It’s a shame that every courtroom drama to come out of France from now until Justine Triet’s next death-and-or-divorce-centric film will have to live in the shadow of Anatomy of a Fall, at least when it comes to the particulars of its dramatized legal proceedings. Even for someone who wasn’t nearly as high on the critically acclaimed drama, which almost universally appeared on every year-end “Best Films” list in 2023 and won an Oscar for its screenplay, the thriller-like quality with which Triet and her co-writer/partner Arthur Harari’s trial scenes were infused was a cinematic standout last year. So, it’s something of a given that French films set primarily in a judge’s chambers will be put through the Anatomy of a Fall smell test, if you will, to see whether or not it stacks up against a beloved triumph in tension. Chances are, it won’t.
But there’s another way to look at this: Thank goodness for Anatomy of a Fall, because it provided audiences a cinematic peek into what French trials are (or might be) like. They are fiery, bombastic, loud, and theatrical. They tend to feature confrontations galore, from the prosecutor facing off with the defendant in a battle of wits to the judge taking control of their courtroom with a bellowing call for silence that sends chills over the proceedings. The way French legal battles are depicted in films makes them seem far more akin to what one might see in a Broadway show, a la 12 Angry Men or An Enemy of the People. There is shouting beyond the words “objection” and “overruled,” and emotion that lands long before the person on trial receives their sentence. It’s exhilarating; it would be a delight if this was how all trials were presented in the movies.
Enter The Goldman Case, the second courtroom drama to come from our Western European neighbors in as many years, one that is far more akin to a 2023 offering like William Friedkin’s posthumously-released The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial than it is to Anatomy of a Fall, despite sharing its primarily-spoken language with the latter. Practically everything within The Goldman Case, the latest directorial effort from French triple-threat Cédric Kahn, is rendered with blistering seclusion, the kind that makes this film – which takes place almost entirely within a courtroom’s four walls – feel more intense, yet uber-watchable for even the most claustrophobic viewer.
Based on a true story, the film opens with a series of imperative factual statements that lay the groundwork for the case we’re about to see tried: In April 1970, Pierre Goldman (played in the film by Arieh Worthalter) was charged with four armed attacks, one of which led to the death of two pharmacists. Then, in December 1974, the trial court sentenced him to life in prison, though Goldman insisted that he was innocent in the pharmacy case. In October 1975, he published a book in the form of a plea, which he wrote in prison. One month later, the appeal court canceled the initial ruling and transferred the case to the Amiens Criminal Court. And away we go, off to April 1976, where Goldman has written a letter to Georges Kiejman, his lead counsel (the aforementioned Harari; how about that?), attempting to fire him just one week before his retrial. It doesn’t go exactly according to plan, adding yet another layer of intrigue to Kahn and Nathalie Hertzberg’s script, a tightly wound piece of writing that leaves little room for their audience to take a breath, let alone look away for even a second.
The Goldman case itself is a curious one due to the nature of the crimes involved, and to how Goldman handled his charges in court. While he maintained innocence in regards to the pharmacist’s murders, he proudly admitted to the robberies. He also refused to call witnesses to the stand to defend him, proclaiming “I am innocent because I am innocent,” at least as it is said in Kahn’s film. Portrayed by Worthalter, Goldman is a pressure cooker personified, though not the sort that you fear is bound to burst having been left on for too long. Rather, he’s operating on what we might call “11” at all times, as impenetrable as he is stoically volatile. The only time he is seen experiencing any emotion other than steadfast resilience is in the film’s exhilarating finale, when the verdict is read, and we, like those in the courtroom’s audience, are left holding our breaths and clutching our seats. It’s rare for that sort of anticipation to ooze out of a film with authenticity, something The Goldman Case accomplishes with ease.
Perhaps that is by virtue of Kahn’s style here, which makes the film feel far more like a vérité work of a documentarian than that of a dramatic screenwriter with a director’s mind and an actor’s knack for knowing what could convince an audience. Yet all three are on display here, and imperatively so, given that the film has no score nor music cues, the only sounds coming from echoing voices, banging fists and gavels, and raucous applause. In doing so, especially with themes like deep-seated Jewish trauma – a primary focus here – and institutional control at the forefront, Kahn lets the “action” speak for itself. If only more filmmakers thought to do the same more often.
The Goldman Case will open in New York on Friday, September 6 at Film at Lincoln Center and IFC Center, and Friday, September 13 in Los Angeles at the Laemmle Royal and Encino Town Center followed by a national expansion.
Discover the gripping courtroom drama of The Goldman Case. Dive into the intricacies of the legal proceedings in this acclaimed French film.
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GVN Rating 7.5
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Will Bjarnar is a writer, critic, and video editor based in New York City. Originally from Upstate New York, and thus a member of the Greater Western New York Film Critics Association and a long-suffering Buffalo Bills fan, Will first became interested in movies when he discovered IMDb at a young age; with its help, he became a voracious list maker, poster lover, and trailer consumer. He has since turned that passion into a professional pursuit, writing for the film and entertainment sites Next Best Picture, InSession Film, Big Picture Big Sound, Film Inquiry, and, of course, Geek Vibes Nation. He spends the later months of each year editing an annual video countdown of the year’s 25 best films. You can find more of his musings on Letterboxd (willbjarnar) and on X (@bywillbjarnar).