Rumpole of the Bailey

I think everyone can identify with the lead character Horace Rumpole. That's because he's a crafty, witty barrister surrounded by a bunch of stuffed shirts and idiots. There's Claude Erskine-Brown, the close confidant of Rumpole's who seems to stumble from one disaster to another; Phylida "Portia" Erskine-Brown, Claude's wife and about a third of his source of problems; Judge Gutherie Featherstone, a rather hapless man who gets caught up in a sex scandal right as he's trying to decide on a case in that matter; junior clark Liz Probert, played wonderfully by Leo's daughter Abigail McKern; the hapless Timson clan, who Rumpole constantly rescues from trouble despite their antics, and most of all, we should not forget "She who must be obeyed" - Hilda Rumpole. The cast was a superb choice and the writing was excellent. What was sad about this series is its ending - it's the kind of thing you don't want to end.

Rumpole, a barrister spewing poetry and thunder and husband of She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, entertains with a unique style of oratory, wit, and his own particular slant on the world. In a world drowning in political correctness, Rumpole is a life saver. Rumpole is also one of my favorite of all time characters. The stories and supporting cast are refreshingly British and the entire series is an absolute delight! I'm so pleased this was finally released on dvd.

I saw 16 or so episodes of this show a long time ago, but the memories of it are enduring. While the show's tone was humorous, the legal drama was as intense and as interesting as anything on American TV. Leo McKern's Rumpole is funny and charming, but with a serious sense of vocation underneath that Falstaffian bulk. He's been sort of a hero of mine ever since. I hope PBS will re-air this series, or BBC America will air the unedited, unabridged Rumpole in the not-too-distant future.

Rarely has television fit a role and an actor together as perfectly as Rumpole and Leo McKern. (A couple of other examples would be Vic Morrow in "Combat!" and Derek Jacobi in "I, Cladius".) The singular pleasure these episodes afford is watching McKern act as the mildly cynical, but resolutely libertarian, barrister. It is easy to see why McKern came to loathe playing the part since it is the ultimate case of typecasting. One can less think of McKern sans Rumpole than he can Connery sans Bond. Better to rewatch Rumpole than the colorless blather on Court TV.

The scripts and additional cast are good enough to make repeated watching of McKern worthwhile.

It is hard to know who deserves the most credit for this courtroom series; author John Mortimer QC (a noted barrister himself), or actor Leo McKern.

Obviously, the series was written with the benefit of intimate knowledge of the English legal system, but almost every branch of it is portrayed very unflatteringly. Most Barristers are shown as smug and pompous, fencing with each other in Latin phrases while the defendant and jury look baffled; policemen are bent, solicitors are shady and judges are either more concerned with barristers' correct dress rather than the evidence, or sadistic and bigoted.

The seamier side of the profession is also shown; with prestigious barristers having to work from poky "chambers", at the mercy of clerks for their work ("briefs") and undervalued secretaries for their paperwork.

In such a world, a weary and introspective character such as Rumpole dominates the scene. McKern's booming delivery and range of facial expressions make this all too easy. The language is a delight, as Rumpole quotes Browning, Tennyson, Shakespeare at will. Some of the most hilarious scenes occur as lawyers take on their clients' personas and start arguing their cases with each other in the first person, in bars or restaurants.

Rumpole's home life with wife Hilda, "She who must be obeyed", is also shown as quite a caricature, as Hilda Rumpole is portrayed as having few interests beyond her husband's lowly position in the pecking order, and household cleaning agents.

Any one of the episodes makes good viewing.