How foolproof is Reginald Rose's "Twelve Angry Men"? You could cast it with five baboons, four female impersonators, two dentists, and a partridge in a pear tree and it would still come off as a brilliant evening of theater.
Thankfully, the touring production that opens at the Colonial tonight is more traditional, featuring a dozen fine actors -- led by Richard Thomas -- playing a dozen sweaty, peeved New York City jurors hashing out the finer points of the American judicial system.
Replicating the acclaimed 2004 production at Broadway's Roundabout Theatre -- same director (Scott Ellis), different cast -- the show lacks the sizzle of Sidney Lumet's classic 1957 film version, and not even the former John-Boy Walton can convey the godlike decency of Henry Fonda as Juror No. 8, battling uphill to change the minds of his empaneled peers.
This "Men" has a broader palette, though, and it paints an engagingly dynamic landscape of characters and social ideas. Above all, the play grips you from the start and never lets up. It's logical, adorably square, and startling in equal amounts -- a pleasure and a treasure after all these years.
The concept is genius: Twelve jurors, one murder case, 90 minutes of real time. A Puerto Rican teenager has been accused of stabbing his abusive father to death, and the men file into the anonymous jury room ready to convict. All except one: Juror No. 8 (Thomas), who insists not that the boy is innocent but that the evidence simply isn't there to send him to death row.
Bit by bit he forces the others to review the facts of the case, leading them by the hand into the sunlight of reasonable doubt. What makes "Twelve Angry Men" so compelling is that we're complicit in examining the evidence; the play's a whodunit in which the audience is invited along. What makes it stick to the ribs is the playwright's insistence on a fair shake that dovetails with our country's oldest, most compassionate ideals.
And there are the characters, sketched with knowing pungency. At first, Juror No. 8 is backed only by a thoughtful old man, Juror No. 9 (Alan Mandell). Then others start to listen: No. 5 (Jim Saltouros), from a slum neighborhood like the accused; No. 6 (Charles Borland), a fair-minded workingman; No. 11 (David Lively), an immigrant watchmaker.
There are holdouts, like the loathsome racist No. 10 (Julian Gamble) and the blowhard jerk No. 3 (Randle Mell); complacent bourgeoisie like the Wall Street broker No. 4 (Jeffrey Hayenga). Juror No. 7 (Mark Morettini) just wants to get to Yankee Stadium. The play's a canny catalog of 1950s types viewed through a socially progressive lens. All other things being equal, personality alone defines whether each man can think past his own received wisdom or is doomed to be trapped by it.