
Lights Up
To woefully summarize a bit from Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers: The Story of Success from memory, Bill Gates was just old enough to understand computers right around the same time that computers were advanced enough/accessible to young users. Essentially, he was cosmically the right age, and in the right place at the right time to found Microsoft. I believe a similar confluence occurred when I discovered the work of Aaron Sorkin in 2013.
I was losing sleep in high school because Netflix was taking over society, and one night I stumbled upon a TV show called The West Wing. I recognized the creator Aaron Sorkin as the screenwriter for The American President, a Washington rom-com that my mother and I frequently watched together and thoroughly enjoyed. I gave it a shot, threw on the Pilot, and fell in love, hard. The rapidity of the dialogue, the craftsmanship of the realistic White House set, the unwavering patriotism of the characters, was all spectacular. If you find it unusual for a high school sophomore's favorite TV show to be a prime time counter-political commentary of the Bush administration from twenty years ago, then clearly we've never met.
I began tearing through Mr. Sorkin's filmography, each new entry improving upon the one before it. Over the last ten years, I've watched and absorbed Moneyball, Molly's Game, The Social Network, Steve Jobs, The Trial of the Chicago Seven, even his Masterclass on Screenwriting, an indecent number of times. I just love his work, writing larger than life characters with longer than average dialogue, he is truly a modern day Shakespeare. Even today, I’ll often put on his movies to help me fall asleep because I'm so used to hearing President Bartlet and Toby Ziegler try to change the world by being decent.
I have an ironclad theory that Aaron can write snappy dialogue like nobody's business, but he avoids coming up with original characters and plots. Most of Mr. Sorkin's films are centered around an historical event or figure like Steve Jobs, closely adapted from a popular non-fiction book like Moneyball, or are straight adaptations like his play To Kill a Mockingbird. During his time working in television on shows like The West Wing, Sports Night, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip and The Newsroom, he famously utilized a writers room. He'd sit and bounce ideas around, then leave and punch out a teleplay, taking full credit for the "writing" of the thing. Hell, The Newsroom followed characters at a fictional news network, but was set in the real world and reported on actual news stories, like Deep Water Horizon and the Boston Marathon bombing. That's not a knock on the guy, ideas are hard, and he's cultivated a reputation for being the biopic guy. Out of all his films and TV shows, however, I think his most impressive work is not only the most original, but happens to be his first screenplay, adapted from his first play, A Few Good Men.
The play was first produced on Broadway in 1989. It follows a team of military lawyers at a court-martial who uncover a high-level conspiracy in the course of defending their clients, two United States Marines accused of murder. Mr. Sorkin originally got the idea from a phone conversation with his sister Deborah, a graduate of the Boston University Law School who was serving a three-year stint with the Navy Judge Advocate General's Corps. She was going to Guantanamo Bay Naval Base to defend a group of Marines who had come close to killing a fellow Marine in a hazing ordered by a superior officer. Mr. Sorkin began scribbling what would become the play on cocktail napkins while bartending at the Palace Theatre in New York City. He sent it to his literary agent, and eventually sold the film rights, contingent on it first being produced as a play.
The Plot
Note: The play’s structure screws around a little bit with time, but for the most part follows the Marines at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and a group of lawyers in Washington, D.C. I figure that since a scene-by-scene summary may be confusing, especially with a legal drama where keeping the facts straight is essential, so the following is the best I could do at a straight timeline of events. Spoilers for A Few Good Men to follow, obviously...
Private WILLIAM SANTIAGO, a United States Marine at the Cuban naval base of Guantanamo Bay, is considered a substandard Marine who gets along poorly with his fellow Marines. Unable to adjust to the harsh realities of the base and in an attempt to escape his poor treatment, Santiago goes outside the chain of command to request a transfer off the base. Although Lieutenant Colonel MATTHEW MARKINSON thinks that Santiago ought to be transferred, Base Commander Colonel NATHAN JESSEP instructs Santiago's platoon commander, Lieutenant JONATHAN JAMES KENDRICK, to "train the lad." Later that evening, Santiago is murdered, and those accused are two Marines in Santiago’s unit, Lance Corporal HAROLD DAWSON and Private First Class LOUDEN DOWNEY.
In Washington, D.C., United States Navy JAG Corps investigator and lawyer Lieutenant Commander JOANNE "JO" GALLOWAY believes Dawson and Downey may have carried out a "code red" order: a brutal extrajudicial punishment, sort of like a hazing, specifically meant to discipline the Marines at GITMO. It is believed by many that Dawson had motive to kill Santiago because Willy named him as the culprit in an illegal fenceline shooting into Cuban territory. Jo isn’t convinced and believes Santiago was killed as part of a premeditated plan. Jo makes her case to represent the accused to Captain WHITAKER, but the case is instead assigned to Navy officer and lawyer, Lieutenant Junior Grade DANIEL KAFFEE. Danny is a laid back attorney whose claim to fame is accepting plea deals before a case can go to trial and would rather be playing softball than go to meetings. Despite Danny's casual attitude about the case bothering Jo, she insists on being involved to make sure Dawson and Downey have the best defence.
Joined by Lieutenant SAM WEINBERG, Danny’s friend and another attorney helping to conduct research, the team flies down to Guantanamo Bay. Once there, Danny, Sam, and Jo meet with Colonel Jessep, along with Markinson and Kendrick, to iron out the details relating to the case. Jessep asserts that Santiago was set to be transferred the morning after he died, “six hours too late,” but the team unilaterally don't believe his claim. Back in Washington, Dawson and Downey reject Danny's offer to enter into a plea agreement with US Marine Captain JACK ROSS, the prosecutor. The defendants claim that Kendrick gave them the "code red" order and that they never intended to kill Santiago. Dawson goes further, saying it is dishonorable for Kaffee to opt for a plea agreement rather than standing their ground in court. Danny wants to be removed from his position as counsel as he believes the case is worthless and doesn’t feel respected by his clients. Jo begs him to reconsider and take the case to trial because she has faith in his skill and wants to save these guys from prison. Danny has the realization that he was likely assigned to the case to sweep it under the rug: “Why does a junior grade with six months experience and a track record for plea bargaining get singled out to handle a murder case? Would it be to make sure it never see the inside of a courtroom?” At the arraignment, Kaffee submits a plea of not guilty on behalf of Dawson and Downey, and we end act one.
In act two, the trial has begun, and tensions are running high when Jo makes a blunder during a cross-examination of Commander STONE, the physician who oversaw the men at GITMO and declared Santiago dead. Demonstrated by the defense, Dawson was passed up for promotion because he had given food to a Marine who had been condemned to meal restrictions. The defense presents a favorable picture of Dawson, getting other Marines to testify that he was protective of Santiago. On the other hand, under cross-examination, Downey is forced to admit that he was not present when Dawson allegedly received the "code red" instruction from Kendrick. Later, Kaffee receives confidential documents that appear to be tower logs covertly acquired by Markinson, who had gone missing after the lawyers met him in Cuba. After writing a letter of apology to Santiago's family, Markinson kills himself out of guilt for not protecting Santiago while he was under his charge.
Without Markinson to testify, the case seems unwinnable in Kaffee’s eyes. He complains that he should have settled instead of taking on the case as he returns home drunk. Galloway urges Kaffee to ask Jessep to testify despite the possibility of facing court-martial for defying a superior officer. While talking to Sam, Kaffee has a realization that is sure to win the case and is resolved to put Jessep on the stand. Kaffee points out a discrepancy in Jessep's testimony: his Marines never disobey orders and that Santiago was to be relocated for his own safety. Considering that Jessep had told his men to leave Santiago alone, Kaffee wonders why he was still in danger. Jessep, disgusted by Kaffee's behavior, praises the military's contribution to national security as well as his own. It’s here we have the infamous line, “You can’t handle the truth.” Finally, Jessep admits with disdain that he ordered the "code red." While attempting to leave the courthouse, Jessep is arrested for covering up his role in the murder of Santiago.
The murder and conspiracy charges against Dawson and Downey are dropped, but they are found guilty of "conduct unbecoming" and will be dishonorably discharged. Downey is confused, and Dawson explains that they failed to stand up for people who were too helpless to defend themselves, like Santiago. Kaffee tells Dawson, “You don’t need to wear a patch on your arm to have honor." Dawson salutes Kaffee and finally recognizes him as a fellow officer. Before Ross leaves to arrest Kendrick, Kaffee and Ross compliment each other on a battle well fought, and Kaffee is ready to move on to his next case.
Character
First things first, something everyone should know by now is that characters aren't real people: they are the suggestions of real people. In the context of the story, they have very simple goals and emotions, and they only make decisions that drive the plot forward. They are born when the play starts, and they die when it ends. All we have on the page, as readers, actors, and designers, is what they say and what they do. It's the actors job to imbue the dialogue with their own essence and experience to fill in the blanks of the character. That's why we enjoy seeing the same classic stories over and over again, but with a new actor in a certain part to give it new life -- like Hamlet, King Lear, and James Bond.
As actors, when we think about characters, we use words like motivation, purpose, goal versus macro-goal, et al, to determine what it is they want. In its simplest terms, a story is about a character who wants one thing and how they overcome unforeseen obstacles to get it. I think of the Want as the spine of the character, an inner-motor that drives all of their decisions. Let's take an iconic character that everyone knows, like Batman. The loss of Bruce Wayne's parents at a young age left a wound on his soul that can never possibly heal. This profound feeling of loss drives him to seek justice and prevent senseless death. Batman represents order and righteousness, so his natural nemesis is the Joker, who embodies chaos and destruction. Within a singular story, the Batman will make decisions to prevent harm, which will ultimately stop the Joker's dastardly deeds. But saving the day won't bring his parents back and heal his wound, so he has to keep going and fight the Riddler, Two-Face, Bane. This never ending pursuit makes him a tragic figure and a compelling character.
Now let's turn to A Few Good Men and specifically zoom in on Danny and his late father. Here are some facts from the play taken from what characters say:
Danny went to Harvard on a Navy scholarship and is "laying low" until he can get a real job.
Lionel Kaffee, Danny's father, gained some notoriety when he argued a civil rights case and is well-respected as a good lawyer.
Lionel Kaffee died before Danny graduated law school, seven years before the action of the play.
There are a few emotional confessions, like Danny obviously being upset that his father died young, and Sam thinking Danny is a better lawyer than Lionel.
Now that's not a ton of information to go off of, but it's enough for an actor to dissect and make some choices. Let's make some inferences based on the facts above and decide how to play Danny. First, Danny's Want is to make his father proud. My instinct is that Danny loved and idolized his father and wanted to be just like him, making the career path to follow in his footsteps and become a lawyer. Danny's wound that can never properly heal is that his father died before Danny graduated from law school, let alone before Danny could become a legitimate lawyer. This creates a two pronged conflict within Danny: he will never live up to his father's legacy, and he will never feel validated as a lawyer by earning his father's respect.
You see, Danny's essence is that he is, in fact, a good lawyer, or at the very least a highly skilled lawyer. He can hold his own in an argument and has a success rate for winning cases by plea bargaining before they can go to trial. The problem is that if he embraced his essence and went down the path of becoming a "proper" lawyer, the world may learn that he's not as good as his father. Every character in the play praises Lionel Kaffee, and there's an unspoken understanding that Danny isn't capable of living up to his legacy. On the other hand, if Danny succeeds in the courtroom and is able to step out of his father's shadow, he still can't possibly earn the validation, respect, and pride of his deceased father. In order to avoid these outcomes, Danny overcorrects by plea bargaining to ensure he never sets foot in a courtroom so he doesn't have to prove himself to anyone. Danny wears the mask of a slick, fast-talking, "let's-make-a-deal" guy, as a way to snuff out his true essence of being an exceptional attorney. Hell, Danny plays softball as a passtime because baseball would be too rigorous: he doesn't play hardball, on the field or in the courtroom.
Jo and Sam serve the story as mirror characters. They are both used in a practical sense to talk out problems with the protagonist and explain information to the audience (most of Sam's dialogue is explaining abbreviations and who other characters are to Danny). They also stand in as embodiments of the protagonists inner conflict, showing opposing emotions about the given circumstances. Jo, the annoying but passionate lawyer who lives by a moral code, represents what Kaffee could be if he took off his mask and embraced being a good lawyer. Sam, though usually a soundboard, shows the inner conflict of representing bullies who commit murder. The trial is meant to decide blame, but in Sam's eyes, it doesn't matter who loaded the proverbial gun because Dawson and Downey were the hands holding it when it fired. Danny doesn't respect the Marine's code of honor because of his own internal fear of having honor and what that would mean for him.
In the end, Danny reaches catharsis at the "all is lost" point when Sam holds the mirror up to him. Sam praises Danny for how well he did in court, and assures him that his father would absolutely be proud of him. Danny can now take off the mask and overcome the seemingly impossible obstacle, which is getting a confession from Jessep. He succeeds in getting the truth and embraces being a lawyer. "You don't need to wear a patch on your arm to have honor."
Dialogue
I couldn't possibly write about this play without talking about its most famous speech, containing one of the most iconic lines in cinematic history. The entire play ramps up to the climactic showdown between Lieutenant Daniel Kaffee and Colonel Nathan Jessep in the courtroom. Kaffee points out a paradoxical statement made by Jessep: he claims that his men never disobey orders, but Santiago was in danger if his men disobeyed the order not to touch him. In the middle of Jessep's testimony, they have this exchange:
KAFFEE. If Kendrick told his men that Santiago wasn't to be touched, then why did he have to be transferred?
(beat)
Colonel?
(beat)
Kendrick ordered a code red, didn't he? Because that's what you told Kendrick to do.
ROSS. Object!
RANDOLPH. Counsel, you're putting words in -
(KAFFEE will plow through the objections of ROSS and the admonishments of RANDOLPH.)
KAFFEE. And when it went bad, you cut these guys loose.
ROSS. Your Honor -
RANDOLPH. Counsel, I'll hold you in contempt.
KAFFEE. You had Markinson sign a phony transfer order -
ROSS. Your Honor -
KAFFEE. You coerced the doctor -
RANDOLPH. This is your last warning!
KAFFEE. You doctored the log books.
ROSS. Dammit Kaffee!!
RANDOLPH. Consider yourself in contempt.
KAFFEE. I'll ask for the fourth time: If you ordered -
JESSEP. You want answers?!
KAFFEE. I'm entitled to them.
JESSEP. You want answers!!??
KAFFEE. I want the truth!!
JESSEP. You can't handle the truth!
(beat)
'Cause the truth is that we live in a world that has walls, and those walls need to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. The luxury of the blind. The luxury of not knowing what I know: that Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You can't handle it. 'Cause deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall. You need me on that wall.
(beat)
We use words like honor, code, loyalty... We use these words as the backbone to a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it. I'd prefer you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I'd suggest you pick up a weapon and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to.
KAFFEE. (quietly) You ordered the code red.
JESSEP. (beat) I did the job you sent me to do.
KAFFEE. You ordered the code red.
JESSEP. You're goddam right I did.
Now, let's be real, Mr. Sorkin has cultivated a reputation for using twenty words when five would suffice, but it works to magnificent effect here. The tainted nature of Jessep's moral code can't be understated. This is not a speech where he rants and raves about how tough and crazy he is: he just is. Like I said above, Jessep is a fictional character, therefore a metaphor for, let's say, "survival of the fittest," but I assure you, he is a real person. You've likely sat next to this person on the bus, or you've voted for them on a ballot, or maybe you've caught them staring back at you in the mirror. Maybe we need someone else to plunge their hands into filth so that we can keep ours clean, a monster willing to commit unspeakable atrocities, because he has "a responsibility that [we] can't possibly fathom."
This monologue actually speaks to a personal, internal conflict that I have about those who join the armed services. We can talk about honor and patriotism and security, but at the end of the day, war is about people with power using the people without it to kill people. Most men and women who join the army do so for myriad reasons, be it money or family legacy, but a good amount of those who willingly join are likely seeking an outlet for a violent impulse. It's the same reason people enjoy the MMA, boxing, or hunting. Jessep's speech is a testament to the dark side of the psyche, the propensity to murder and lie and steal in service of a twisted personal goal. The speech is deplorable, relatable, complicated, dramatic, and excellent, all at the same time. The world is as we find it, and there are monsters. There are angels and demons, there is honor and betrayal, there is the law and there is the lie. There are reports of basketball coaches reading this speech to inspire their team in the locker room at halftime; this idea of honor, no matter the cost, speaks to something dark that exists in all of us. Instead of covering it up, I think it's important that we embrace this dark side and channel it in a constructive way, so we can handle it before it kills us.
Mychal's Script Notes
I like this play. I liked it the first time I read it in high school, and I am still making discoveries with every subsequent reread. I have said it many times to Heidi, however, that I just think it works better as a movie. I go to the theater to have my head kicked in and my heart stepped on, and this play doesn't really do that. We don't have many emotional moments of existential dread, or pontificate on what it means to sacrifice in the service of protecting the nation. We have plenty of passionate speeches from Dawson and Jo, sure, but the drama mostly moves from scene to scene, discovery to testimony to verdict, without checking in on high emotions surrounding the story. I hope this doesn't sound to harsh, but often times, it feels sterile.
My thoughts and musings are not coming from a place of distaste, but from deep love for this material. If I were a dramaturg, and a draft of A Few Good Men made its way into my mailbox in 1988, here are the edits I would suggest:
Aaron, you know I love you, but being known for your impressive dialogue, I can't believe some of the things you made these actors say. Take scene three, for example, when Jo is meeting with Captain Whitaker to discuss the case and requests she be assigned to take it on. Jo is nervous, but clearly passionate while making her case, and Whitaker makes this comment about her demeanor:
WHITAKER. And can I ask, do you always talk as if your dialogue was written by someone who's not very good at it?
This is such a nauseatingly bad line for an actor to say out loud. The only way I'd make this work is to have the actor turn out and wink at the audience expectantly, holding for a laugh that likely won't come. For a play that largely relies on realism, this line stands out, pointing at the action onstage and shouting "This is a play!" This fourth wall break works for plays like Fat Ham, or Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, but not in this courtroom drama. It honestly feels like a placeholder that Aaron planned on revising in a future draft. Alas, it somehow made it into the final text, where it feels cringey and out of place. Dislike.
Now, let's zoom out a little further than a single line of dialogue. The characters in the play talk an awful lot about the case embarrassing the military and actively try to keep things from getting out of hand, but once the case is underway, we only see scenes in the courtroom or Kaffee's apartment. We have a lot of transitions covered by Marines marching and chanting, and I think it would be nice to have a television news anchor talking about the case, maybe a pushy reporter yelling questions at Kaffee on the street, or a gossip columnist speculating on Danny and Jo having a relationship. This case is an embarrassment for the United States, and there is a massive conspiracy uncovered, but the size and scope of the play don't reflect that.
Finally, I come to the biggest pebble in my shoe, Lieutenant Commander Joanne Galloway. Near the end of the play, Jo tells Kaffee that she wasn't allowed to "fly the planes or drive the boats," so she became a lawyer. Does that line alone not suggest the makings of a generation defining feminist icon??? Throughout the story, Jo is used as an annoying force to generate conflict with Kaffee. Even when she is passed over on being lead counsel in the case, she still fights her way into the club and goes with Danny and Sam to Cuba. Later, she goes further to represent Downey in the case as his private attorney. Jo is determined as hell to defend these guys, and to me, it doesn't seem like she's looking for a promotion or notoriety, she'd earnestly trying to prove herself by doing the right thing at all times. She makes the passionate argument that convinces Danny to take the case, and she pleads with him to put Jessep on the stand, but her penultimate moments are spent moping around because she doesn't think she's a good attorney.
Near the beginning of act two, Ross's final witness is Commander Stone, the doctor who Jessep forced to falsely testify that Santiago was poisoned. Jo makes a point to object and undermine his testimony when it doesn't go their way, and later, Sam yells at her for the mistake. In his eyes, insisting on the objection made the defense look weak in front of the jury. In order to correct this mistake, I would find a way for Jo to have a big win somewhere in the case, somehow redeeming herself after her blunder with Doctor Stone. Being, literally, the only woman in the play, she needs a more significant, active role in the case. Instead of constantly being called annoying and making mistakes while the men know everything and get the job done, we need a moment of clarity and recognition for her hard work. Hell, the play's poster suggests that she's going to stand out from a group of men, but in the play, she's just kind of here, and I think it's a woeful mistake.
Later in the play, before we put Jessep on the stand, Jo has an introspective moment and says "I can't seem to defend people." This is basically the last we hear from her until the end of the play, where the day is saved and justice is served. Now, Louden Downey's Aunt Ginny is mentioned in the play, but is not played by an actress on stage. Could our much needed moment of recognition be a one-sided telephone call where Ginny thanks Jo for defending Downey, and admires her "as a woman?" Maybe. What I think might work better is a moment where Downey comes up to her, struggles to get out a thank you in a respectful manner, then drops the hardened Marine facade to wrap her up in a bear hug, human to human. We need a moment, something, where her work isn't passed over as if it weren't significant. Instead, her final moments are asking the protagonist out for a drink, right after she admits to going back to her old job of "annoying people." As the moral compass of the play, I think she deserves more.
Bows
As always, thank you so much, dear reader, for sticking to the end and for putting up with my neurosis. Since this is the first legitimate entry under the Between the Lines banner, this format is still a work in progress and I'm open to any feedback you may have. Did everything I talk about make sense without having read the play or seen the movie? Did this essay run a little too long, or should future posts go into even more detail? Should I look at plays only as an actor and how I'd play a character, or as a director and how I'd stage it, or as an editor and what I would do to fix it? Would you say I knocked it out of the park the first time and just need to do the same thing again and again? Let me know in the comments below or privately on how I can improve BTL.
I could, of course, say a whole lot more about this play, but sitting down to write this summary and analysis with everything else going on in my life has been a stress for several weeks. I love having the creative outlet and letting Actor Brain run wild, but I did pressure myself to do what I could to get this exactly right. I am confident I will find the right balance going forward, and look forward to sharing my insight and opinions on more classic works. I'll even take requests and suggestions on what to read and break down next! Until then, read more plays, see more theater, and drink more water.
And scene.
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