“If Randall Adams and Davis Harris can agree on anything, it's that fate dealt them a terrible hand when, on Saturday, Nov. 27, 1976, it threw them together.”
-Janet Maslin, New York Times, 1988
One of the most revealing themes Errol Morris has to offer in his 1988 documentary, The Thin Blue Line, is the role fate plays in our lives. In the film, we are introduced to our protagonist, Randall Adams, who has fallen victim to the phenomenon of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He is incarcerated for a Dallas cop murder whom we can only deduce was shot by our antagonist, Davis Harris.
The two met by happenstance, but before Adams knew it, he wound up as Harris' scapegoat for homicide and is stuck serving time on death row. Harris admits at the end of the film that Randall Adams had caught a spot of bad luck.
“You're 16. You're scared. You tell the police it wasn't you, and they believe you.”
Indeed, Harris got off scott free, joined the military, and caused trouble elsewhere. All the while, Adams was locked away in the penitentiary, serving time on Harris' behalf.
In 1985, Morris discovered Adams on death row while conducting interviews with the Texas prison inmates. He was working on a documentary about James P. Grigson, a Dallas psychiatrist known as Dr. Death. One of Morris' interview subjects, as chance may have it, just so happened to be Randall Adams.
“Adams told me he was innocent. Everyone in prison tells you they're innocent. It was only after I met Davis Harris that I began to suspect that the wrong man had been convicted of murder.”
Adams repeatedly states that he has no idea how to explain the “why” of his situation. Why did he run out of gas that morning? Why did David Harris pick him up? Why was he accused of murdering a Dallas, Texas cop? These are the sort of questions we ask ourselves during any unfortunate event that disrupts our lives. One article describes Adam's appearance within the film as “passive and defeated.” The man has fallen into a state of “learned helplessness,” a psychological term used to describe the perceived absence of control over the outcome of a situation. In Adam's case, he was plucked from his own mundane life and thrown into a world of chaos. How was he to know that getting in a car with David Harris would forever change his life?
If we were to apply Blake Snyder's beat sheet as a reference to this scenario, Randall Adams would be in the “All Hope is Lost” portion of a screenplay outline. How does a person even begin to cope with such a jarring event that they cannot seem to justify? Richard F. Taflinger may lead to an explanation within his commentary, A Myth of Objectivity in Journalism:
“The brain has no actual, physical contact with the world. It doesn't even have pain nerves, and thus needs no anesthesia when operated upon (of course, the skin of the scalp and the bone of the skull are not likewise blessed). Everything the brain knows or reacts to comes to it in only one way: through the senses.”
There seems to be a point in severe emotional distress where all the senses are dulled and an individual becomes “numb” to their surroundings. This may be mistaken for an apathetic demeanor, or may even, in some cases, explain an apathetic demeanor. However, it is apparent within the film that Randall Adams has been broken of all resolve to defend himself against the judicial system. His efforts didn't even seem to make a dent, despite their potential validity.
This gives rise to the age old question, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” Well, friends, bad things don't happen to good people. Bad things make good people. Sometimes it takes yesterday's storm to appreciate today's sunshine. Even the most awful coincidences can blossom into beautiful outcomes. I would be interested to hear what Randall Adam's outlook on life is today.
Be that as it may, every time I see this documentary, I think to myself, “What would I have done if it had been me instead of Adams? How would I have come to terms with the fact that my life is spent on death row for someone I have been acquainted with for less than a day?”
They are all rhetorical questions that can never be answered until they actually occur (and hopefully they won't). Nevertheless, I would be equally as interested to see a documentary on how Adam's coped with his unjust imprisonment or, even better, how it has affected his life. Adams has certainly become a hero among viewers, but is an 11 year sentence really worth the rude awakening?
The real horror to this story is this: How many other people are on death row for a crime they didn't commit or, dare I say, have been executed for it? It reminds me of the 1957 film, Twelve Angry Men (Sydney Lumet), where a skeptical juror for a murder trial tries to convince his fellow jurors that there is more to the case than what appeared in court. He is well aware that all things must be viewed with a critical eye, and if there is any breathing room for doubt, then he will never accuse a (wo)man of being guilty.
Unfortunately for Randall Adams, he served as a prime example of “justice being served at any cost.” When people feel they have been wronged, they want someone to suffer along with them. It all seems exceedingly brutal, barbaric even—especially when you lack moral support. Those who sided with Adams were few and far between. It's not a matter of who was wronged. It's a matter of who can win the jury over. That almost makes it seem like dinner and a show—entertainment at the cost of a life. However, it's never to late to count your blessings. In the end, fate dealt Adams a winning hand.
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