Issue 81 - Redemption

Welcome to Issue 81 of Deep Life Reflections, where I share five things I’ve been enjoying and thinking about over the past week.

This week, we turn our thoughts to the theme of redemption through the work of acclaimed American filmmaker Sidney Lumet. Drawing from his memoir, Making Movies—a definitive guide to the art and craft of film—we explore his pursuit of truth through stories that feel real and urgent. One of these is The Verdict, featuring Paul Newman’s Oscar-nominated performance as an alcoholic Boston lawyer seeking redemption. Through Lumet’s works, we reflect on the nature of redemption and consider how we might achieve it in our daily lives through our actions and ideals.

Join me as we explore this week’s Friday Five.

1. What I’m Reading

Making Movies. By Sidney Lumet.

“Sidney is the maestro…. His book is like his films—frank, honest, pacey, and very, very smart.” – David Mamet

As a lover of film and its history, I’ve read many books over the years about cinema and the people who inhabit its glamorous and elusive world. Sidney Lumet, who passed away in 2011, is one of the all-time great directors, yet he’s not as widely known as Hitchcock, Scorsese, or Spielberg. With over 40 films and more than 50 Academy Award nominations to his name, Lumet’s work was often complex and emotional, yet rarely overly sentimental. In his 1995 memoir, Making Movies, Lumet shares a definitive guide to the art, craft, and business of film, revealing a lifetime of passion for cinema.

Much like the production of a movie, Lumet’s book takes the reader step by step through the creative process: from the initial script to a director’s vision, selecting the right actors, and the technical aspects of filmmaking—cinematography, art direction, sound—culminating in editing, production, and release. Few books on film pull back the curtain so effortlessly, making the inner workings of cinema accessible through Lumet’s straightforward language and fascinating anecdotes from his four decades in the industry.

Lumet worked with many Hollywood legends—Marlon Brando, Katharine Hepburn, Al Pacino, Faye Dunaway, Paul Newman, and Ingrid Bergman, to name a few. In his chapter on actors, Lumet writes, “I love actors. I love them because they’re brave. All good work requires self-revelation.”

One particularly memorable story involves Brando during the filming of The Fugitive Kind (1960). Brando struggled through 34 takes and two and a half hours to deliver a key line. Lumet recognised that Brando’s personal struggles at the time were connected to the difficulty with the line. He debated whether to say anything but ultimately decided not to, feeling it would violate Brando’s confidence. Later, Lumet confessed this to Brando, who smiled and said, “I’m glad you didn’t.” Lumet writes that this exchange reveals everything about actors and movie acting—the trust between actor and director, the personal stakes involved, and the dedication to the craft.

One of the best moments in the book comes when Lumet emphasises what he calls the all-encompassing question: “What is the movie about?” He goes on to distill the essence of his films in just a few words: The Anderson Tapes—“The machines are winning”; Serpico—“A portrait of a real rebel with a cause”; 12 Angry Men—“Listen.” Storytelling at its finest.

At its heart, Making Movies is about truth in storytelling. Lumet’s dedication to truth, in both life and art, mirrors the redemptive journey of many of his characters—flawed, struggling, but ultimately fighting to reveal something meaningful about themselves. Every film, every shot, is an attempt to make sense of the world’s imperfections and injustices, to explore the messy moral landscapes in which we all live.

And next, we’ll look at one of those flawed characters, seeking redemption in The Verdict.

2. What I’m Watching

The Verdict. Directed by Sidney Lumet.

In 1982, Sidney Lumet brought Paul Newman to the screen as a washed-up, alcoholic Boston lawyer seeking redemption through a last-ditch case that could restore his career—and his self-respect. The Verdict earned five Academy Award nominations, including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, and Best Screenplay. It’s a powerful, emotionally charged film, with a lot of depth. Newman is superb. I watched it for the first time recently while reading Making Movies.

Newman plays Frank Galvin, a man in such low standing—both in his own eyes and society’s—that we first meet him paying a few bucks to sneak into local funeral homes, pretending to know the deceased in a desperate bid to solicit malpractice cases from grieving families. From there, he heads to a bar to drink beer and play pinball in the middle of the day. This is a man at the end of the rope. Lumet reflects Galvin’s state of mind by creating a sombre mood and stripping Boston of any colour—all browns, beiges, and grays.   

Frank’s luck seems to change when his long-suffering law partner hands him a slam-dunk case—a clear out-of-court settlement for a young woman left in a vegetative state after a prestigious doctor administered the wrong anesthesia during childbirth. The hospital, run by the Archdiocese, wants to avoid publicity and offers a hefty settlement. Galvin is all set to accept until he visits the young woman in hospital and sees her terrible condition. Something flickers within him—anger that the doctor responsible for this was guilty of both incompetence and dishonesty. He rejects the settlement and takes the case to trial, despite facing the might of the Catholic Church and the city’s top defense attorney. In Galvin’s mind, bringing this case to trial serves two purposes: justice and reclaiming his self-respect.

The Verdict, with an excellent screenplay by David Mamet, is more of a character study than a courtroom thriller, though it certainly excels at that in the film’s final third. As critic Roger Ebert wrote, “The buried suspense in this movie is more about Galvin’s own life than about his latest case… Frank Galvin provides Newman with the occasion for one of his great performances… [He] gives us old, bone-tired, hung-over, trembling (and heroic) Frank Galvin, and we buy it lock, stock and shot glass.”

Frank’s closing summation to the jury—delivered in a single take by Newman, though he did an even better second one because of a hair on the camera in the first—feels more like a sermon to himself than a plea to the jury. The message is clear: redemption is a path we can walk only if we first believe in ourselves. After that, anything is possible—including justice.

3. What I’m Contemplating

Redemption is often seen as a deeply personal journey—an individual’s effort to confront their past, right their wrongs, and rediscover their sense of purpose. In The Verdict, Frank Galvin’s redemption isn’t just about winning a legal battle; it’s about reclaiming his belief in justice and in himself. His victory lies in pursuing the truth against overwhelming odds and exposing systemic failures that had long been accepted. It’s not just a personal triumph but one rooted in something larger—a search for deeper, more universal truth.

This idea of redemption through the pursuit of truth and craft resonates with Sidney Lumet’s philosophy in Making Movies. For Lumet, filmmaking wasn’t just about creating entertainment—it was about telling stories that spoke to something real and urgent. His films, often gritty New York dramas, focused on the working class, social injustice, and the abuse of power. His commitment to his craft was his way of engaging with the world, seeking clarity and honesty that went beyond personal ambition.

But what does redemption look like in our own lives? We may not be standing in a courtroom fighting for justice like Frank Galvin, but we all, in some way, are searching for redemption—for a way to reconcile who we are with who we hope to become. Maybe it’s in our relationships, where we’ve faltered and want to make amends. Or maybe it’s in our work—or as I prefer to call it, craft—where we strive to contribute something meaningful that aligns with our values, yet too often get sucked into daily digital distractions or feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of tasks pilling up on us like bricks.

Redemption rarely arrives in grand, dramatic moments—the climactic jury decision—but through small, everyday choices. It’s in the quiet moments when we choose to face a difficult truth, when we push a little harder to do what’s right, even when it’s easier not to. It’s in the effort to be better, to create better. (I put off starting a newsletter for so long, yet here I am with 81 issues and counting.) In those moments, we begin to find a kind of redemption—not just from past mistakes, but from the doubt and fear that often hold us back.

So maybe redemption isn’t only about righting wrongs; maybe it’s about striving toward something bigger than ourselves. Whether it’s in our craft, our relationships, or the way we live our daily lives, redemption might lie in the ongoing effort to align our actions with the ideals we aspire to. And in that pursuit, we rediscover who we are and what we are truly capable of.

4. A Quote to note

“Redemption is not perfection. The redeemed must realise their imperfections.”

- John Piper

5. A Question for you

Are the small, everyday choices you make bringing you closer to, or further from, a sense of personal redemption—and what does redemption mean to you?

Thanks for reading and being part of the Deep Life Journey community. If you have any reflections on this issue, please leave a comment. Have a great weekend.

James

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