spiced up, as opposed to an attempt to get at the truth of the story. The police are viewed as brave, tackling a dangerous and armed Craig. In the Name of the Father portrays the police in a more brutal light: eager to obtain a conviction through applying undue pressure. The desirability of admitting unsupported confessional evidence is not raised as an issue - rather, the emphasis is on the Four being able to demonstrate their innocence through the introduction of alibi evidence. The overriding view is of a system, basically sound, but subject to corruption by the infamous "few bad apples." Eventually the process can defeat this attempt to pervert the system and the innocent, in the case of the Four, are freed. An obvious direct fictional comparison with Let Him Have It is Suspect37 which concerns a "defenseless victim" who relies upon the abilities of a public defender to save him. Bentley's problem is that he didn't have a lawyer as willing and capable as the character portrayed by Cher, who singlehandedly exposes police and judicial corruption. The superhero lawyer Gareth Pierce played by Emma Thompson makes an interesting addition to the genre. Like Cher, she is female, but more importantly, she is shown to single handedly save the Four through her quick-wittedness in deliberately asking for the "wrong" file. This information was actually discovered by the investigating police force, and this final portrayal is interesting. As Simon Jenkins notes, it is in many ways the pivotal point of the film - the instant when the Four finally obtain justice.38 Pierce, ostensibly a quiet and unassuming person, is portrayed by Emma Thompson, as Jenkins writes: Hair aflame with anger, she screams at the Old Bailey judge whose own words ... are taken from the court report. Thompson's words are pure fiction. Conlon's alibi was actually supplied to the defence during the appeal by police investigators. Solicitors (sadly) do not yet appear in the Old Bailey. They certainly do not appear wigless and screaming. Much else in the film, as Robert Kee has pointed out, is a "farrago of rubbish."39There are undoubtedly some characteristics within these films that also appear in fiction-based legal films, such as those crucial determinants that have been previously identified.40 In particular, Let Him Have It is bereft of one critical characteristic that can be found in most if not all legal films - the superhero lawyer. While Gareth Pierce can be said to fall squarely into this category, there is no comparable legal figure in Let Him Have It - although the presiding judge Lord Goddard is shown as an extremely powerful, if unsympathetic and biased, figure. In fact the nearest Let Him Have It gets to anointment is with Tom Courtenay's portrayal of Derek's father William Bentley.41 Conclusion The issue of using films in such a way to depict real events is undoubtedly contentious. Some commentators have argued that filmic portrayal is actually damaging if it is not accurate: The fictitional presentation of the Guildford case in the feature film In the Name of the Father suggested the appeal rested on the discovery by defence lawyers of an alibi statement which had never been seen before, marked "Not to be seen by the defence." In this and in other respects too numerous to mention, the film was a travesty of the facts, which manages to weaken the drama of what really happened.42It may however be the case that by going beyond the minutiae of detail, film may in fact be immensely important in terms of raising the con- sciousness of the general public. Iris Bentley indicated during our interview that while she was unhappy about a number of points - including the use of the phrase "Let him have it" as both the title of the film and its fulcrum - but overall the film was a positive force in the fight to clear Derek's name.43 In the months following the film's release Iris Bentley received over 10,000 extra letters of support, and in terms of increasing awareness of the injustice that had been perpetrated, she believed the film was a great success. She also saw how important it was that the case was discussed in as many arenas as possible; "To Encourage The Others did the trick .... It was now over twenty years since Derek had been hanged. A whole generation of people had grown up not knowing anything about the Craig/Bentley case."44 In many ways the final, brutal scene depicting Derek Bentley's execution is the crux of the film and indicates its importance and essential difference from In the Name of the Father. The final moments show a priest reading Derek his last rites in a bare room surrounded by prison guards when the door opens abruptly: Prison Officer: "Stand up, drink that quick, hands behind your back."Derek is led through to the execution cell, and Pierrepoint theatrically produces the hood from his top pocket.46 Derek is then executed. The film then shifts to an aerial shot of south London, the camera entering the Bentley house through Derek's window and going down the stairs, as the clock strikes in the background. Yallop's description of the incident tallies closely with the film version: On the stroke of nine, the cell door was opened, and Governor Lawton turned to the Under Sheriff and said simply, "Your prisoner, Sir." Pierrepoint entered the cell and shook hands with Bentley. The hospital orderly gave the youth a large cup of brandy, which he drank, then Pierrepoint's assistant pinioned his arms above the elbows. The two prison warders led the way to the execution shed, not through the cell door, but through a wall of the condemned cell that slid away to reveal to Bentley that he had been living virtually in the execution shed.... Pierrepoint placed the white cap over Bentley's head, then put the noose around the youth's neck and adjusted it. His assistant meanwhile had been securing Bent- ley's legs with a leather strap. Pierrepoint gave a sign to everyone to stand well clear of the trap, then he kicked the release bolt from the lever. The heavy oak doors dropped open and life began to leave the body of Derek William Bentley.47This harrowing scene shocks many who see the film. Iris Bentley, who has never been able to bring herself to watch this part, described how at premieres the audience would come up to her in tears.48 While In the Name of the Father deals with many of the fundamental issues, such as police brutality and corruption, Let Him Have It, as the title indicates, firmly stakes out its' ground. It is wed to the "official" version of events. The film does not become an investigation into the guilt or innocence of Derek Bentley, but an investigation, indeed moral condemnation, of capital punishment. This is the significance of that final scene - the brutality of killing a "three-quarter witted" boy. The only merit of the film in connection with Derek Bentley is the resurrection of the debate concerning his case. There is however the real danger that the film version of events becomes recognized as the truth. This truly is the domain of film in the postmodern world where "screen events displace the primacy of materially lived ones,"49 a process described by Baudrillard as the "hyper realism" of communication. The chief weakness of Let Him Have It is its failure to offer critical challenge and to construct a "reality" while displacing or clouding the "authentic reality." A major strength of In the Name of the Father is its gloves-off account of the events that led to the dreadful miscarriage of justice perpetrated against the Guildford Four. While some have claimed that the only authentic way to portray such events is by means of the documentary, with no subjectivity to cloud the "truth," as Kluge notes this also is not a guarantor of accuracy or authenticity of representation: A documentary film is shot with three cameras: (1) the camera in the technical sense; (2) the filmmaker's mind; and (3) the generic patterns of the documentary film, which are founded on the expectations of the audience that patronizes it. For this reason one cannot simply say that the documentary film portrays facts. It photographs isolated facts and assembles from them a coherent set of facts according to three divergent schemata. All remaining possible facts and factual contexts are excluded. The naive treatment of documentation therefore provides a unique opportunity to concoct fables. In and of itself, the documentary is no more realistic than the feature film.50 What makes the films important is not found in a semantic debate about minutiae of detail, but rather through a wider view of the films' worth in terms of raising consciousness or awareness of the issues that pervade the two films - police brutality and capital punishment. It wasn't the Appeal Court who got them out in the end, it wasn't the judicial system, it wasn't lawyers and it wasn't the Home Office. It was in the case of the Birmingham Six, because a television company as far back as in 1985 commissioned research which cast doubt on the forensic evidence ... it was because Gareth Pierce the defence solicitor gave up a lot of time without payment to pad around the streets hour after hour, to dig up the evidence to present to the Home Secretary ....MANSFIELD & WARDLE, supra note 24, at 262. 40. See supra note 4 and accompanying text. 41. Interestingly, both William Bentley and his daughter Iris read legal cases, texts, and books that were given to them in the years after Derek's death in an attempt to understand how this could have happened. While neither was legally trained, both fulfill many of the criteria of legal superheroes in that, like Gareth Pierce, their pursuit of justice was unflinching, dedicated, and inspirational. 42. DAVID ROSE, IN THE NAME OF THE LAW 339 (1996). 43. Interview with Iris Bentley, Author, in South London, Eng. (Jan. 25, 1996). 44. BENTLEY, supra note 26, at 232. 45. LET HIM HAVE IT, supra note 8. 46. Pierrepoint wore the hood as a dress handkerchief, only revealing its true nature just before the execution. 47. YALLOP, supra note 14, at 280-81. 48. Interview with Iris Bentley, supra note 43. 49. John Fiske & Kevin Glynn, Trials of the Postmodern, 9 CULTURAL STUD. 505, 506 (1995). 50. ALEXANDER KLUGE, A PERSPECTIVE 4 (1988)). |
