THE THIN BLUE LINE

The titular blue line refers to the police force: our line of defence separating the social order from anarchism. When a policeman is killed in the line of duty, there is an understandable uproar. This film documents how anger and desire for a conviction twisted the truth and resulted in a miscarriage of justice. The truth is a tough thing to grasp and we see how it is massaged and stage-managed until it serves the ends that those in control seek. Errol Morris’ film is a tough exposé of just some of the difficulties and problems that lie within the justice system. Although the film concerns a trial from 1976, it seems unlikely that these problems have been fixed in the years since, because the problem lies not with the machinations of the system, but with the people within. This is not a film about corruption; this is a film about the brutalisation of truth that results from having fallible, imperfect beings making the decisions regarding the life and death of other human beings.

On November 28th, Dallas police officer Robert Woods was murdered as he approached the blue ford he had just signalled to pull over. The car pulled away quickly and Wood’s partner was unable to distinguish any important identifying features which would aid the upcoming investigation. The Dallas police searched frantically for their ‘cop-killer’ with no avail until they heard from a source that 16-year-old David Harris had been bragging to his friends that he was the murderer. The police follow up the lead and Harris delivers to them the blue ford and the .22 calibre revolver which had been the murder weapon. However, Harris denies the charges of murder and pins them on Randall Adams, a vagrant who had been in the car with Harris that very night as they went to see a drive-through movie. Despite evidence to the contrary, Adams is given the death penalty. The film opens with Adams having spent over 10 years in prison and is a series of interviews and re-enactments of that night geared towards one persuasive conclusion: Randall Adams is innocent.

Filmmaker/detective-director Errol Morris had originally intended to film a documentary concerning Dr. James Grigson, a Dallas psychiatrist (alias Dr. Death) who had spent 15-years in the Dallas court system giving damning psychological evaluations of those on the stand accused of murder. Grigson had presided at the case concerning officer Woods murder and had ruled that Adams was a sociopath and would likely commit future criminal acts if he was not bestowed the death penalty. Speaking to both Harris and Adams (who protested that he was innocent), Morris changed the focus of his story to this case, where he felt there had been a clear miscarriage of justice.

The thesis of the film is this: Adams was charged with murder because he was old enough to receive the death penalty. Although the evidence was stacked against Harris, he was only sixteen and thus his conviction would not result in his execution. It’s clear the Dallas Judicial system were seeking to make some kind of statement about what happens to cop-killers and in the process of doing so perverted the truth in order to sentence an innocent man to death. The film has nothing to say about whether capital punishment is right and wrong but it is a damning indictment of the lax standards and stipulations which can result in a miscarriage of justice with fatal consequences. A year after this film’s release Adams was granted a new trial in which he was ruled innocent of the murder of Robert Woods and released without any monetary compensation or State apology.

Morris utilises a number of techniques to serve his documentary style. The interviewee is made to talk directly to camera, giving the film a conversational style – these people are giving their testimony directly to us. Further, instead of interjecting with a number of questions he tends to let the interviewee talk until they have nothing left to say, until, perhaps, they have emptied their heart regarding the subject. The re-enactments of the crime (revolutionary at the time) help to contextualise the testimony given by the talking heads and reveal the absurd nature of some of the ‘evidence’ that was used to secure Adams’ sentence. Importantly, Morris elects not to guide us by the hand through the intricacies of the crime. He provides us with no indication of who each talking head is, that is to say, ‘Edith James, Defence Attorney’ never appears on the screen when she is present. This allows us to focus on the facts: we know that this talking head said that, and this next one said this, so we know for sure that x is the case. It’s an effective tool for turning the audience itself into detectives.

The importance of this film is considerable not merely for its revolutionary style and conversational candour, but for the frank and conspicuous manner in which the absurdity of the court system is presented on screen. At one stage we are told the two questions (to which Adams provided sensible answers) that Dr. Grigson asked Randall Adams in order to determine whether he was a sociopath likely to commit further murders: What is the meaning of the phrase ‘a rolling stone gathers no moss’ and the phrase ‘a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush’? This in combination with a short Bender Gestalt test was enough for Dr. Grigson to suggest to the jury that Adams be sentenced to death. In a way this film plays like a horror movie as Phillip Glass’ chilly score emanates throughout the film and one is left in fear that there are people like Dr. Grigson who hold such an important responsibility in deciding whether people live or die. Then there is Harris himself who reveals his difficult upbringing with a disinterested ease, before eventually making his chilling confession. I have to agree with Adams’ own admission: “The kid scares me”. At times both shocking and defiant, The Thin Blue Line remains a vital meditation on the nature of truth and those who seek to obtain it.