Tag: Film Friday

Film Friday: A Time to Kill – Four Truths in a Lie

There’s a sort of fucked up irony in watching Kevin Spacey seek the death penalty for a man who killed the rapists of his ten year old daughter. In 1996, when Spacey was presented as the District Attorney in charge of the trial of Carl Lee Hailey, father of a minor who was brutally raped and vengeance embodied against the abusers of that child, nobody could predict that one day Spacey himself would be in the same place as the two rapists killed by Carl Lee. Well, nobody except his victims, I suppose.

But this is where we’re at for this Film Friday, examining the big screen adaptation of John Grisham’s A Time to Kill, and talking about four unexpected truths regarding the justice system that a layman, or an idealistic lawyer who still thinks things are “fair,” can take away from it.

The world is one fucked up place, folks. Just really, really fucked up.

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Film Friday: Schindler’s List as an example of “Morally Right, Legally Wrong.”

Alright, so over the past few months I pretty much intentionally embroiled myself in the controversy of “go forth and punch a Nazi” with the opinion that physically assaulting someone when their actions are mere speech, and not an imminent threat of violent action, was no bueno. The most common reaction to that opinion was that statement that it was morally correct to punch a Nazi, and therefore justified, regardless of the presence or lack of an imminent threat of actual harm. In essence, the opposition to that position boiled down to “legal or illegal, it’s right to punch people who espouse such vitriolic and hateful opinions.”

I mean, I personally disagree, just because I believe violence is an appropriate response to the threat of use of actual violence, not the intangible threat of some possibility of violence in the future, and I have some issues with the position we should legitimize violence as a response to speech (when it is only speech). Rest assured, I don’t like the goddamn Nazis, I don’t like the goddamn bigots, and I’m not saying we have to discuss the validity of their positions or “hear them out.” My concerns are primarily linked to that whole “slippery slope” thing we lawyers talk about, and the belief that if we legitimize a violent reaction then we’re handing them a nail-and-barbed-wire covered bat to come back with when we speak out against them louder than they speak out against us.

Plus I think that when you punch these fuckers, all you really do is give them more goddamn attention and air time and spur a national fucking debate about “Who the real Nazi is, hmmmm?” God do I fucking hate that fucking trope.

But that’s not the conversation I want to have for this week’s Film Friday, because the majority of people with two fucking brain cells to rub together all agree on the basic premise that Nazis, white supremacists, the alt-right, cue whatever feel good nickname they’ve come up with this month, are absolutely and positively shitheads who make no valuable contribution to society, whose opinions (while constitutionally protected) have no goddamn merit, and who we definitely don’t need to treat as having legitimate speech that adds anything other than disarray to the world. The conversation I want to have this week is a little more nuanced than that, and it’s the concept that something can be legally wrong, but morally right.

And I can think of no better way to illustrate this point than to talk about Schindler’s List, a movie which embodies the principle of “Legal is not always moral, nor is illegal always immoral.”

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Film Friday: The Paper Chase – A Synopsis

It’s another school year! The 1L’s are filing into the halls of their Ivy clad institutions with big dreams of going forth with their degrees and changing the world! In preparation of their time in law school, which they may have heard can be quite trying, they’ve likely read a number of books on the subject, such as Scott Turow’s “One L” or that wonderful book “Law School Confidential” and now believe they know all there is to know about surviving law school.

And for all of those idealistic little fucks wandering into their classes filled with the superior air of one that will be the next Clarence Darrow or Daniel Webster, Professor Charles Kingsfield of Harvard Law has some guidance for you:

“[H]ere is a dime. Take it, call your mother, and tell her there is serious doubt about you ever becoming a lawyer.”

Because, motherfuckers, you ain’t seen nothing yet, even though it isn’t like Hollywood didn’t warn your ass back in 1973 when it took a book about the horrors of being a 1L with a demanding professor, the crushing demands of law school, gunners, and, of course, looking like a goddamn idiot when put on call in class and turned it into the seminal movie for law students everywhere to show their friends in an act of mock bravado. Yes, buckle up, chucklefuck, because today we’re going to talk about the over-exaggeration of the horrors of law school that is The Paper Chase for this month’s Film Friday on Lawyers and Liquor.

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Film Friday: Talking About Brian Cuban’s “The Addicted Lawyer”

Here’s the worst kept secret in the legal industry: lawyers are, by and large, addicts. Seriously, it’s a massive problem in the profession. We drink to excess, both personally and professionally, pretty much from the moment we enter law school until the moment we retire from the practice. A bar event is almost always going to have an open bar at it, and, as a recent discussion in the Lawyer Slack pointed out, people that order something “not booze” at networking or professional events may be subject to suspicion or even ridicule for their choice to enjoy a nice, cold glass of milk rather than a white russian. I wonder how many of them have ended up in an ARC rehab center as a result of the issue, it’s a common one in high-stress professions which leave little room for unwinding before the next challenge approaches.

I have no snark for you today. I can’t make myself joke or curse about this topic. I know too many people that are or were in the grasps of it, and have seen careers and lives end because of it.

Not mine, of course. I’m lucky in that I discovered, after much worry, that I wasn’t an addict and I was capable of saying “No” and stopping after a couple. I know, I’m ruining the mystique. Fuck you. I get to. That was a concern of mine when I was younger. I like liquor, but I like living more.

Want the other worst kept secret in the legal profession? Your addicted lawyer likely isn’t seeking help for their addiction. Either we’re afraid of the very public stigma of admitting we have a problem, the professional stigma of admitting we have a problem, or we’re afraid of the almighty Disciplinary Board swooping in to deprive us of our livelihoods with the simple words “License Suspended.” A lawyer without a license to practice isn’t a lawyer, he’s an overeducated burger flipper and a disgrace to the profession. And, for an attorney, the loss of the license isn’t just the lost of a career…it can be the loss of your identity. You’ve been a lawyer for years, decades even. Most of your friends are lawyers. Your life has revolved around being a lawyer.

When a lawyer loses their license, they in some way lose a big chunk of themselves…and that’s fucking terrifying. So, we don’t seek out help when we’re one shot too many into the evening, or when we’re suffering from crippling depression, or when there’s a pile of cocaine calling us. Because we’re scared of the consequences, which can be swift and sudden.

So, when Brian Cuban , attorney and advocate for lawyers getting fucking help, announced the release of his new book, “The Addicted Lawyer: Tales of the Bar, Booze, Blow, and Redemption” , I was quick to pre-order a copy and then wait expectantly for its arrival. I devoured it. Twice. Then a third time. Then…well…then, in the immortal words of Elton John, I sat down to and wrote this song.

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Film Friday: Rendering “The Verdict”

I’m going to come right out and say it: Frank Galvin, the alcoholic, ambulance-chasing disgraced attorney at the center of The Verdict is probably one of my favorite cinematic litigators of all time. The film starts with Frank sitting in a bar, circling death notices before running out to funeral homes where he presses the flesh of the bereaved and forces business cards into their hands, fishing probably for the estate or a quick buck running down a wrongful death settlement, and then back to the bar. He’s a man who lives in a shanty apartment with a run down office and a fake secretary, and who hustles for a living. In one scene, where the opposing counsel is trying to get a feel for him, they say “He’s tried three cases in the last four years, and he’s lost all of them.” He is not treated by the film as a respected attorney.

But he is treated by the film as a fucking human, and it’s a role that lawyers rarely get to authentically play. So I love this goddamn movie.

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