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Let Him Have It
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A POWERFUL MOVIE TELLS THE TRUE STORY OF AN INNOCENT MAN AND THE TRIAL THAT ENDED THE DEATH PENALTY IN ENGLAND. On July 30, a British appeals court did what it could to right one of that country's most notorious miscarriages of justice by exonerating Derek Bentley, hanged in 1953 at the age of 19 for the murder of a police officer. The court found that Bentley had been denied "that fair trial which is the birthright of every British citizen." The judge had instructed the jury to disregard the whole of Bentley's defense, and to give an inordinate amount of weight to what was most likely perjured police testimony. There were other problems. Bentley (who also suffered from epilepsy and was nearly illiterate) was estimated to have a mental age of 11 and should probably never have appeared in court. The biggest problem, though, was something that no one disputed: Bentley had not committed the murder. In fact, he'd been arrested, without offering any resistance, 20 minutes earlier by a policeman at the scene. The killer's identity was never in doubt: Bentley's friend, 16-year-old Chris Craig. Bentley and Craig were surprised by police while breaking into a London warehouse, and Craig, who was armed, opened fire, killing an officer. Because of his age, Craig could not be tried as an adult (he received 10 years and was released in 1963), so thoughts of vengeance turned to Bentley. At the trial, several policemen testified that Bentley had incited Craig to shoot by yelling, "Let him have it, Chris!" Both Bentley and Craig denied he had ever said those words. Even if he had, they prove nothing. As Bentley's lawyer argued, "Let him have it, Chris!" could easily have meant "Give him the gun, Chris!" That's certainly what Bentley (Christopher Eccleston) means when he frantically blurts out the line in Peter Medak's 1991 film "Let Him Have It." The double meaning here is in the title. Stripped of the exclamation point, "Let Him Have It" becomes a cold, methodical description of what the British judicial system did to Derek Bentley. In the movie's view, his execution was the horribly logical culmination of the way Derek had been treated all his life by the systems meant to care for his welfare. Medak and his screenwriters, Neal Purvis and Robert Wade, begin their account of Derek's path to the gallows with an adolescent act of petty vandalism that sends him to a reform school. He serves only a few years because, the headmaster admits, his low IQ and epilepsy make him difficult to reach. But when Derek's father (Tom Courtenay) charges that a boy in such a condition should never have been sent up in the first place, the only answer the headmaster can muster, in precise, upper-class tones, is that Derek committed a crime, and something had to be done. In the world of "Let Him Have It," the hardest thing for those in power to do is admit they've made a mistake. "Let Him Have It" picks up Derek's story in 1952, a year after his release from reform school. Isolated from his old friends and embarrassed about his stint at the school, his low intelligence and his seizures, Derek hasn't once set foot outside the family home. He spends his locked days in his room with the blinds drawn, smoking and poring over comic books. Pressured by his parent's worried and well-meaning entreaties to get a job, Derek turns to his devoted sister Iris (Clare Holman, who gives a lovely performance as a young woman defined by her warmth and common sense) to act as a buffer. Finally, though, getting Derek out of the house takes another woman as well: singer Kay Starr. Derek hears Starr's "Wheel of Fortune" on the wireless and flips for it. Iris convinces him to accompany her to the local record shop to buy his own copy. Soon he's going out on his own, walking the dogs and running errands. He even gets a job street sweeping. But in the movie's cruel central twist, Derek emerges from his small, private world only to become enmeshed in the fantasy universe of a sociopath. If "Let Him Have It" argues that British society did nothing for Derek Bentley, it is honestly baffled about what could have been done for Chris Craig (Paul Reynolds). Short, squat and with baby fat still clinging to his cheeks, Craig seems no more than a kid. When his older brother, Niven (Paul McGann), a full-blown con whom he worships, is sent to prison, Craig weeps in his bedroom like a child. The jarring note is the revolver he clutches as some kids would a teddy bear. In their overcoats and fedoras, Craig and his cronies play at being the gangsters they've seen in American movies, carrying guns or tagging along to help Niven unload his swag. They're half-size hoods (their version of a speakeasy is the local dairy bar), and they'd be funny if they weren't so dangerous. (It should be said that since being released from prison in 1963, Craig has had no trouble with the law. After Bentley's exoneration, he said, "A day does not go by when I don't think about Derek.") All that matters to Derek is that Craig accepts him without making him feel stupid. At one point during the uproar that follows Derek's death sentence, the British home secretary says that "the British judicial system is now on trial." Medak, Purvis and Wade prove devastating prosecutors. What follows from Derek and Craig's botched break-in (expertly filmed) is both agonizing and unbearably swift. Listening to Derek trying to make himself understood in the witness box is like trying to untangle crossed wires using an egg beater. Everything the movie has suggested about Britain's class system pays off in its trial scenes. Medak asks us to imagine what it means to plead for your life before a man dressed in one of those ridiculous wigs, whose manner tells you he's taken the title of "Lord" all too literally. But "Let Him Have It" also shows us the public outcry that resulted from Derek's death sentence. The legacy of that outcry was Parliament's abolition, 12 years later, of the death penalty. (That's one of the reasons Americans can't feel superior watching this movie: We have steadfastly refused to be moved by the inevitability that the death penalty will result in the execution of an innocent person.) Medak never lets his anger at what happened to Derek Bentley overwhelm his film's humanity. As Derek, Eccleston, staring warily out of his deep-set eyes, greets the world outside the safety of his home as if he were a child set loose in a dark forest. Hunched over, his movements are lumbering yet tentative, as if he weren't sure how to work his body. Eccleston is ineffably touching as he shows Derek taking uncertain steps toward forming his own identity, working to get past his shame. The payoff of Eccleston's performance is the dignity Derek achieves awaiting his execution as he tries to allay his family's sadness with jokes and good cheer. There's another major performance in "Let Him Have It." Courtenay is best known as the hero of the British Angry Young Man movies "Billy Liar" and "The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner," but he's never been better than he is here. William Bentley is an ordinary man forced to act with extraordinary courage at the same time he's forced to question the faith he's always placed in the bedrock institutions of his society. As William chokes down his own fears and presses ahead, determined to save his son's life, Courtenay achieves a heroic decency.
"Let Him Have It" is a superb piece of craftsmanship. It's also not an easy
movie to watch. Amid the institutional savagery it depicts are glimpses
of singularly British moments of compassion: On Derek's way to the gallows,
one of his guards (Michael Elphick) favors him with a quick, nearly
subliminal wink, encouraging him to be brave for just a bit longer. "Let
Him Have It" was lost in the shuffle of holiday releases when it opened
here in 1991. I caught it on the last night of its run, and it put me in a
funk for days afterward. The end titles tell us that William and his wife
Lillian continued to fight to clear Derek's name until their deaths in the
'70s. "Today," the final title reads, "Iris continues that fight." Iris
died from cancer early last year. It was Iris' daughter, Maria
Dingwall-Bentley, who toasted her uncle's exoneration a few weeks ago.
There was a final poignant detail to the celebration: The bottle of
champagne she opened had been purchased by her mother and grandfather in
1958 in anticipation of the day when they could savor their victory.
Charles Taylor's Home Movies video column appears every
Tuesday in Salon.
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