Long before Tom Cruise learned to scale skyscrapers and hang off the side of planes, he proved his skill as an actor in smaller, character-focused films like A Few Good Men. I’m always amazed by how many of my friends haven’t seen this film (and regularly make them sit down and watch it with me to remedy the situation). The costumes in this 90s classic occasionally look dated, but the ideas at its center are just as vibrant and important as they were when the film was released.
From the very beginning of the film, we understand that Sorkin is presenting a conflict between idealism (Demi Moore’s passionate Lieutenant Commander Galloway) and pragmatism (Cruise’s swaggering Lieutenant Kaffee). When Kaffee is assigned to defend two young Marines accused of murder, Galloway worries that he’ll handle the case with the same cavalier disregard that he’s displayed throughout his brief career as a lawyer. He’s not interested in high-stakes arguments, seeking instead to add to his plea bargain total and win a set of steak knives. So the first battle of the film comes long before they enter a courtroom, as Galloway must try to convince Kaffee to give the defendants a fair chance.
As the film continues, we see Galloway’s persistence pay off, as her determination to pursue justice gradually transforms her colleague. We see Kaffee slowly start to believe that his defendants are worth fighting for, though his knowledge of the law means he is still pessimistic about their chances before a judge. We watch him and his team endure a roller coaster of hope and disappointment, and see him choose to stick with the case when every instinct tells him to walk away.
So, unsure of how they’ll win the case but determined that they’re doing the right thing, Kaffee and his colleagues prepare to make their defense–and to face Jack Nicholson’s intimidating Colonel Nathan Jessup. As Nicholson and Cruise battle, all the tension that has been building throughout the film comes to a head. Emotions rise as the young lawyer faces a veteran who can hardly believe he’s been forced to suffer the indignity of appearing in court. We see the moment when Kaffee lays everything on the line, where he decides to risk everything for his clients. And we watch him prod and probe and frustrate Jessup until he explodes, in one of the most iconic moments in cinema. I get chills when Jessup admits his culpability. No one, including him, expected this to happen and the whole courtroom is in shock.
Unfortunately, Jessup’s admission doesn’t immediately acquit the defendants. The court delivers their verdict, convicting the young Marines of conduct unbecoming to an officer and dishonorably discharging them from the Corps. After listening to Kaffee and Galloway defend their clients, we’re surprised by this decision. But the convicted officer recognizes it as a just condemnation, reminding his comrade that they “were supposed to fight for people who couldn’t fight for themselves.” They chose to follow the culture of unquestioning obedience that surrounded them, to listen to the orders of their superior officer even when they knew those instructions were wrong. If they were to truly exemplify the honor and duty they believe in, they should have chosen to stand up and do what was right, no matter what consequences they faced.
I love the smart, witty dialogue that overflows from Sorkin’s screenplay, but, even more, I love the ideals at its heart. The uncompromising commitment to justice, despite the consequences. The passionate advocate who pleads for the defendants even when they’ve fallen short of their own ideals. The way it asks us to think about who we obey, about who bears the responsibility for our actions. I’ve seen A Few Good Men more times than I can remember, and the questions it raises never get old.