by Howard T. Scott

If it bleeds, it leads. We tend to want to hear about the blood and gore of a situation. Bad news sells -- but in regards portraying the legal profession, oftentimes being “realistic” equals something that’s just plain not interesting. The courtroom is a popular setting, a great fit for books and movies. But, the results are frequently inaccurate.  

Anyone remember the name Ted Stevens? Ted was a United States Senator from Alaska from 1968-2009. In 2008, he was embroiled in a federal corruption trial while he ran for reelection to the Senate. He was found guilty of failing to properly report gifts and eight days later he was narrowly defeated at the polls. A year later, in 2009, the indictment was dismissed, but the damage had already been done. Ted died in a plane crash in 2010, disgraced after having been run out of office. It was only after his death that a report was released finding widespread prosecutorial misconduct.

In real life, most little guys, they don’t stand a chance. Even those with millions of dollars can be behind the eight ball. Your reputation is gone and five years later, they may dismiss the case and you’re out, broke, humiliated and disgraced. But that’s not how it plays out in books and on the big screen, is it?

Plaintiff Power: Courtroom Fact Vs. Fiction 

We all love a good David Vs. Goliath story. It feels good to root for the little guy. In the real world, however, it’s rare that a plaintiff can pierce the evidence shield on a terribly uneven playing field where defendants have unlimited funds to do whatever they want. Defense attorneys routinely hire all the experts they need to carve out an exception to every aspect of a client’s case. They virtually have unlimited funds to do whatever they want. On the other hand, that is also the case when the federal government is in the role of prosecutor.  

When you have total power and resources at your disposal in a case, the little guy can get crushed. That’s why people often offer guilty pleas to crimes they don’t commit -- totally ruined and totally innocent.

Objection! Movie Misconduct

Writers and filmmakers have the power to create fairy tales where the little guy or underdog we talked about emerges victorious and beats a big corporation. It makes everyone feel good, but it’s not reality.

What movie misses the mark? “The Verdict,” with Paul Newman comes to mind. The 1982 movie’s screenplay was written by David Mamet, adapted from Barry Reed’s novel of the same name. Newman’s character, attorney Frank Galvin, is an alcoholic with a struggling practice and checkered past. He finds himself representing a comatose woman’s sister and brother-in-law who are suing for medical malpractice after the victim choked on her own vomit during childbirth and was left in a vegetative state due to hospital error. It’s a good hook, right?  

So, the plot thickens when Frank stumbles upon a witness who is being bought off by the hospital. It’s a plot-changing development and makes for great cinema. In real life, though, it’s rare that a culprit hospital is revealed so dramatically in a blatant lie or cover-up. Almost always, everything has been reduced to affidavits and sworn testimony way ahead of time so the fact that a surprise witness surfaces at the last minute almost never occurs. It’s a fantasy to think that justice would really prevail against a big corporate entity.  

On Writing The Lawyer’s Life  

You know, as writers we are tasked with balancing what will be a good read (and what will sell) as opposed to what the reality is. There’s a big difference between writing a truthful, realistic courtroom scene but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be popular with the public. Quite often that means you must compromise a little bit to strike the right balance.  

How can we write a compelling story without selling out and creating a tall tale with no basis in fact? This is the same lesson or morality play that I deal with, and it’s why I left the practice of law to write a novel about lawyers instead, Rascal on the Run. It’s all a big circle conundrum.  

Howard T. Scott mastered the nuances of the courtroom scene through initially working in his father’s law office at the young age of thirteen. He worked as a criminal defense attorney for seven years in his native Athens, Ga, and then transitioned to working in civil litigation. Howard’s murder-suspense novel, RASCAL ON THE RUN, is the ficitonalized tale of actual cases navigated by Howard and his late father, the late attorney Guy Scott.