In Errol Morris’s documentary, The Thin Blue Line, audience members are introduced to the shocking death of a Dallas police officer which ultimately convicted the wrong killer. As we follow the stories of Randall Adams and David Harris, Morris introduces other forms of media to aid in telling the story. While director Errol Morris ultimately leaves the decision up to the audience, re-enactments, interviews, and still pictures help guide this documentary to make a statement about who it believes committed the crime. Morris’ staging of his interviews and re-enactments form a perfect segue for audience members to feel as if they are getting every version of the story possible, however the style of this documentary has a mind of it’s own that clearly conveys a pre-meditated opinion. This film gave a new name to documentaries, and the combination of stylistic techniques as well as Morris’ storytelling abilities give this documentary the edge it needs to prove Adam’s innocence.
The film begins with Randall Adams and David Harris each recalling their versions of the story. As the plot develops we hear from both of them in interviews. The interviews conducted in this film are rather ambiguous. No name title is included to give us a clue of who people are, (of course we learn this as time goes on), and it’s more like a range of narrators rather than people in a sit-down interview. Morris utilizes clashing articulations made by the interviewees as contradiction to each other instead of remarking on it himself. He additionally abstains from demonstrating any contact, or cooperation in the interviews, evacuating any data of what setting they were led in which brings about each interviewee talking as if to somebody on their side who won't pass judgment on them (Tantuan). Each person being interviewed is staring directly into the camera lens, which makes each one feel as if they are personally telling you their story, rather than speaking in a formal interview. No titles, no audio of the questions asked, and no real clue as to any sort of back story. It all just develops like friends telling you a story of what happened when you were gone. It all feels very informal, which is new for a documentary. A documentary can’t just forgo titles and explanation can it? It can. That’s what makes this particular documentary feel more like a true film, with a plot, characters, and a villain. But who is our villain for this particular story line? One could argue that all of the repetitive re-enactments of the murder of Officer Robert Wood, just offer that much more insight to who the murderer may be. However, Morris has his mind made up far before this documentary even came about. The fact that Adams is never labeled as the killer until the story unfolds more along the way, keeps the audience from having a pre-meditated opinion about him. Which in turn only make the audience feel more sympathy for him.
“But Morris lets you, the viewer, make the case yourself. With incredible restraint, he lays out his story. The late Bob Squier, a political image-maker, once said that the key to a successful negative spot was fairness. And Morris succeeds in this brilliantly, in style and content. Not only does he let the prosecution make its case uninterrupted at the outset, but every interview in the film is shot identically, head to chest. No zooms to heighten the moment. No field size changes for cutting. No identifications. Only context tells you each witness' role.” (Moskowitz)
What the film utilizes best is time. While nothing pushes ahead—not the scenes, not the camera—Morris gives us an opportunity to utilize our creative abilities, influencing the audience to objectively make our own decision of whodunit. However, Morris has previously stated that the timing of his documentary made everything possible. While his techniques in editing and filming style did make a huge impact on the documentary industry (as well as the fate of Randall Adams) it simply wouldn’t have if he made something like it today. Because it was a brand new way of presenting journalism people latched on to it. In an interview with Indie Wire Morris explained that, “What The Thin Blue Line did was combine an investigation with a way to bring it to public attention at a much earlier time when we had fewer vehicles for creating that kind of media hoopla” (Kohn).
While we may consider re-enactments as standard in the domain of documentaries now, in 1988 it was noteworthy. Morris' choice to go with witness interviews with personalized re-enactments to coordinate what they described was a totally new method. It introduced a true to life or account style to the film without making it any less honest or genuine. Morris definitely didn’t stay inside the lines when it came to narrative creativity. Instead of making a cookie cutter documentary about a murder, he made an artistic choice to present what could be mundane information in an interesting way. It doesn’t matter to Errol Morris that dreamy slow motion action shots in re-enactment scenes don’t really belong in a documentary. He’s not worried about how nobody will know who he’s interviewing with the lack of name titles. He can't do that can he? “The flashlight falls in a sexy, commercial-quality, slow-motion shot. Is this not a documentary?” (Moskowitz). Morris constantly pushed the boundaries throughout this film, pushing the envelope of documentary stylistic qualities. While the film effortlessly remains true to the investigation, it additionally has another plan cautioning the audience about the perils of being an involved analyzer as opposed to a basic eyewitness. The narrative of The Thin Blue Line shows and stuns the world by depicting how human carelessness and unresponsiveness enabled a guiltless man to be condemned to death. Be that as it may, in defying its watchers with this unforgiving reality, the film challenges people to consider what The Thin Blue Line is letting them know, and by augmentation narrative in general.
So did Errol Morris begin the making of this documentary with his mind already made up? Yes, but he didn’t want his audience to think so—even though this film ultimately freed Randall Adams—so he gave a variation of possibilities for what could’ve happened that night in 1976. In an interview with Indie Wire, he divulged that he didn’t go looking for the case of Officer Robert Wood, but rather that it was just happenstance. “When I stumbled on the Adams case, that was a complete accident. No one was writing about it. No one cared about it.” (Kohn) Each re-enactment followed so thoroughly what each interviewee said as to keep the audiences minds open and not sway them one way. However, with each memory that David Harris recalled (or failed too), the lines got blurrier and his version of the truth seemed less likely. By re-creating the night of the murder exactly how Harris recalled it, Morris was able to shine a light on how his facts just didn’t add up. If he had only given the audience Harris’s re-enactment over and over, they would have no choice but to believe that version of the truth whether they were aware of it or not. It’s like reverse psychology in a way. Morris gives you so many versions of the truth that it makes what Randall Adams is saying more believable.
After everything, The Thin Blue Line effectively excused Randall Dale Adams by finding enough confirmation to get his case investigated once more. Quite a bit of this is due to Morris' chilling last meeting with David Harris, which is additionally the last scene in the film. The sound from the meeting and its transcript are overlaid over a photo of a tape since Morris' camera failed that day. This is additionally the first and last time we hear Morris' voice in the film. Harris basically admits to the murder of the cop and confesses to framing Adams, which makes for an eerie conclusion. Though Morris didn’t plan to portray the ending this way, the still picture of the tape recorder gives the audience the ability to give their full attention to the audio between Harris and himself. If the camera would have been able to see David Harris as Morris had originally planned, that final interview would have a very different feeling. Many people throughout the film, including Vidor police detective Sam Kittrell, admitted that Harris was rather charming. Even though you had a feeling the whole time that he committed the murder (among other things), he somehow had the ability to make you feel sorry for him.
Ultimately each decision made by Errol Morris gave way to future documentaries and murder/mystery exposés. “It was not telling a story about a murder investigation, it was the investigation–and evidence was accumulated with that camera” (Kohn). Morris even admitted that one day he hopes to write a book about The Thin Blue Line simply because it was just that interesting and he doesn’t think people know enough about it. The way he incorporated his opinions strongly enough to free Adams, yet still open enough for people to claim their own truth is a historic moment in media journalism in and of itself. Furthermore, his ability to integrate additional forms of media to convey his message in a stronger tone, truly speaks to the power that film can have on real life.