The release of the film “The Trial of the Chicago 7” comes at a time when protests of differ…
Abbie Hoffman, the political and social activist who made his mark in the 1960s and who later lived as St. Lawrence River advocate Barry Freed, likely would have immensely enjoyed the idea of Sacha Baron Cohen playing him in a new Netflix film that highlights a tumultuous time of the 1960s.
Mr. Hoffman, one of the most visible counterculture protestors of the era, performed stunts like throwing dollar bills onto the floor of the New York Stock Exchange and leading a group to “levitate” the Pentagon.
The British-born Mr. Baron Cohen is known for his creation and portrayal of fictional satirical characters such as Ali G, Borat Sagdiyev, Brüno Gehard and Admiral General Aladeen.
His latest film, the mockumentary “Borat Subsequent Movie Film: Delivery of Prodigious Bribe to American Regime for Make Benefit Once Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan,” premiered Friday on Amazon.
But “The Trial of the Chicago 7,” in which Baron Cohen also stars in and released Oct. 17 on Netflix, is serious stuff, although it does have moments of high jinks.
The film begins in 1968 when the United States was in turmoil. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in Memphis. Robert F. Kennedy was shot and killed in Los Angeles. The Vietnam War was at its height with over 30,000 American casualties and 1,000 more U.S. troops killed each month.
In August of 1968, scores of antiwar protestors gathered outside the Democratic National Convention in Chicago. Mayor Richard J. Daley declined protest permits to most of the anti-war demonstrators. But to prepare, he deployed thousands of police officers, members of the Illinois National Guard and Army soldiers. The protesters were tear gassed and beaten. Hundreds, including policemen, were injured and nearly 700 arrested.
The following year, eight activists — Tom Hayden and Rennie Davis of the Students for a Democratic Society, counter-culture Yippies Mr. Hoffman and Jerry Rubin; MOBE organizers David Dellinger, John Froines and Lee Weiner; and Black Panther Party Chairman Bobby Seale — were put on trial for conspiring to incite a riot outside the convention.
The resulting trial of almost five months was bizarre, which the Netflix film recreates. Mr. Seale, a co-founder of the Black Panther Party, was gagged and chained to his chair after ignoring Judge Julius Hoffman’s citations for contempt. Judge Hoffman later separated Mr. Seale’s trial from the other seven defendants. Mr. Hoffman and Mr. Rubin showed up at trial one day wearing judicial robes, which the new film depicts.
But “The Trial of the Chicago 7” didn’t include other bizarreness witnessed in the court, which may have turned to film into a comedy.
For example, the UPI reported that Judge Hoffman lectured defense lawyer William Kunsler for leaning on a lectern. The lawyer struck the pose while cross-examining a police undercover agent.
According to the UPI clipping in Times’ files, Judge Hoffman told Mr. Kunsler: “There’s a great architect, Mr. Miles van der Rohe, who designed this building and that lectern, not a leaning post. Now get behind it.”
Mr. Kunsler, who said he was tired, leaned on it from another direction, politely asking the judge, “May I stand this way?”
“Yes,” Judge Hoffman replied. “But as long as you’re tired, we’ll recess and you can go to sleep.”
There was also several attempts at singing in the courtroom. But one couldn’t be stopped.
From the witness stand, according to another UPI clipping, Country Joe MacDonald belted out: “It’s one, two, three, what are we fighting for?”
“No, no, no, no singing in the courtroom!” Judge Hoffman shouted.
Country Joe continued: “Don’t ask me, I don’t give a damn. The next stop is Vietnam.”
“Mr. Marshal, contain that man!” the judge ordered.
The U.S. marshal shook the singer, but Country Joe continued his tune. He was finally muzzled when the marshal put his hand under his chin.
In February of 1970, Mr. Weiner and Mr. Froines were acquitted of all charges while the other five defendants were convicted of crossing state lines to incite a riot. They were sentenced to five years in prison and fined $5,000 each.
In November of 1972, the United States Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit overturned the convictions. The case was never retried.
In a news release, Netflix says the goal in telling the story of the Chicago 7 wasn’t to simply and precisely recount the events that occurred in 1969.
“It’s not a documentary, it’s not intended as journalism,” Aaron Sorkin, who wrote and directed the film, said in the release. “This is a painting, where journalism is a photograph.”
When Baron Cohen became aware that a film of the Chicago 7 was being developed, he reached out about the role of Abbie Hoffman.
“I was always interested in Abbie Hoffman,” Baron Cohen said in the Netflix news release. “When I was in university my undergraduate thesis was about radical Jews in the civil rights movement in the ’60s. I found out that a lot of the Jewish radical students who went down to Mississippi to campaign for voting rights for the African American community then went on to other radical causes. One of those guys was Abbie Hoffman.”
One of the founders of the Youth International Party, or the Yippies, Hoffman was raised in Worcester, Mass., studied at Brandeis University in Waltham, Mass., and became one of the most visible counterculture protestors of the era.
“I think he said that the modern revolutionary should head straight to the television station,” Mr. Baron Cohen said. “There’s no way that a group of hippies are going to win against the National Guard and police and armed vehicles. The only way they can win is by winning over the American public and the only way to do that is to get in front of the cameras.”
Mr. Hoffman would later win over residents of the north country as an advocate for the St. Lawrence River.
He came to the north country in 1976, guided by Johanna Hoffman Lawrenson, a former model who had roots along the river. They settled in her family’s summer home at Fineview on Wellesley Island.
His legal troubles weren’t over after his trial in Chicago. Fleeing a charge that he had sold cocaine to an undercover officer in New York City, Mr. Hoffman spent two years in Mexico and Canada under various pseudonyms. When he arrived at Fineview as a fugitive, he originally kept to himself, hoping to elude authorities. He spent his time gardening, cooking and learning carpentry.
But the power of the St. Lawrence River became too much for him and he became an advocate for the waterway. In 1978, when he was told of the federal government’s plan to open the river to winter navigation, he couldn’t resist a new political fight.
Save the River’s membership voted him to be the organization’s spokesman. He and other supporters of the cause took small boats from island to island in the river, seeking support from people who would be most affected — because the plan, the Watertown Daily Times reported, required the blasting away of many small islands to be able to widen and deepen the shipping channel.
He wrote letters to the editor as Barry Freed, produced news releases and made public appearances.
Mr. Hoffman, as Mr. Freed, lived in hiding along the St. Lawrence River until 1980. The Watertown Daily Times broke the story of his real identity in September of 1980, two days before Barbara Walters told viewers about her discovery with her interview with him on ABC’s “20/20.” He then surrendered to authorities and pleaded guilty to a reduced charge. Mr. Hoffman received a one-year sentence but was released after four months. He continued to visit Fineview in summers.
Mr. Hoffman died in 1989 at the age of 52 in an apparent suicide. A coroner’s report said he took a massive amount of sedatives, chased by alcohol.
Last year, the “papers” of Mr. Hoffman were acquired by the Dolph Briscoe Center for American History In Texas. The center paid Mr. Hoffman’s widow, Johanna Hoffman Lawrenson, $300,000 for the collection
The papers included Mr. Hoffman’s “100 Ways to Disappear and Live Free.” The ways to live appear to be purposely ironic, especially number one: “Avoid drawing attention to yourself; virtually any activity can be interpreted as criminal thanks to the gratuitous profusion of ‘laws.’”
Thanks to films like “The Trial of the Chicago 7” and the donation of his papers, Mr. Hoffman is still attracting attention.
As he told Judge Julius Hoffman after receiving his five-year prison term and as he was being led away: “It ain’t whether you win or lose, Julie. It’s how you play the game.”
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