Perry Mason: Nothing Wrong with Inspiration

Perry Mason, the noble, nigh-powered but fictional attorney, has been ridiculed by real-life lawyers since the television series based on Erle Stanley Gardner’s novels premiered in 1957. And yet, 60 years later, the 271 episodes can be seen as often as four times a day in some markets, like in the Washington, D.C. area where I live.

Over the past four years, my telecommuting work situation has allowed me to see most, if not all, of these episodes. Those scoffing attorneys were right, in a way. There are unrealistic aspects to Perry Mason. Each episode ends with Mason either getting a confession on the stand from the real murderer or unmasking the guilty party out of court. 

I remember when the show was first broadcast a noted attorney was asked in a tv interview what he thought about it. “During voir dire [the attorneys’ in-court screening of prospective jurors], I’ll ask if the individual thinks the defendants committed the crime, and he’ll say, ‘If he didn’t do it, who did?’ And I’ll say, ‘That’s not my job. My job is to establish that the prosecution hasn’t proved guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.’” Real criminal trials may end with the defendant found not guilty and no indication that someone else was guilty—look at the 1994 acquittal of O.J. Simpson of the murder of his wife. The usual complaint of the show from practicing attorneys was that it portrayed an attorney as part private eye. In real life, if an attorney behaved like Mason he would have been so involved in the investigation that he would always be called as a witness—and in the show Mason sometimes is. Police officers complained that in the show the police always arrested an innocent person.

There are other major variances in the show from actual legal procedure. And yet, when Raymond Burr, the actor who played Perry Mason, died in 1993, the president of the American Bar Association paid tribute to his portrayal of Mason as a strong advocate of defendants who are facing insurmountable odds in establishing their innocence. Other tributes noted that the show reinforced the presumption of innocence for the viewing audience. Gardner’s character reestablished the attorney-as-hero approach that Mark Twain put forward in his 1884 novel Pudden’head Wilson. As a result of Perry Mason, tv audiences became more familiar with the idea of the judicial process and found more respect for defense attorneys. And, for his part, Burr pushed the makers of the show for as much authenticity as a 60-minute dramatization would allow and was a regular speaker at ABA and other legal association meetings. A good many famous attorneys, including Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor, have gone on record saying that Perry Mason was the spark igniting their interest in the law.

The show also evolved over its nine-year run. In the first season, Mason was very involved in the detective work, wore loud jackets, flirted with women, played fast and loose with the truth before the court, was frequently threatened with disbarment, and had a wisecracking personality. In one instance,the prosecutor, Hamilton Burger, congratulates him for winning the case and apologizes for things, he said during trial. Mason invites him for lunch and then tells the waitress Burger will have a heaping helping of crow. Over the years and as Burr aged and gained weight, Mason became more of a quoter of statues and precedents from memory, a strong upholder of the law and is shown as a speaker at bar associations meetings that Burr became. Early shows have Mason and Burger arguing before a jury, but later shows, mostly, have them arguing before a judge in a preliminary hearing, with Mason presenting a more elaborate defense than most real-life attorneys could in a preliminary hearing. As the show’s run continued and it became a staple of the CBS lineup, its budget was increased and later show had more location shooting and some fairly sophisticated cinematography. But, in another unrealistic aspect, Mason ended as it began, with Mason working alone—he didn’t have other attorneys on his staff (except for one young lawyer for a few episodes), just a private detective on retainer and one confidential secretary.

As a whole, the Perry Mason episodes are compact, well-engineered mysteries that are solved in the courtroom. As a mystery writer, I am occasionally asked if I can figure out who the murder is. The answer is sometimes. Some of the epidoes, like the 1963 "The Case of the Deadly Verdict," a rare episode in which Mason loses the case but solves the murder out of court in a spooky, dark mansion, are really remarkable. Others, like in "The Case of the Missing Third Act" from 1959, while well acted and intriguing, have plots in which the murderer could be anybody, with motives quickly supplied at the end without foundation.  The writers, after all, were writing 30 episodes a year and sometimes fudged. That's why it's only sometimes.

The attorney-as-hero approach continued in later lawyer shows. Matlock, which ran from 1986 to 1994, followed the Mason format except that his cases went to jury trial and, while he exposed the real murderer on the stand, the jury still entered a verdict rather than, as in Mason, with the prosecution immediately withdrawing the charges after the in-court confession. Other lawyer shows, such as Law and Order, L.A. Law, and The Good Wife, have been called more realistic in that the attorney heroes sometimes lose their cases and defendants are sometimes guilty. These shows may adhere more strictly to legal procedure, but all of them have a preference for plotting that is provocatively fantastic. The last two may be called unrealistic for their non-trial scenes, unless attorneys having sex with clients or paralegals on the conference room table is common behavior in law firms.

Most post-Mason lawyer shows are not mysteries. You may ask, what is wrong with that? Nothing, really. Law and Order is a superior television show that has been on the air longer than Perry Mason. It is not strictly a lawyer show, being focusing first on police detectives and then on prosecutors. Sometimes the criminal goes free. Perry Mason fits the traditional mold of episodic television in that there is a resolution within the 60 minutes and that resolution is a satisfactory one--the guilty are punished. 

Perry Mason is not so much unrealistic as idealistic. Except for three episodes, Perry Mason always wins. When a woman asked Burr how that could be so, he answered that she only saw the cases he tried on Sunday nights. When asked why Burger always lost, the actor William Talman, who bravely played Burger for 225 of the 271 shows, said, "Burger doesn't lose. How can a district attorney lose when he fails to convict an innocent person?" It's a formulaic show, to be sure. But its longevity and the effect even the ABA said it had and still has on the image of attorneys is not to be ridiculed.

At one point, Mason says, "[An attorney] takes his clients as they come. They're in trouble, so he can't always expect them to tell the truth. [He's] a fool if he completely trusts any client, but that's besides the point. His job is to believe and to help them as best he can. The only time he's really a fool is when he sticks by a client who won't trust him." Still inspirational advice.

Copyright 2018 by John T. Aquino