In the 90s, John Grisham finessed the legal thriller, pitting young, ambitious "David" lawyers against corrupt "Goliath" corporations, ensuring their hardwork and unerring moral compasses were rewarded in the end with rousing courtroom wins, and cramming in a zillion thrilling subplots, but this is 1982, pre-Grisham's first novel, and Paul Newman's silver-fox lawyer is an alcoholic we don't much care about even after hearing a sob story, his hard work is confined to a single night of phone calling which just magically turns up the wee administrative matter upon which the entire court case hinges, the subplots here (a hostile judge, a duplicitous love interest) are momentary scenes abandoned, and while there are plenty of pompous, uncaring Boston stuffed shirts roaming about unfazed by moral injustice and suffering, nothing here constitutes a diabolical "Goliath" organisation that deserves its comeuppance, so all-in-all this courtroom procedural is dry and unfolds at a pace akin to reading a court transcript, not a John Grisham page-turner.
★★☆☆☆
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