As we near the conclusion of series 1 of The Lincoln Lawyer, no more than three years behind the televiewing curve, an idle thought that entered my head at the beginning is growing into something approaching a conviction, by which I mean a firmly held belief, not a guilty verdict. The creator of Mickey Haller, the latest iteration of the Great Defender, had surely read his Rumpole. Non angelus, sed angelino, Horace might have quipped.
As evidence for the prosecution – no spoiler alert, just in case there is anyone even further behind the curve than us – I submit for your consideration the outcome of the case involving Trevor the gaming mogul and his unfortunate wife and her lover: uncannily reminiscent of Rumpole and the Expert Witness, you would agree. And of whom does hairy biker Cisco remind us? Precisely: none other than Ferdinand Ian Gilmour Newton, alias Fig, reclothed for 21st century LA. Haller’s penchant for streetfood and flash cars with silly number plates replaces Rumpole’s love of Shakespeare, Wordsworth and Pomeroy’s Very Ordinary Chateau Thames Embankment.
What can we expect in series to come? Has Lorna (Second Wife) hooked up with Cisco in order to pass off her unborn child as his, after a weak moment of intimacy with her boss (cf Rumpole and the Portia of our Chambers)?
Now (Series 2) it looks as though Mickey’s latest girlfriend – who targeted him in a manner reminiscent of Elizabeth Castorini (Rumpole and the Eternal Triangle) – may have been framed by a rapacious property developer who wants her out of the way. I was of course reminded of Canon Timothy (Rumpole and the Age of Miracles). Only one problem: the property spiv appears to have been bumped off. Could he be faking, as per Rumpole and the Primrose Path? The hunt for borrowings can get out of hand.
John Mortimer was not the first to exploit the dramatic potential of the Great Defender, which goes back to Atticus Finch, Robin Hood and no doubt beyond. Many of my readers will have been devoted followers of Perry Mason, not forgetting Lawrence and Kenneth Preston, the father and son team in another Sixties courtroom classic, The Defenders. How many of their cases resurfaced among Rumpole’s briefs, I wonder?