Georges Lautner is possibly best known outside France for a film he made shortly after this one, Les Tontons flingeurs, which enjoyed something of an international mild success. He compensated by making scads of multiplex fodder but with The Seventh Juror he turned in his piece de resistance. Basically it adds a new wrinkle to such entries as The Big Clock, Mr. Arkadin and Police Python 357, that wrinkle being that a murderer finds himself on the jury when the wrong man is brought to trial. Stumbling across a young woman sleeping topless in the open air the middle aged Blier succumbs to temptation and attempts to rape her. When she begins to scream for help he moves his hands to where they will do the most good and chokes her to death. Remaining undetected he stands by as an innocent (in this case) man is charged with the crime and then winds up on the jury where he does everything he can to secure a not guilty verdict. Never exactly sylph-like even in youth Blier in middle age resembles no one so much as Sydney Greenstreet and performs just as well if not better. It is, of course, really the town itself that is on trial - we are clearly in Le Corbeau and Les Inconnus de la maison country here - and there is a brilliant twist at the end. Made in 1962 it it also sticks two fingers up at the new wavelet brigade. Masterful.
Review of Le septième juré
