Popular nighttime comedians such as Jay Leno and David Letterman thrived on Ito's supposed inept handling of the Simpson case. A *Saturday Night Life* (*SNL*) sketch from January 21, 1995, starring actor Mike Myers as Lance Ito, ridiculed the judge's logic in allowing and excluding evidence. The scene is set in Ito's courtroom and begins with him calling counsel to his bench. The judge first addresses the defense team as "Mr. Shapiro," "Mr. Cochran," "Mr. Bailey" and then the prosecution, represented by "Mizz Clark" and a white male attorney Ito simply calls "you, whoever you are" ("Cold Opening: Judge Ito – Saturday Night Live," 0:23), emphasizing the celebrity of Simpson's attorneys in contrast to the widely unknown state representatives. The judge then announces that he "has reached a number of decisions on what evidence [he] will and will not allow" (0:30). The fictitious Robert Shapiro crosses his fingers in hope of favorable rulings. Proudly, Ito states: "I will allow the 911-call,in which Nicole Simpson screams 'He's going to kill me!'"(0:57).Marcia Clark and her colleague nod in approval while the defense team grimaces in disappointment. A moment later, Ito continues: "But I will not allow the call where she screams 'He's going to kill me and Ron Goldman on June 12,outside my condo'"(1:07). This time, Shapiro, Cochran, and Bailey exchange high-fives while the prosecution team shakes their heads in disbelief. Ito further states: "I will allow the *National Enquirer*'s computer-enhanced cover photos of a black and blue Nicole Simpson. And I will also allow the article inside the *Enquirer* on Pamela Anderson's breast augmentation!" (1:17-1:34). The last decision pleases everyone and all trial participants, including the judge, burst out in cheers.

The *SNL* sketch noticeably focuses on the victims for comedic effect. Essentially, however, it criticizes Ito's apparent habit of excluding crucial evidence while allowing irrelevant information to become part of the official record. The sketch further mocks the judge for caring too much about media representations instead of focusing on the important legal issues at hand. While humor and satire are common ways to draw attention to certain topics, in Ito's case, Jerrianne Hayslett draws the analogy that "the comic's antics blended with daily trial recaps to become as indistinguishable in viewers' psyches as ingredients in a pot of soup" (Hayslett 13). With each nighttime sketch, the public lost further respect for Lance Ito, who was reduced to an incapable, yet funny bearded Asian man on television.

In general belief, weakness and incompetence seemed to extend to Judge Ito's personal character as well. Watching him in court was a strikingly different experience from the prevalent television judges the audience was and is used to seeing, for instance, on CBS' popular courtroom drama *The Good Wife*. The judges portrayed in the series are invariably the dominant force in the courtroom. On the show, the fictional character of Judge Richard Cuesta presides over numerous cases. Cuesta is never afraid to tell counsel to be quiet when he has had enough of the pandemonium in his courtroom. Repeatedly, he mocks the attorneys in front of the spectators for their tactics to have inadmissible evidence and testimony included, for he can see through their schemes. Nevertheless, Richard Cuesta is also a man with an open mind and so he often allows the prosecution and defense to present exceptional theses while delivering funny lines to render the show more entertaining.

Judge Lance Ito, however, stood in stark contrast to popular fictional television judges. He seemed very reserved, never raised his voice, and spoke in a monotonous tone which sometimes gave the impression that he was bored or tired.When Ito listened to counsel or witness statements, his signature gesture was to rest his head on the palm of his hand, and he often tinkered with a pen while speaking. One noteworthy scene that distinctly illuminates Ito's emotional and sensible side occurred during a hearing concerning the Mark Fuhrman tapes on August 15, 1995. In this context, it became known that some of the insults on the recordings were directed towards Captain Margaret York, Ito's wife and Mark Fuhrman's former superior.The prosecution saw a possible conflict of interest and asked Lance Ito to recuse himself. In the course of the session, Ito expressed his own position and thoughts on the issue. Initially, he seemed calm and composed, citing the canons of judicial ethics and the code of civil procedure that lay out a judge's correct behavior in a case "when a concern is raised regarding a court's ability to be fair and impartial" (Court Transcript, 15 August 1995). Shortly thereafter, however, Ito also addressed his personal feelings for his wife, taking the discussion outside of the legal realm: "I love my wife dearly (…)" (Court Transcript, 15 August 1995). The judge paused for several seconds before continuing: "…and…I am wounded… by criticism of her."The judge cleared his throat and leaned back on his chair in an attempt to compose himself, but it was evident to the spectators that he was trying to prevent an emotional outburst. Almost apologetically, Ito added: "…as any spouse would be, and [I] think it is reasonable to assume that that could have some impact" ("OJ Simpson Trial – August 15th, 1995," 1:20:02-1:20:27). From an individual point of view, Ito's reaction seems understandable. Given his already damaged image in the public, however, the judge's emotional side was perceived as a sign of weakness. In April of 1995, US Senator Alfonse D'Amato mockingly called him "little Judge Ito" (Hayslett 153) during a radio interview. That samemonth,*NewsweekMagazine*released an edition with Lance Ito on the cover, right next to the headline "What a Mess" (*Newsweek*, 17 April 1995).

In *Encounters*, sociologist Erving Goffman addresses the public discrepancy that can arise when a person's categoric identity clashes with their individual identity: "[I]n performing a role the individual must see to it that the impressions of him that are conveyed in the situation are compatible with role-appropriate personal qualities effectively imputed to him: a judge is supposed to be deliberate and sober; a pilot, in a cockpit, to be cool" (Goffman, *Encounters* 77). Ito's preexisting identity was that of an experienced criminal judge. With this identity came certain expectations in performance such as composure and confidence. Part of the impression management process thus involved managing emotions to conform to the expectations posed on the social role of a judge. During the aforementioned example, however, Lance Ito's individual identity overpowered his categoric social position. He was emotional, sensitive, vulnerable even, which caused a discrepancy between "actual feelings and feelings rules" (Shulman 107) and hence changed the dynamic in the courtroom. Against this background, the *Daily News* published an article based on the accounts of a courthouse source claiming that "Judge Lance Ito and his police captain wife, Peggy York, broke down and wept in his chambers minutes after the not-guilty verdict was delivered in the O.J. Simpson trial"(Caruso,*DailyNews*, 25 October 1995), continuing that "[t]he couple sobbed loudly as they consoled each other in the emotionally charged minutes after Simpson left court a free man Oct. 3, acquitted of killing his ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson and her friend Ronald Goldman" (Caruso,*Daily News*, 25 October 1995).The courthouse source was never revealed but many readers read about the alleged emotional breakdown of the judge and his wife.

Lance Ito, who expressed concerns over the sensationalizing nature of the case coverage, was not spared from criticism for pandering to cameras himself. His supposed media-obsession was frequently a topic in the public and news, particularly when he granted Tricia Toyota of KCBS television an interview in the middle of jury selection, which subsequently forced him to dismiss potential jurors because they had seen parts of the segment (Toobin 202). In reaction to this TV appearance, Howard Rosenberg from the *Los Angeles Times* published the article, "Judge Ito Feeds the Hand He's Bitten." In an overall mocking tone, Rosenberg called Ito a hypocrite for participating in the "chatty sit-down" (Rosenberg, *LA Times*, 16 November 1994) with Toyota:

The surprise is that the newest member of the "Action News" team should turn out to be Judge Lance A. Ito, the Superior Court jurist and blistering media critic who on several occasions has sternly admonished some of the press for shabby, sensational, tabloidesque coverage of the case […]. Yes, unpredictably, unimaginably, inconceivably, here come de judge. Ito's taped appearances this week […] delivers quite a different message from the one the public is accustomed to hearing from him in the courtroom. If you can't suppress 'em, join 'em. (Rosenberg, *LA Times*, 16 November 1994)

Apart from an apparent hunger to be news himself, Judge Ito was also accused of actively seeking the friendship of celebrities. Indeed, many famous faces appeared in the Simpson courtroom, "*the* place to be seen" (Hayslett 67, emphasis original); television and radio host Larry King being one of the most noteworthy guests. According to Jeffrey Toobin, Ito was "thrilled by King's presence" (Toobin 231) and offered his famous friend and entourage a private tour of his chambers and the courtroom (with Simpson present at the time). In 2014, Don McNay, columnist for the *Huffington Post*, composed an article titled "How Judge Lance Ito and OJ Simpson Ruined the Legal System." Sharing a widespread opinion,McNay opened his piece with, "We can blame it all on Judge Ito" (McNay, *Huffington Post*, 4 May 2014). Similar to many of Lance Ito's colleagues in court, McNay had no words of compassion for the judge:

One of the worst moves in American judicial history was Judge Lance Ito's decision to allow the OJ Simpson murder trial in 1995 to be televised. Making a bad idea worse, Ito went on *The Tonight Show* and other entertainment programs like a small-time comic trying to work his way to Vegas. (McNay, *Huffington Post*, 4 May 2014)

These observations were reason enough for Hiroshi Fujisaki, the presiding judge in Simpson's civil trial in 1997, to order a ban of cameras in his courtroom; a ruling based on the mistakes of his predecessor, Judge Lance A. Ito:

The Court has concluded from the experience of the criminal trial of this defendant concerning the same essential factual circumstances, that electronic coverage of the trial significantly diverted and distracted the participants therein, it appearing that the conduct of witnesses and counsel were unduly influenced by the presence of the electronic media. This conduct was manifested in various ways such as playing to the camera, gestures, outbursts by counsel and witnesses, in the courtroom and thereafter outside of the courthouse, presenting a circus atmosphere to the trial. This detracted from the integrity of the trial process and the dignity of the courtroom. The trial process requires that the evidence be presented to the jury undistorted by these extraneous influences. The intensity of media activity in this civil trial thus far strongly supports this Court's belief that

history will repeat itself unless the Court acts to prevent it. ("Judge's Order Banning Media Coverage & Gag Order," 23 August 1996)

Similar to all main trial participants in the Simpson criminal case, Judge Ito and Judge Fujisaki were compared to each other and the latter always assumed a superior role over his colleague. Not only did Fujisaki openly criticize Ito's handling of the criminal case, but his assessment was later corroborated by the very same media outlets that partly caused the sensationalization of the first trial in the first place. The *Los Angeles Times* praised the civil Judge and chastened Lance Ito by painting a picture of Fujisaki that was in diametrical opposition to his colleague. In an article from October 1996, Stephanie Simon wrote:

His desk is all business―no knickknacks, no photos, just generic pens and paper tidily arranged. He drinks from a plain translucent mug. He offers just a perfunctory "good morning" when he takes the bench. Yes, Superior Court Judge Hiroshi Fujisaki is the very definition of "no-nonsense." And he has made it clear that he expects equally focused behavior from everyone who steps into his Santa Monica courtroom for the O.J. Simpson civil trial. As the trial got underway this week, Judge Fujisaki had already stamped the case with his commanding personality. […] Unlike Superior Court Judge Lance A. Ito, who presided over Simpson's criminal trial, Fujisaki does not try to banter with attorneys, bond with jurors or chat with celebrity court-watchers. […] To operate in Fujisaki's courtroom, lawyers must be blunt. This judge won't stand for repetition, or for irrelevancies. Nor does he tolerate puffed-up rhetoric or catty bickering. (Simon, *LA Times*, 26 October 1996)

Media coverage swayed between two extremes: good or bad, competent or incompetent, and strong or weak. There was little room for Ito to assume a balanced role in the media narratives and no opportunity to publicly display an interplay between varying individual characteristics.

On *American Crime Story*, Lance Ito assumes yet another role, namely one of insignificance. He makes his first appearance in episode four, "100% Not Guilty," during which the judge expresses excitement to his wife over his participation in the O.J. Simpson case (*ACS*, disc 2, episode 4, 08:57). Out of a pool of potential candidates, Ito proudly continues, he was chosen due to his "integrity," "open mind," and "strong backbone" (09:08). As the television series progresses, however, the judge's abilities have no visible bearing on the legal proceedings. Conversely, his role in the trial is diminished. Ito rarely speaks and when he does, he quickly rules on motions before the attention is immediately reverted back to the attorneys. In other instances, despite a narrative and cinematographic focus on the judge, scenes end with Ito's silence, depriving the arbitrator of any personal and professional depth and the audience of necessary context to understand his decisions (e.g.,*ACS*, disc 3, episode 8, 12:16; disc 3, episode 9, 25:49, 27:16). This is further corroborated by filmic sequences in which

Lance Ito appears almost robotic and impassive when he interacts with other people. In episode eight, for instance, a distraught juror begs the judge to release her from jury duty due to the mental strain of participating in the proceedings. Despite her tears, or perhaps because of them, Ito distances himself from the circumstances by repeatedly referring to the woman as a number and not an individual:

*ACS*'s lack of focus on the judge stands in stark contrast to the media interest he received in 1995. The occasional look behind the scenes and into Ito's office and train of thought (e.g., 28:03) is not sufficient to paint a coherent picture of the man who has become one of the most memorable characters in the Simpson trial through social typing.On the contrary, an audience with moderate to little knowledge about Ito might be left wondering why he received distinctive attention at all, for the judge appears unremarkable and undistinguished throughout the ten episodes of *American Crime Story*.

#### Social Typing and Race: Johnnie Cochran v. Christopher Darden

Johnnie Cochran and Marcia Clark were not the only two parties feuding in court. While their arguments were framed around gender and feminist issues, a similarly tense competition was kindled between Cochran and the prosecution's Christopher Darden with regard to race. Cochran and Darden were both African American lawyers who represented opposite sides of counsel in Judge Ito's courtroom. The attorneys' complex relationship, which was marked by reciprocal admiration and repulsion, served as fertile ground for a racialized juxtaposition and discourse in the media.

Despite their similar moderate family backgrounds, Johnnie Cochran had worked his way up to become a renowned and well-respected lawyer with a private practice in Los Angeles. His success and popularity, particularly in the African American community, can be attributed to the fact that, throughout his career and later during the Simpson trial, Cochran impersonated the character of the successful and educated "black man who has risen on his intellect and savvy" (Ogletree, Jr. 123), but he always remembered his roots by standing up for the rights of his people. The lawyer always appeared calm, self-confident, and witty; he was a "charmer" (Klapp, *Changing American Character* 39) with a "golden throat" (Dyson 48) who never failed to leave an impression inside and outside the courtroom:

[Johnnie Cochran] is smooth and silky, an orator of great skill whose rhetoric reflects his Baptist roots and his early day as an insurance salesman. He performs the law, dramatizing its arcane rituals of argument and translating its esoteric dogmas into stirring, poetic declaration. For many blacks Cochran *is* the law, masterfully taming the chaos of white contempt camouflaged in legal language and protected by obscure codes and regulations. (48, emphasis original)

Michael Dyson's eulogistic description of Johnnie Cochran sounds equally as poetic as the outstanding qualities Simpson's lead attorney was ironically even attributed by a great number of critics. Columnist Jim Sleeper, who labelled the attorney a "race hustler"(Sleeper 29) and one of many floundering "impresarios of racial theater"(29) in his 1997 publication *Liberal Racism*, admitted that Cochran "made an important point" (28) by condemning the abuse of power towards African Americans during the trial. Nevertheless, he insists that Cochran's approach also "deepened black isolation" (28) and reinforced racial resentments on all sides.

During the Simpson trial, Johnnie Cochran resolutely positioned himself as a civil rights advocate. Particularly during his closing argument on September 27, 1995, the attorney corroborated his role as a "modern-day Joe Louis" (Abramson 21): "Creating his own spiritual atmosphere, Cochran reasoned for the outcome he desired, often in the style of a southern Black preacher" (Walker 245), offering insight into the nuanced relationship between rhetoric, the media, and the law. In *Performance Studies*, Richard Schechner poses the question, "To what degree does a person believe in her own performance?" (Schechner, *Performance Studies* 115), and subsequently points to Nietzsche who believed that the greatest performers are those who "are so entrancing as performers that they convince themselves of the truth of what they perform. […] Only when they are saturated with the selfconfidence resulting from the power of their own performing are they able to draw other into their magic circle" (116). This self-confidence in one's own performance ultimately creates the illusion of authenticity. The key word is illusion, however, since notions of the unmediated encounter are simply impressions, and "[w]e experience a representation, even when the representors are the people themselves. Self-representation is representation nonetheless" (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 55).

A close analysis of Cochran's rhetoric illuminates how he used his extensive linguistic repertoire to corroborate his sophisticated public image; a trait *American Crime Story* also symbolically refers to when it depicts the attorney practicing his most potent catchphrase, "If it doesn't fit, you must acquit" in the last episode (*ACS*, disc 4, episode 10, 04:27). This rhyme, or one could even call it a refrain, might seem peripheral considering the many speeches the lawyer gave over the span of the trial, but its brevity and rhythm make it easily memorable, thus effectively accentuating the presence of reasonable doubt in the jurors' heads. In 1995, the impact of this sentence was visually enhanced by means of a well-thought-out demonstration during Cochran's closing argument, deliberately scheduled right before a recess of the proceedings, so that it was the last thing the jury and TV audience heard and saw before the break. Refuting the prosecution's claim that O.J. Simpson "dressed up to go commit these murders" (Court Transcript, 27 September 1995) by putting on dark clothes and a black knit cap, Johnnie Cochran put on a similar dark knit cap in front of the jury to ridicule his opponents:

It occurred to me how they were going to come here, stand up here and tell you how O.J. Simpson was going to disguise himself. He was going to put on a knit cap and some dark clothes, and he was going to get in his white Bronco, this recognizable person, and go over and kill his wife. That's what they want you to believe. That's how silly their argument is. And I said to myself, maybe I can demonstrate this graphically. Let me show you something. This is a knit cap. Let me put this knit cap on. (Court Transcript, 27 September 1995)

Cochran's demonstration had its desired effect. It was an unexpected maneuver, breaking the routine of the prolonged and partly monotone speeches the jury and audience had gotten used to over the course of a year.With the black cap on, Cochran continued:

You have seen me for a year. If I put this knit cap on, who am I? I'm still Johnnie Cochran with a knit cap. And if you looked at O.J. Simpson over there [Cochran directly points at the defendant]―and he has a rather large head―O.J. Simpson in a knit cap from two blocks away is still O.J. Simpson. It's no disguise. It's no disguise. It makes no sense. It doesn't fit. If it doesn't fit, you must acquit. (Court Transcript, 27 September 1995)

Johnnie Cochran combined spoken words with visual demonstrations in his plea for Simpson's acquittal. The defense attorney also used humor to win his audience over by teasing the rather large size of O.J. Simpson's head in the above passage. Watching the camera footage, one can observe spectators in the background chuckling and smiling at his comment ("OJ Simpson Trial – September 27th, 1995 – Part 2," 01:37:40). Not coincidentally, Cochran's filmic pendant on *ACS* points out that "on this case, you need to choose your vernacular very, very carefully" (*ACS*, disc 2, episode 4, 03:17) in reference to theintricacy of the Simpson trial. In his retrospective analysis of the case, American lawyer Lincoln Caplan wrote the following laudation about Johnnie Cochran:

Cochran's command of American sound and rhythm was perfectly orchestrated within the context of an argument that tore down the prosecution's case as he ripped apart the state's speculative logic and showed how the testimony of one police officer after another was full of specious contradictions. […] Part of his compelling virtuosity was the way in which he mixed various straight and street accents, crossing and recrossing the ethnic divide, reaching for an idealistic judicial diction, parodying the voices of the cops and backing things up with superb pauses and brilliant emphasis, then closing out with repetitions and inflections of the best and more subtle African American pulpit talk. (Crouch 235)

Indeed, Johnnie Cochran's phrase, "If it doesn't fit, you must acquit," is exemplary for the process of social mediation in the context of "media-transmitted ideological fragments" (Lull 19). The slogan has been commonly retold or appropriated in people's routine social interactions, which illustrates how "ideological sets are elevated and amplified by the mass media, given great legitimacy by them, and distributed persuasively, often glamorously, to large audiences" (8). In repeating what they see or hear on television, viewers contribute to the popularization of "selected values, ideas, slogans, and products in the process" (20).

Apart from easilymemorable rhymes,Cochran used repetitionsin his closing argument to accentuate a point. Numerous times, he told the jury that "it just doesn't fit" (Court Transcript, 27 September 1995) and "it doesn't make any sense" (Court Transcript, 27 September 1995), thus raising further doubt about the prosecution's logicin the assessment of the events(Walker 252). In an attempt to weaken the forensic findingsin the case,Cochran repeatedly asked, "Whereis the blood?"(Court Transcript, 27 September 1995) in order to suggest that the presented evidence was not conclusive:

So if you believe the Prosecution's theory―and they told you all this about a bloody trail―where's the blood back there, ladies and gentlemen? There's not one drop of blood. Where's the blood back there? […] Look at the glove. Now, when that glove is picked up, remember seeing any blood on the ground? No blood on that shrubbery, no blood on anything there. Where's the blood? […] Where's the blood on the ground? Where's the blood on the leaves around there? Where's any of that? […] So their theory doesn't hold water. It doesn't make sense. (Court Transcript, 27 September 1995)

Cochran's use of repetitions is not only effective in creating doubt about the evidence, it also implicitly ridicules the LAPD for their inept handling of it by suggesting that no reasonable person could believe the verisimilitude of what had been presented in court.

The defense attorney also controlled the pace of his speech to reinforce the content and emotive impact of his summations.  Cochran did not pause to catch his breath, which created immense tension in the courtroom and a short moment of uncertainty about the lawyer's self-control. He seemed upset about the existence of such pejorative behavior as demonstrated by Mark Fuhrman but then composed himself and continued in his usual poetic manner: "There's something about good versus evil. There's something about truth. The truth crushed to earth will rise again. You can always count on that" (Court Transcript, 27 September 1995).The self-proclaimed preacher spoke loudly and clearly to be heard by everyone, with a raised index finger underlining his words ("OJ Simpson Trial – September 27th, 1995 – Part 2," 00:30:31).

Similar to his positioning during the trial in 1995, Johnnie Cochran resumes his role as a civil rights activist in *American Crime Story*'s narrative. This characterization becomes particularly evident when the attorney is shown giving an interview on television while Simpson is still on the run from police in the Ford Bronco on June 17, 1994. Not coincidentally, the interviewer chosen for the face-to-face interaction is a white, middle-aged man, hence a representative of the oppressing race (*ACS*, disc 1, episode 2, 23:16).Their exchange is symbolic of the difference of opinion that divided white and black America:

Cochran continues to dominate the conversation with the story about Leonard Deadwyler, a young black man who was shot and killed during a traffic check as he was speeding his pregnant wife to the hospital. Powerfully, the attorney concludes his narration with the summation: "Leonard's only crime the color of his skin" (24:46), and a thick silence befalls the TV studio as Cochran allows himself to dwell in the painful memory of his first legal case. In another interview on episode three, titled "The Dream Team," the attorney once again shifts the conversation concerning O.J. Simpson, namely the darkened *TIME* mug shot of the athlete on the cover of the magazine, towards covert and blatant racism at the LAPD: "Of course, it's racially insensitive. But the real injustice is the way police officers view blacks in Los Angeles. Even after the riots, even after the Christopher Commission, the LAPD culture has not changed" (*ACS*, disc 1, episode 3, 16:54-17:05). He later even admits to Robert Shapiro that Simpson's case could "accomplish a lot of important things" (36:57), thus significantly more than the acquittal of their client.

Apart from rhetorics, Johnnie Cochran utilized his physical presence in the courtroom to accentuate his symbolic superiority over both the prosecution team and his own colleagues. Coming back to the day of the glove demonstration on June 15, 1995, for instance, Cochran ended his cross-examination of witness Brenda Vemich by walking over to the prosecution table. There, he deposited some items next to Christopher Darden's paperwork before he began putting the evidence gloves back into the paper bags after having demonstrated them on his hands. Cochran therefore occupied space that was reserved for the prosecution, to which neither Cark nor Darden objected. Simpson's defense attorney seemed comfortable standing close to where his rivals were sitting, potentially even challenging the other parties to object as he breached an invisible line and signaled dominance over his opposers. Seen in the framework of the courtroom being a stage for performances, elements such as the seating arrangements, props, or lighting are all part of the play and have enormous power to carry meaning and social messages.

Even while sitting, Johnnie Cochran continued to assert dominance in the courtroom, as for example moments before the glove demonstration, when Darden announced that he was handed an unspecified exhibit and he needed to confer with Johnnie Cochran on the matter. He then walked over to the defense table to present the package to his rival ("OJ Simpson Trial―June 15th, 1995―Part 3 (Last part)," 20:10), Cochran remained seated, and his upper body was directed away from the prosecutor. Merely his head was turned to the right for the duration of the conversation.This position indicated disinterest and a lack of respect, suggesting to the other party that they are not worth one's full attention. Based on the Court TV footage, it also appears as if Johnnie Cochran spoke very quietly because Christopher Darden was forced to bend forward to be able to hear what the defense attorney was saying (20:33). Thus, although Cochran started from an inferior position in the interaction by sitting and looking up to Darden, he succeeded in bringing the prosecutor down to his comfort level in a demonstration of his power over the young attorney.

Similarly, Johnnie Cochran established his superiority over Robert Shapiro from his sitting position. First of all, Christopher Darden walked over to Cochran directly, although Shapiro was likewise a core member of the defense team. Subsequently, the latter moved closer to the duo, stretching his neck to see and hear better (20:20). Secondly, while Cochran seemingly only required seconds to assess the new evidence in his hands, Shapiro hurriedly put on his glasses and flagrantly took the package out of his colleague's hands (20:37). Johnnie Cochran appeared unimpressed and grinned while Shapiro continued rummaging through the bag (20:50). In both examples, Johnnie Cochran displayed a confidence and calmness that Christopher Darden and Robert Shapiro visibly lacked. They looked nervous, even anxious around him, and no matter from what position in the interaction Cochran started, he always ended it with the upper hand.

Johnnie Cochran's performances are exemplary of "make-belief "(Schechner,*Performance Studies* 16) actions that Richard Schechner contrasts to "make-believe" (16) performances. In the latter case, "performancesmaintain a clearlymarked boundary between the world of the performance and everyday reality" (16), which is the case when one acts on stage or on film, for instance. Johnnie Cochran, however, aimed to "intentionally blur or sabotage that boundary"(16) by promoting an image of himself that best served his defense strategy, hence "making belief " as he crafted the personal narrative he wanted his audience to perceive as real. The attorney employed specific aspects of manner and a theatricality of speech, which David Shulman calls "sign vehicles" (Shulman 14), to shape his performances. Cochran was also arguably the only participant in the Simpson trial who was able to successfully develop a personal narrative on his own terms in that he was both the writer and the performer of his role. In contrast, other parties, such as Marcia Clark or Mark Fuhrman, were heavily forced into their respective parts.

In episode four of *ACS*, the series' creative team utilized a musical arrangement to reinforce Johnnie Cochran's sway over the court, the public, and the media. For this purpose, they chose the rap song "Black Superman," which was released by the West Coast hip hop group Above The Law in 1994 and ironically commences with the line "I hit the loose juice." In the filmic sequence, it is January 1995 and the day of opening statements in the criminal case. The courtroom doors open, and Simpson's defense attorneys come in, led by Johnnie Cochran (*ACS*, disc 2, episode 4, 50:38). They walk in slow-motion, which accentuates their self-confidence. Similar to Bob Dylan's "I Shall Be Released" with regard to O.J. Simpson, the track "Black Superman" can be understood as a homage to Johnnie Cochran, who has been legally fighting racism and police corruption in Los Angeles for decades.  He continues with, "Got the big S on my chest, […c]rime fighting's what I do. […] I feel good that the City of Angels call me black Superman." In an exposé for the *Detroit Metro Times*, titled "Up in the Sky: Super Cochran," writer and musician Keith Owens equally corroborates Johnnie Cochran's heroic positioning by reminiscing that "[w]hite people had Superman, we had Johnnie Cochran" (Owens, *Detroit Metro Times*, 6 April 2005).

*ACS* goes beyond a discrete characterization of the defense attorney and provides background information for Cochran's mistrust in the LAPD that seems to legitimize his oftentimes rigorous defense strategies. Episode five, "The Race Card," for instance, opens with a flashback to the year 1982. Johnnie Cochran is taking his two young daughters out to dinner. While they are driving in the car and insouciantly chatting, the attorney is stopped by a police officer (*ACS*, disc 2, episode 5, 01:10). Cochran immediately reminds his children of the principles he taught them:

#### *Daughters: Our lawyer. (00:32)*

According to law enforcement,Cochran "changed lanes without signaling two blocks back" (01:03) despite the latter's insistence on having followed the traffic rules. Repeated close-up shots of the officer's hand resting on his gun holster (00:43, 01:03) are contrasted to images of the LAPD motto "*To Protect and to Serve*" (00:38, 03:10), imprinted on the police motorcycle to accentuate the discrepancy between the law enforcer's oath of office and effective behavior. He inquires where Johnnie Cochran is headed(00:55),whether the car heis drivingis really his own(01:14),and ultimately cuffs and presses the attorney against the hood of his car(02:14) while passing pedestrians observe the latter in aversion (02:16). For viewers unfamiliar with the issue of racial profiling, i.e., the experience of being targeted for suspicion of crime based on their race, *ACS*' filmic sequence vividly illustrates the vexed relationship between African Americans and law enforcement in general and Johnnie Cochran's disgust with the LAPD in particular. The attorney's subsequent positioning as a civil rights activist and "savior"in the African American community can be viewed against a new and more profound background.

In the episode, Johnnie Cochran and his wife Sylvia also attend a prayer service, and at one point, the pastor asks the attorney to come forward. Supported by enthusiastic applause from the congregation, Cochran gets up, waves at the crowd, and makes his way to the pastor who puts an arm around him in admiration, preaching: "Let us pray. Lord, for this day, we are thankful. […] For Johnnie Cochran, we are appreciative. We pray for Johnnie Cochran as he accepts this challenge to litigate the O.J. trial. King Jesus listens when we pray. Amen" (04:19). Immediately afterwards, the famous L.A. Mass Choir starts singing "King Jesus Is A-Listening," a powerful "Negro Spiritual"<sup>11</sup> that was featured on the choir's successful 1994 album *I Shall Not Be Defeated*. The gospel hymn not only reiterates Johnnie Cochran's African American roots and his contributions to black people but even suggests that his defense of O.J. Simpson is a God-sanctioned mission to better the world. *ACS* repeatedly seizes this suggestion, when Cochran is displayed raising his hands towards the sky as if waiting for celestial bliss (*ACS*, disc 1, episode 3, 24:12; disc 3, episode 9, 04:48) or claiming to receive holy gifts to utilize in Simpson's defense (04:49).

Simultaneously, however, *American Crime Story* hints to Cochran's cunning and ruthlessness with regard to his trial strategy. In episode six, for instance, the defense attorney is shown chatting and laughing blithely with LAPD Detective Tom Lange,

<sup>11 &</sup>quot;A spiritual is a type of religious folksong that is most closely associated with the enslavement of African people in the American South. The songs proliferated in the last few decades of the eighteenth century leading up to the abolishment of legalized slavery in the 1860s. The African American spiritual (also called the Negro Spiritual) constitutes one of the largest and most significant forms of American folksong." (https://www.loc.gov/item/ihas.200197495/)

who serves as a prosecution witness and thereby the opposing side of counsel. Over the course of their conversation, Cochran learns that Lange lives in the city of Simi Valley, California, and his facial expression changes subtly in surprise (*ACS*, disc 2, episode 6, 10:50). To the television audience, the significance of this information is not yet revealed. The subsequent scene resumes in the courtroom, where Johnnie Cochran officially cross-examines his prior interlocutor on the witness stand:

This particular scene is indicative of Johnnie Cochran's undeterred approach to defending O.J. Simpson and the attorney's capability to add meaning to words and places if it is advantageous to his tactic. From a macro perspective, Simi Valley is a city located in Southeast Ventura County, California, with an estimated population of 126,788. Even the fact that Tom Lange resides there has little significance to the O.J. Simpson trial. Johnnie Cochran, however,is able to once again capture the jury's attention and direct their focus on the microlevel of his argument, in which Simi Valley gains new meaning as a residential hotspot for corrupt and violent police officers. In combination with his physical reactions to Lange's witness testimony—the frowning (11:25), raised eyebrows (12:04), and torso facing the jurors (12:26)—the defense attorney rhetorically establishes a connection between Simi Valley, Tom Lange, dishonest law enforcement,and animportant piece of evidence that potentially links his client to the homicides of Nicole and Ronald. In doing so, Cochran subtly introduces the element of doubt in the minds of the jury and spectators while reinforcing his providence in the case.

#### Christopher Darden: Caught in the Middle

While Johnnie Cochran's presence in the courtroom was unquestioned, it was rumored that Christopher Darden had only been asked to join the Simpson proceedings "to blacken up the prosecution's public face" (Dyson 52). Like a culinary chef assembling a recipe, even *ACS*'s Gil Garcetti's admits to using the prosecutor to "balance out our ticket, stir in a little added flavor"(*ACS*, disc 2, episode 4, 33:00). According to Dyson and other critics of Marcia Clark's colleague, the prosecutor's "value derived not from his lawyerly demeanor or his rhetorical skills, […] but from his metaphysical presence in countering the incantatory powers of blackness invoked by Johnnie Cochran" (52). In *The Run of His Life*, Jeffrey Toobin, who observed and covered the trial proceedings from inside the courtroom, asserts that Christopher Darden was even intimidated by Cochran's presence, and that "Cochran's hold over Darden bordered on the mystical—or, more precisely, the parental" (Toobin 260–261). Indeed, the relatively inexperienced prosecutor publicly rendered homage to the defense attorney during a legal session on January 26, 1995. Due to an infringement of Court TV two days prior, the courtroom camera was limited to static shots of the proceedings on the day Darden professed his admiration for Johnnie Cochran: "I noticed that his opening statement, […] it was a very fine opening statement. And I'm always proud of Mr. Cochran whenever I see him in court, Your Honor. I love him. I just don't like to go up against him" (Court Transcript, 26 January 1995). Although his statement was embedded within a critique of Johnnie Cochran and the rest of the defense team for discovery violations, Darden's admiration for his opponent was apparent. The wide overhead shot of the courtroom camera emphasized the prosecutor's anomalous behavior. It captured all the attorneys in the courtroom as well as the judge, and most conspicuously, the court stenographer, typing away and preserving Darden's avowal of love on the record. For ErvingGoffman, small gestures such as compliments or salutations constitute "ceremonial activity" (Winkin and Leeds-Hurwitz 43) or "presentational ritual" (43), which further emphasize a trial's performative nature. Goffman also observed that individuals hold "role relationships" (Goffman, *Relations* 188) with other individuals they befriend. These relationships can be "multi-bonded" (188) as was the case with Darden and Cochran. Although they argued on opposing sides of the courtroom and were therefore professional rivals, Christopher Darden's admiration for Johnnie Cochran's prior work created a new and imbalanced dynamic in the courtroom as the lines between their personal and impersonal affinities were blurred.

*American Crime Story* foregrounds this intricate relationship, whereby Johnnie Cochran is initially positioned as a confidant and mentor to Christopher Darden. In the series, Cochran becomes the only helpline for the young prosecutor who feels unappreciated and disparaged in his job at the District Attorney's Office. Simultaneously, however, while seemingly offering a sympathetic ear to Darden in difficult times, Johnnie Cochran shames the prosecutor for his governmental employment and pressures Darden into choosing sides in his unwavering pursuit and continuation of the civil rights movement. *ACS* felicitously depicts the prosecutor's inner struggle and strife, when Cochran and Darden meet at the DA's Office to discuss a joint case of police brutality:

Apart from the revealing dialogue, the arrangement and cinematography of this particular scene subtly, yet effectively, illustrates the affinity between Johnnie Cochran and Christopher Darden. At the beginning of their conversation in the office, for instance, the camera alternately stays in medium long shots and medium shots of the interlocutors. In combination with the furniture (tables, computers) positioned between Cochran and Darden, the medium shot perspective is emblematic of the initial distance and reserve that characterizes their encounter (20:05). Quick cuts from one speaker to the other further enhance the confrontational nature of the dialogue. As the conversation shifts to a more personal and emotional level, with Darden admitting that he feels dejected in his current position at the DA's Office, the interlocutors move closer toward each other as the camera fixates its gaze on them in medium close-up and close-up shots (20:37, 21:16). The close-up adds emotional depth to the scene and draws attention to small details in the depicted faces while the decrease of quick cuts raises the tension in the room.The audience is able to observe the anger in Cochran's eyes when he urges Darden to "choose a side" and the pain in the latter's facial expression as his loyalty to the African American community is questioned. The conversation concludes with a final close-up shot of a firm handshake between Cochran and Darden (21:32), and as the camera pans up, the television viewer catches a glimpse of relief on the prosecutor's face as he receives a figurative absolution from his mentor.

In general, where Johnnie Cochran was characterized as witty and well-prepared in the media in 1995, Christopher Darden was often characterized as an inexperienced and flawed prosecutor, who repeatedly demonstrated "his impetuousness, his immaturity, his failure to prepare either himself or his witnesses adequately" (Toobin 369) in court. Darden's trial strategy on June 15, 1995, which culminated in the failed presentation of the murder gloves on O.J. Simpson, constitutes a key momentin the prosecutor's personal and professional annihilation. At one point during the session, Darden perceptibly lost the thread in his exchange with witness Brenda Vemich, asking Judge Ito for a brief moment to collect himself.He then posed a set of questions that arguably worked against the prosecution, undermining his previous work of trying to connect the Bloomingdale's gloves to O.J. Simpson:

Vemich's answer was followed by silence as Darden spent sixteen seconds skimming through his notes for the next question. What might seem like a short period of time, assumes another dimension in a quiet courtroom with an exclusive focus on the prosecutor and his witness. Even one of Darden's colleagues looked up from his notes to assess the situation ("OJ Simpson Trial – June 15th, 1995 – Part 2," 01:24:51). Slowly, the camera panned over toward O.J. Simpson and Johnnie Cochran, and the latter was seen smiling and smirking (01:25:25).

During the witness examination of Brenda Vemich, Darden was also cause of laughter when heinquired whether "whenmen buy gloves do they tend to exaggerate the size of their hands?" (Court Transcript, 15 June 1995). Johnnie Cochran objected, and giggles erupted in the courtroom as some spectators interpreted the question to contain a sexually explicit note. Initially unfazed, Darden chuckled himself and then repeated the question, when Judge Ito overruled Cochran's objection. Unsatisfied with Vemich's answer that "[u]sually women buy gloves for men" (Court Transcript, 15 June 1995), Darden restated his proposition and this time, Lance Ito wondered out loud: "Is that a serious question, Mr. Darden?" (Court Transcript, 15 June 1995). The prosecutor's train of thought was lost on the participants and spectators to a degree that Judge Ito interjected himself in the questioning by addressing the witness ("OJ Simpson Trial – June 15th, 1995 – Part 3 (Last part)," 05:29). The camera stayed in a medium shot of the witness and Ito only, with Darden, whose examination it was in the first place, completely out of frame. The judge then ordered a short recess, and the evening session ended on a weak note for the prosecution and arguably a humiliating conclusion for Christopher Darden.

Apart from being stamped as incompetent, Christopher Darden was also involuntarily forced into the role of a traitor and sellout, in particular when compared to Johnnie Cochran, who came to represent the interests and the pride of the African American community by defending O.J. Simpson against the LAPD's supposed corruption. In their essay "Entertainment Media and Political Knowledge," Christopher Cooper and Mandi Bates Bailey point to the findings of a study concerning media framing<sup>12</sup> whose resultsindicate "that episodic frames(frames that focus onindividual cases) cause the viewer to blame individuals rather than society for the problem or issue in question"(Copper and Bates Bailey 135), which could explain why Christopher Darden's role in the prosecution was questioned so harshly. Darden was derogatively called an "Uncle Tom"(Darden,*LA Times*, 10March 2016) because he was working for white people. He further enraged the African American community, when he was forced to come to Mark Fuhrman's defense over the detective's use of the derogatory slur 'nigger.' On January 13, 1995, a heated discussion between Johnnie Cochran and Christopher Darden ensued in court, during which the prosecutor argued:

<sup>12 &</sup>quot;[F]raming suggests that the way in which the story is covered affects how people will perceive and respond to that particular issue." (Foy 135)

Why then should we allow that word in use in this courtroom? […] It will do one thing. It will upset the black jurors, it will issue a test, it will give them the test and the test will be whose side are you on?  […] The man [Fuhrman] finds one time amongst six or seven or 800 other items collected by the police in this case and now when the man is called to the witness stand we are going to go fifteen years back or fourteen years back and ask him if he ever made a racial slur, repeated a racial epithet? Why? […] There is a mountain of evidence pointing to this defendant's guilt. But when you mention that word to this jury or to any African American, it blinds people. It will blind the jury, it will blind them to the truth. They won't be able to discern what is true and what is not. It will affect their judgment, it will impair their ability to be fair and impartial. It will cause extreme prejudice to the prosecution's case. […] I am not saying Mark Fuhrman is a racist, because I have met Mark Fuhrman and I have talked to Mark Fuhrman. And I have looked at these records, and what I see in the records is that in 1981 and 1982 Mark Fuhrman suffered from stress. (Court Transcript, 13 January 1995)

The fact that Darden did not voluntarily defend Mark Fuhrman because he felt empathetic towards the LAPD detective but rather for strategic prosecutorial reasons did not save the attorney from public ignominy. His message appeared to be that Mark Fuhrman was not a racist but simply stressed from work. Fuhrman did not have a corrupt character per se, but rather, his encounters with black people were frustrating and infuriating, and these experiences ultimately made him bitter enough to use racial epithets. It was therefore even more agitating to the black community when Darden argued that Simpson's (African American) jury would not be able to stay impartial if Ito let Fuhrman's utterances be part of the evidence. Johnnie Cochran, in his usual calm and articulate manner, called Darden an "apologist of this man [Fuhrman]" (Court Transcript, 13 January 1995). He continued to imply that the prosecutor was an embarrassment to every African American in the country and even suggested that Darden was ashamed of his heritage:

His remarks this morning are perhaps the most incredible remarks I've heard in a court of law in the 32 years I have been practicing law. His remarks are demeaning to African Americans as a group. And I want […] to apologize to African Americans across this country. […] I am proud to be an African American. […] I am a lawyer who happens to be an African American, but I will not allow myself to be used under these circumstances to become an apologist for people who use racist statements in the past, to malign other African Americans, to say that I'm some expert to come here and testify as an expert as to what black people think in America. All across America today, believe me, black people are offended at this very moment. (Court Transcript, 13 January 1995)

Video footage of the discussion is expressive of the "theatre of power" (Hill, "Reality TV Experiences" 132) that intrinsically shapes reality-based formats. Although both Cochran and Darden had similar backgrounds and were working as attorneys, their public relationship underscored their differences and suffused their every encounter. When Christopher Darden spoke, he stood alone, since he was the only African American lawyer on the prosecution team. It was a different matter when Johnnie Cochran rose to express his thoughts on the aforementioned issue. O.J. Simpson was seen in the background, turned towards his defense attorney, looking up at him in admiration (*O.J.: Made in America*, disc 2, 1:21:06). At one point, F. Lee Bailey attempted to talk to Simpson during Cochran's speech, but his client simply raised his hand without taking his eyes off of Cochran and interrupted the other defense attorney with a gesture that signified, "Not now" (1:22:08). While the defense team symbolized unity and African American pride, Christopher Darden was vilified as the puppet of a powerful and racist system. To quote Nussbaum's assessment: "In Darden's failures, [one] finds not incompetence but a buried tragedy, about the confines of identity and the isolation of being forced to pick a team, then stick with it, at any cost" (Nussbaum, *New Yorker*, 1 February 2016).

In a 2016 interview with the *Huffington Post*, Christopher Darden admitted that "he [was] still paying the price" (Moret, *Huffington Post*, 7 July 2016) for his actions on June 15, 1995. The relevance of Darden's exposure and embarrassment is neutered of its significance as a personal experience and elevated to a public issue, for meaningful events happen out in the open and are made more meaningful because others have confirmed that they are,in fact,meaningful (Duplantier 53).However, the prosecutor's apparent professional incompetence and personal vilification in the public not only affected the prosecutor himself but also his family. Jenee Darden, for instance, admitted that she was hesitant to publicly acknowledge Christopher Darden as her father. In an article for the *Los Angeles Times*, she conceded that "[t]he public's emotions remained raw long after the trial" (Darden, *LA Times*, 10 March 2016). Darden's supposed ego-centric approach to the Simpson trial is also subject in several academic publications and always in juxtaposition to Johnnie Cochran's altruistic handling of the case. E.g., in "Eye, the Jury," Armond White asserts:

Loyal Darden didn't efface himself for the good of the case. He went ego and started an ideological street fight. More than prosecuting, Darden became the spokesman for white insensitivity and impatience, going for conviction at the cost of moral restraint. […] Cochran's calling out Darden's racist ploy argued for equity and impartiality in the "evidence" presented. But in the now-exacerbated terms of the public spectacle, Cochran's fair-mindedness was discredited by mediacrats as militancy. (White 363)

The personality characterizations provided in this study are exemplary of how the Simpson trial's "subjects, these on-screen people plucked from the everyday, literally embod[ied] the fictional, regressive stereotypes which predominate on sitcoms and dramatic television shows" (Duplantier 48), and that celebrity can arise "from public judgement [and] even character assassination" (Sternheimer 12) and be upheld as a morality tale (12). Christopher Darden's experience proves that "identity categories are not inherent or biologically determined, but [that] they are socially determined by cultural norms of demarcation" (Madison and Hamera xviii), allowing "alternative performativities and alternative ways of being" (xviii) in the first place. Conclusively, "[t]here is not one person or agent dominating another, but an inherent ambiguity as to who is in control on reality television" (Hill, "Reality TV Experiences" 161). Klapp even argues that through the dramatic-personal typing process of people,i.e., the collective undertaking, "history enters society, as distinguished from the information to be found in reference books" (Klapp, *Changing American Character* 7). He thereby attributes a wide-reaching importance to social roles one might not assume initially. Daniel Boorstin shares a similar point of view by asserting that

[t]o men unfamiliar with our way of life, our language would seem strangely circumlocutory. A world where people talk constantly not of things themselves, but of their images! Yet it is by these circumlocutions that we unwittingly express our deepest unspoken beliefs. Belief in the malleability of the world. Belief in the superior vividness of a technicolor representation to a drab original. (Boorstin 204)

The highlighting of selected character traits of the main players in the Simpson case and their purposeful marketing as celebrities illuminates a process that has long founded the core of reality television, namely the transformation or the "reshaping of subjects" (Heller 19):

We can think of RTV less as a genre than as a televisual mechanism for conducting powers of transformation. Programming has left television, and the whole of reality itself has become *programmable*. Challenging bodies' limits, interchanging roles and people, collectivizing activities, and testing tolerance thresholds are just a few of the technical procedures deployed in RTV's makeovers. Their effects include breaking down the interiorities of subjects, dissolving them into 'dividuals', and reconnecting capacities with others; in sum, turning objects into variables, a set of modifiable powers. (Bratich 20, emphasis original)

Upon closer inspection, one finds that transformation also constitutes a key component of the narratives in the Simpson story. There was the fall from grace of an American hero and football legend as well as the public vilification of a formerly respected and distinguished LAPD detective as a racist fiend. Attorneys and witnesses were marketed as celebrities and "bec[a]me the basis for entire brands" (Edwards 19). From a murder trial, O.J. Simpson's story morphed into the steppingstone for greater civil issues in the US while Johnnie Cochran was venerated in the African American community for fighting for black people's rights and justice. Aaron Duplantier notes on the issue:

From the reception end, reality TV characters should be understood under the guise that they are "ordinary" people made "extraordinary" as a consequence of their participation and exposure on reality TV […]. The specifics of this "extraordinary" quality vary and are usually less "extraordinary" and more exploitative, but it is a disparate cultural circumstance from ordinary American life, to be sure, if nothing else for the fact so many viewers are looking in on a group of people and so few are looking out. (Duplantier 50)

Bignell suggests that "[t]he comparisons between characters and the judgments about identifiable human figures that the text invites the viewer or reader to make are reliant on a common code of judgment, a notion of 'normality' that the text works to establish" (Bignell 112). Thus, realism, he argues,

refers […] both to the plausibility of behavior and events that are represented, and also to the world in which character and action take place. For reality television, the unscripted actions of its participants are to be measured in relation to the world that enfolds them and that forms the terrain on which the viewer's relationships with characters can occur. (112)

Reality television, however, alters the audience as much as its protagonists, and in no other genre can viewers so easily transition between spectators and performers. By use of the courtroom camera and with more information available to them than to the sequestered jury, for instance, the television viewers in the Simpson case were transformed from passive voyeurs, who solely watched the proceedings, into a second jury panel with a dominant opinion on Simpson's guilt or innocence. The numbers speak for themselves: "The media system covering the criminal trial included 121 video feeds, 8 miles of cable, 19 television stations, 8 radio stations, 23 newspapers and magazines, 850 telephones, and 2,000 reporters" (Schuetz 5). According to Lin Lilley, public involvement is a key criterion for telelitigated trials, during which the forming of opinions is highly encouraged to increase viewers' emotional involvement (Lilley 172).

#### **2.3 Commercialization on Reality Television**

Television is, first and foremost, a business that operates on commoditization, which Gilmore and Pine compare to the ever-present force of gravity, "dragging down every offering that isn't already a commodity" (Gilmore and Pine 47). By extension, the same axiom applies to reality TV and televised criminal trials. In *Reality TV: Remaking Television Culture*, seminal scholars in the field, Laurie Ouellette

and Susan Murray, discern that reality television is fundamentally "an unabashedly commercial genre" (Murray and Ouellette 3), and Aaron Duplantier speaks of TV shows as "packaged goods" (Duplantier 33) that are "concerned with capital first and aesthetics after" (Bell 36) as they "must […] fill some monetary requirement in order to exist" (Duplantier 34). Historically, even the breakthrough of factual television in the United States, the "Republic of Entertainment" (Gabler 11), can be attributed to economic factors. It emerged "as a cost-cutting solution" (Raphael 122) that was facilitated by three particular factors in the 1990s: the rapid expansion of new technologies such as cable television and the Internet; commercialism and the excessive and competitive commodification of news; and lastly, populism and incentives for increased public input and participation (Fox, Van Sickel, and Steiger 101). By the early 1980s, the three major American networks—CBS, ABC, and NBC—faced numerous challenges that noticeably altered the television landscape in favor of reality formats: federal deregulation of the media led to shifting syndication and an expansion of independent television stations across the States which, in turn, increased competition and audience dispersion (McKenna xiv). In addition, production costs for original scripted content multiplied during the writer's strikes in the 1980s and the invention of home video devices and games that fragmented audiences even further. Another explanation for why the genre is so highly commercialized arises from "the weak historical presence of documentary television in the USA [which] has ensured that certain types of reality formats are related to commercial and entertainment ideas and practice" (Hill, *Audiences* 8); more so than, for instance, in the UK, where many reality formats build on public service ideas.

The commercial nature of reality television is mirrored in many areas of its production and "the merging of advertising and entertainment programming" (12). Although selling audience attention to advertisers is a genre-overarching strategy, producers of reality programs have successfully used scheduling arrangements to their financial advantage. E.g., after the first highly successful US run of the competition reality show *Survivor* in 2000, the Chief Executive Officer at CBS, Leslie Moonves, scheduled the second installment of the format to air on Thursdays at 8 p.m., as advertisers looking to increase their weekend sales are prepared to pay more for an ad spot on Thursday evenings (Magder 138). Moonves' strategy paid off twofold, for he increased advertising revenue and viewership by the end of the second season (139). June Deery argues that even employing ordinary people or nonprofessional actors in reality formats is first and foremost a commercial decision and not a political strategy to "give voice to the powerless" (Deery, "Mapping" 12).

In the Simpson case, Marcia Clark was not the only person who financially benefited from the criminal trial.The popularity of the case allowed Court TV to become the focal point of reality crime programming. Despite Steven Brill's supposed goal to open courtrooms to the American public via television for educational purposes, he was, primarily, an entrepreneur and businessman who founded the network to make money. This is reflected in the change that Court TV underwent from a "C-SPAN type of public service programming to a glitzy, mainstream-influenced, dramatic, sensational, and celebrity-based concept" (Kleinhans and Morris 173). Constant regeneration and transformation were necessary to compete and survive in a "multichannel universe" (173). Apart from Court TV, many other cable news channels profited highly from the Simpson trial. Statistics reveal that CNN recorded audience ratings "roughly 80 percent higher than in the years preceding and succeeding the case" (Fox, Van Sickel, and Steiger 116), with an average of 2.2 million viewers at any given time (Morrison 11). With numbers as a determining factor in the selection of news reports, however, there is a constant over-reporting of violent crimes such as murder, despite its subordinate position in the overall compendium of all committed crimes in the US (Schmid 14). By doing so, (TV) images produce an artificial world of hyperreality, shaping audiences' understanding of their social world (Bourdieu,*On Television* 22). In other words, when certain news or images are broadcast to viewers' homes, they believe them to be of particular importance, and the way these images are presented divide people's worldview in a particular manner. Expanding on Roland Barthes' concept of description-produced "reality effects" (Barthes 1989), French philosopher Pierre Bourdieu described this phenomenon with reference to the moving images of television in 1998:

They [images] show things and make people believe in what they show. This power to show is also a power to mobilize. It can give a life to ideas or images, but also to groups. The news, the incidents and accidents of everyday life, can be loaded with political or ethnic significance liable to unleash strong, often negative feelings, such as racism, chauvinism, the fear —hatred of the foreigner or, xenophobia. The simple report, the very fact of reporting, of *putting on record* […], always implies a social construction of reality that can mobilize (or demobilize) individuals or groups. (Bourdieu, *On Television* 21, emphasis original)

Television, and by extension, reality television, always "mediate[s] reality through narrative practices; aesthetic choices; geographic constructs; thematic interests; casting decisions; and social, economic, political, and cultural power" (Kraszewski 17), employing minimal effort to communicate its ideas (Deren 150).

Commercialization is also the reason why transmedia storytelling and participatory fan culture are of major significance for the reality genre. Audiences and fans are actively involved in the financing and production of their favorite shows, as their tastes and desires are commodified for increased profit. The commodification process "expands a group's cultural visibility"(Jenkins 62), allowing producers to customize their programming to the needs of the majority. For instance, although the Internet was still new ground in the 1990s, it opened reality television and its popular formats up to new dimensions of "multiplatformicity" (Deery, "Mapping" 16), encouraging fans and even anti-fans to interact through voting, phone-ins, chat

rooms, or emails (17). In the process, the community was transformed into a "global village" (Lilley 163) and the Simpson case into the first "*Internet spectacle*" (Kellner 97, emphasis original) in American history. This new form of commodifiable participation encouraged national and international spectators to use the World Wide Web to exchange their opinions on the proceedings in round-the-clock open chatrooms, share conspiracy theories, and engage in "daily battles between ProJs, who believed that Simpson was innocent, and NoJs, who were sure that he was guilty" (97).The interactivity offered by such sites "intensified the role of celebrity gossip as social glue and platform for collective moral judgment and outrage" (Douglas and McDonnell 242) and "revealed a postmodernization of culture in which daily life is colonized by a total media environment" (Kellner 103).

Other commercial marketing strategies entail product placement and merchandizing.The latter, also referred to as "entertainment property"(Deery,*Consuming Reality* 24), involves the selling of physical items, such as coffee mugs and t-shirts, or media content, e.g., ringtones or associated games, ultimately commodifying the viewer's experience even further (24). Concretely put, "TV, as a business, does what any business tries to do: give customer[s] what they want or need at a price they're willing to pay, and if possible, establish a relationship of trust and reliability to ensure a long and fruitful commercial relationship" (Magder 142). In 1995, street vendors filled the streets around the Criminal Courts Building in Los Angeles, selling t-shirts, caps, stickers, and buttons, featuring Simpson's mug shot as one of over fifteen different designs (Ford,*LA Times*, 15 July 1995).Oftentimes, the thin line between satirical references and distasteful ridicule of thoseinvolvedin the case was arguably crossed for financial gain. One design, for instance, was printed on the panels of a blue baseball cap and showed a dark leather glove, from which blood drippled on the brim, and below the slogan "It's a set-up." Depicting a glove soaked in the victims' blood on a baseball cap to express one's belief that Simpson was framed by the LAPD seems apathetic, but it illustrates once again that, more often than not, the trial was not about the victims but about the business of sensationalism. Other examples include a papier-maché doll of the dead Nicole Brown Simpson that was covered in blood and stab wounds. Another vendor and caricaturist sold his drawing collections of the case for \$15. They came in a plain brown package marked 'mysterious' in reference to the cryptic brown envelope Judge Kathleen Kennedy-Powel received during Simpson's preliminary hearings.The case also inspired a line of Halloween gear, with the best-selling and promptly sold-out item being a leathery mask resembling the accused murderer. Short afro wigs imitating Simpson's hairstyle and a big fake butcher knife completed the Halloween costume (Granberry and Ferrell, *LA Times*, 8 October 1994). Eddie Dee, one of the street vendors, supposedly made \$1,000-a-day profits (Ford, *LA Times*, 15 July 1995), but admitted that, at one point, sales plunged when the police actively tried to prevent trading by unlicensed vendors around the courthouse.

Author and comedian Jack "Knife" Butcher compiled O.J. Simpson inspired jokes that were published in book form in 1994, promising readers to make them "scream bloody murder" (Butcher 1994). Butcher's collection covers any and every aspect of the case, including Simpson's fear of being gassed if convicted (25), his passion for carving knives, knife throwing, and slicing (12, 21), or his choosing of "the beautiful, slim, graceful, blond Nicole" (18) as wife "[b]ecause he was afraid a big black woman would hit him back" (18). Further merchandise curiosities included "[o]range-scented 'O.J.' air freshener, Judge Ito Jell-O-molds, and chocolate 'Camp O.J.' suckers" (Marbella, *Baltimore Sun*, 21 February 1996) as well as trading cards, "bank checks bearing images of Simpson in three poses, [and] wristwatches with little police cars chasing a Bronco around a clock face" (Marbella, *Baltimore Sun*, 21 February 1996). One can even get ahold of *O.J.'s Legal Pad: What Is Really Going On in O.J. Simpson's Mind?* which was first released in May 1995. The paperback edition is designed to look like the yellow legal pad Simpson used during the proceedings and includes fictitious instructions Simpson gave to his lawyers, "ideas for alibis, [and] caricatures of Judge Ito and the prosecutors" (Beard 1995).

Entrepreneur Bill Zucker profited from the Simpson hype by inventing "The People vs. O.J. Simpson Trivia Game" in 1995, which, according to the cover description, is a "Game of Fun & Facts." The objective is to move forward to the six locations on the map by answering questions and to return to the start position before one's opponents do.<sup>13</sup> The desire to play a trivia game surrounding an actual murder case is in fact a cultural component of the co-performing process. Brands and individual entrepreneurs develop products for purchase to enable consumers to form social relations with their new possessions. By doing so, the product becomes an extension of the idea it stands for. Zucker's trivia game and other trial memorabilia of the like "suggest[…] that a celebrity's aura [will] rob off on the consumer who use[s] the favored products, thus placing him,in his imagination at least, on the other side of the glass with the celebrity" (Gabler 201). This assessment is corroborated by Fainstein and Judd who further add that "the act of buying a souvenir condenses a city into a thing now possessed and owned. Just as snapping a picture captures a fleeting moment, buying something transcends the transient act of shopping and promises the prolongation of pleasure" (Fainstein and Judd 14). Gabler points out another possible explanation for the profitability of themed commodities. By example of the Hard

<sup>13</sup> The six locations are Simpson's Rockingham mansion, Nicole Brown Simpson's condominium on Bundy Drive, the football field of the University of South California, where Simpson began his successful sports career, as well as the Los Angeles Airport, Courthouse and Police Department. The game is still available on Amazon and has a 5-star rating. One customer wrote: "Great game! Full of interesting questions." (see www.amazon.com/People-vs-Simpson-Trivia-Game/dp/B005GA92UI#customerReviews)

Rock Cafe and its high t-shirt sales, the critic claims that visitors of spaces and locations "memorialize[…] their own purchase" (Gabler 216). Much like the Hard Rock Cafe, the Criminal Courts Building in Los Angeles, where Simpson's trial took place, "had been so celebritized that some people went there to buy a souvenir to commemorate the time they went [there] to buy a souvenir, which in turn, broadcast to others that they had been to the [courthouse] to buy a souvenir" (216). Acquisition thus serves as a means for exhibition. While the trial was ongoing, many street vendors hoped for a hung jury because that would initiate a new trial and ultimately be equivalent to more merchandise sales (Marbella, *Baltimore Sun*, 21 February 1996).

Even O.J. Simpson attempted to gain money off of his own prosecution. From inside the prison, he ordered his lawyers to patent his full name and its associated nicknames, which subsequently led to "more than fifty lawsuits againstmerchandisers marketing items bearing his name" (Morrison 10). An exclusive 90-minute interview the celebrity defendant gave to Ross Becker, a former Los Angeles anchorman, was released on videotape in February 1996 and sold for \$29.95, offering the audience Simpson's side of the story. The interview was "followed by a tour of the house and grounds with the former football player himself as the guide, some clips from the trial and an occasional bit in which Mr. Simpson talks straight into the camera" (Marbella, *Baltimore Sun*, 21 February 1996), leading to a running time of 2.5 hours. Fans and interested parties could order the exclusive product via mail order or the toll-free number, 1–800-OJ-TELLS. While new revelations failed to materialize, as Simpson continued to insist on his innocence and blamed the prosecution and the Los Angeles Police Department for the emotional turmoil in his life, the VHS tape provided "simple, voyeuristic pleasure of getting inside O.J.'s head" (Marbella, *Baltimore Sun*, 21 February 1996). In her article on the product, investigative reporter Jean Marbella sarcastically commented:

For \$29.95, you expected, what?  […] As the producer of the justreleased video […] has said, he'd be selling the tape for a lot more than \$29.95, plus shipping and handling, for bombshells of that magnitude. (Marbella, *Baltimore Sun*, 21 February 1996)

In the beginning of the videotape, the interviewer Ross Becker bluntly asks O.J. Simpson whether he agreed to the video project to make money, and Simpson's response is just as blunt: "Oh, obviously. Obviously. I've spent a career collecting a certain wealth, a lot of people have relied on me over those years—family, in-laws—and I've had to use all that up, all those savings up to defend myself " ("O.J. Simpson FULL Post Trial Interview," 1:57-2:15).

In 2006, O.J. Simpson and his ghost writer Pablo Fenjves also wrote what they called a hypothetical description of the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman titled *If I Did It*. In the chapter "The Night in Question," Simpson introduces the readers to a friend named Charlie who was supposedly with him on the night of the murders and brought the knife along, when Simpson decided to drive to Nicole's house to "scare the shit out that girl" (Goldman family 125).<sup>14</sup> When the two arrived, Ronald Goldman was already there. Simpson became infuriated, assuming Goldman was another one of Nicole's supposed many romantic affairs. In the chapter, he writes:

Then something went horribly wrong, and I know *what* happened, but I can't tell you exactly *how*. I was still standing in Nicole's courtyard, of course, but for a few moments I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there, when I'd arrived, or even why I was there. […] It was like part of my life was missing—like there was some weird gap in my existence. […] I again looked down at myself, at my bloodsoaked clothes, and noticed the knife in my hand. […] I wondered how I had gotten blood all over my knife, and I again asked myself whose blood it might be, when suddenly it all made perfect sense: This was just a bad dream. (Goldman family 131–133, emphasis original)

Although O.J. Simpson lost the rights to the book, his other commercial endeavors illustrate how well his persona assisted in the expansion of cross-marketing strategies:

Each part of his career has served as a form of advertising for the other parts: his fame as a football player gave him an edge as an actor; his visibility as both an actor and athlete made him more desirable for commercial endorsements. His sources of fame are mutually reinforcing, and this history makes him quite desirable as the object of news or feature stories on television. Audiences will recognize him; their attention will translate into future commodity purchases. (Morrison 13)

The white Ford Bronco, which belonged to Simpson's friend Al Cowlings in 1994 and whose image was broadcast into the homes of over 95 million Americans during the Bronco Chase on June 17, 1994, has transformed into a significant artifact of American popular history. After the low-speed chase, Cowlings was offered \$75,000 for the vehicle by the company Startifacts. He initially agreed to the deal but backed out again, when he learned that Startifacts planned to rent out the vehicle to the Los Angeles-based tourist company Grave Line Tours which intended to reenact

<sup>14</sup> After the publication of *If I Did It* in 2006, there was considerable outrage over Simpson's attempt to profit from the murders many thought he had committed. Following the public outcry, a Florida bankruptcy court awarded the rights to the book to the Goldman family in order to partially satisfy the monetary compensation they were owed by Simpson since the civil trial in 1997. In the process of the book's republication in 2007, the Goldmans added the subtitle "Confessions of the Killer" to the original tile and O.J. Simpson is no longer listed as the author or contributor.

the Bronco Chase, including taking its customers to Nicole Brown Simpson's grave (Rovell, *ESPN*, 14 June 2016). The car eventually came into the possession of, among others, Mike Gilbert, O.J. Simpson's former sports agent. In 2012, the owners of the Bronco agreed to loan the car to the Luxor Hotel in Las Vegas, where it was displayed to promote a sports memorabilia exhibit. Currently, Cowlings' Bronco is shown in the getaway cars exhibit at the Alcatraz East Crime Museum in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. Visitors can inspect the vehicle, which has become metonymic with O.J. Simpson (Fiske 259) and is displayed along with a replica of Bonnie and Clyde's infamous "Death Car," famed gangster John Dillinger's red Essex Terraplane 8, and serial killer Ted Bundy's original Volkswagen Beetle. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett argues that by exhibiting "artifacts from far and wide, museums have attempted from an early date to reconstruct the places from which these things were brought" (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 132), explaining why a car that was involved in a chase in the metropole Los Angeles can be displayed and still retain its meaning in the small city of Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.

In addition to the Bronco, items from the car's glove compartment are arranged behind a glass cabinet at the museum, next to a signed copy of Mike Gilbert's controversial tell-all publication *How I Helped O.J. Simpson Get Away with Murder*. The items include a brush, two combs, and a few pennies; unspectacular in and of themselves, but of historical value as relics that seem to shorten the distance between Simpson and the visitors. Furthermore, a television monitor placed above the Ford replays original footage of the Bronco Chase as it happened on June 17, 1994, evoking images of movement while the car itself has come to its final halt.

In 2010, the Newseum inWashington, D.C., acquired the grey-beige Armani suit from Mike Gilbert that Simpson had worn on the day of his acquittal.The suit, along with the matching white shirt and gold tie, is displayed under the banner "All O.J., All the Time." For curator Carrie Christofferson, the clothing is "a piece of news history" (Associated Press,*Daily News*, 7 April 2010); an opinion that is in common with the assessment of Kirshenblatt-Gimblett who argues that "[d]isplay is an interface that mediates and thereby transforms what is shown into heritage" (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 7).

The aforementioned examples obviate the parallels between (reality) television and the fundamentals of capitalism. Gabler argues that entertainment and consumption constitute "two sides of the same ideological coin" (Gabler 205). He notes:

Entertainment [is] about release, freedom, transport, escape. Aside from the purchase of necessities […] so too [is] consumption. Entertainment [is] about the power of sensation. So too [is] consumption, in this case the sensations generated externally by how one looked and internally by how one felt. Entertainment relie[s] heavily on instant gratification. So too [does] consumption. […] And, in the end, both entertainment and consumption often provided the same intoxication: the sheer, mindless pleasure of emancipation from reason, from responsibility, from tradition, from class and from all the other bonds that restrained the self. (205)

June Deery raises another noteworthy idea by arguing that it is this very commercialized nature of reality television that makes it authentic:

One could argue that by including commercial design reality TV is an authentic, as in accurate, representation of real life, since being commercially sponsored is, today, as real as it gets. The programming is in this sense authentic *because* commercialized, not despite it. (Deery, *Consuming Reality* 53, emphasis original)

Deery offers a new perspective on the monetary exploitation of contestants and narratives on reality television. It allows to view the handling of the O.J. Simpson case as an authentic reflection of American society at one particular point in time, illustrating a paradox in that, although the trial's authenticity was partly undermined by its commercialization and narrative manipulation, its commercial design and the appearance of authenticity was ultimately one of the most authentic aspects of the case.

### **3 The Court and the Camera: Theatricality of the Law**

#### 8 July 1994

On July 8, 1994, twenty-one days after O.J. Simpson's arrest and concluding a six-day preliminary hearing, Municipal Court Judge Kathleen Kennedy-Powell announced that there was "ample evidence to establish a strong suspicion of the guilt of the accused" (Court Transcript, Preliminary Hearing, 8 July 1994) and ordered O.J. Simpson to stand criminal trial in the homicides of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman. The case was then transferred to Superior Court Judge Lance A. Ito, who initiated jury selection for the proceedings from a pool of 304 prospective jurors in October 1994. On November 3, nine African Americans, two whites, and one Hispanic (ten women and two men) were seated, and the Simpson criminal trial proceedings officially began in January 1995.

As part of establishing the legal framework for the trial, Lance Ito set hearings with the prosecution and defense team to discuss the use of cameras in his courtroom. The judge's initial hesitation and circumspection portended to the complexity of an issue which has persevered well into the 21st century, with the first public discussions and the formation of official committees debating the matter of electronic trial coverage in the US dating back to 1917. As the following chapter will show, the debate concerning the use of cameras in the American justice system has never been without controversy and continues to divide critics and supporters, particularly amid a celebrity scandal.

#### **3.1 The Courtroom Camera: Friend and Foe**

One of the earliest examples of a media-hyped public criminal trial revolved around the Hauptmann case in 1935.  Charles Jr. had been abducted from his crib in March of 1932. Next to the infant's bed, the Lindberghs found a ransom note, and although the money was delivered, the baby was discovered dead two months later. Eventually, the police connected other ransom notes that were similar to the one

found at the Lindbergh crime scene to Bruno Hauptmann, who was then charged and put on trial. The press and the 2,700 residents of the rural New Jersey town of Flemington continuously followed the proceedings. Nearly 700 reporters chronicled Hauptmann's case, transmitting "over one million words a day […] over 45 internationally connected telegraph, telephone, and teletype wires" (Barber 4). On February 13, 1935, Bruno Hauptmann was found guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced to death. Although he continued to proclaim his innocence and appealed the verdict, he was electrocuted on April 3.

The public handling of Hauptmann's trial alluded to a rising interest in celebrity in American society as well as the potential damage excessive media coverage could cause in absentia of a proper code of conduct in the judiciary. According to Kelly Wolf, "the press hindered the investigation more than it helped. Reporters arrived at the crime scene shortly after police and tramped through the estate, possibly destroying vital evidence" (Wolf 165). Numerous instances during the trial indicated that the defendant was neither granted due process nor presumed innocent until proven guilty, which constitute sacred principles in the American justice system. Hauptmann was called "an animal" (Barber 5) and "Public Enemy No. 1 of the world" (5) by both the prosecution and the press. Inside the courtroom, "[p]eople stood on tables, in the aisles, at the back of the courtroom, and in the entrance to the courtroom gallery; they leaned against walls, perched on window sills, craned over balcony rails, and peered through doorways" (6). Although cameras were banned during sessions, numerous reporters succeeded in bypassing the supervisory measures, and various photographs of the procedures were printed in the next edition of different newspapers. Additionally, clips from the trial were shown at theaters to satisfy people's need for sensational news concerning the Hauptmann trial (Wolf 165).The situation outside the courtroom was no less disorganized as it was "bustled with vendors and tourists" (165). As Kelly Wolf reports, "[l]ocal restaurants got in on the action by touting food specials named after important figures in the case […]. Crowds on the street could be heard inside the courtroom shouting their beliefs that Hauptmann was guilty and deserved the death penalty" (165).

The disordered experience of the Bruno Hauptmann trial led officials to reconsider their position on cameras in the judicial branch.The American Bar Association (ABA)<sup>1</sup> appointed a Special Committee on Publicityin Criminal Trials that conducted an extensive analysis regarding the press coverage of the trial and ultimately recommended banning cameras from courtrooms in their final report (Barber 8). In addition, the ABA's Executive Committee established a panel composed of members of the bar and the press who were intended to "work out standards governing publicity

<sup>1 &</sup>quot;Founded in 1878, the ABA is committed to advancing the rule of law across the United States and beyond by providing practical resources for legal professionals, law school accreditation, model ethics codes and more." (https://www.americanbar.org/about\_the\_aba/)

in criminal trials" (Cohn and Dow 17) and who ultimately recommended the use of cameras with the approval of the judge and counsel (17). Despite their recommendations, however, courtroom photography and radio broadcasting were banned by the House of Delegates<sup>2</sup> in 1937. The new ruling read:

Proceedings in court should be conducted with fitting dignity and decorum. The taking of photographs in the courtroom, during sessions of the court or recesses between sessions, and the broadcasting of court proceedings, are calculated to detract from the essential dignity of the proceedings, degrade the court, and create misconception with respect thereto in the mind of the public, and should not be permitted. (Geis 419, *ABA Journal*)

In 1952, this ruling, Canon 35, was modified to specifically include television coverage of trial proceedings. In 1961, the ABA even went as far as condemning "the appearance of judges on courtroom programs, such as simulated courtroom broadcasts" (Barber 9).

Although the official position on cameras in courtrooms was clear, lower courts did not always strictly adhere to Canon 35. The 1950s marked a time when judges dared to experiment with electronic trial coverage, particularly in the states of Oklahoma, Kansas, and Texas. The first trial to ever be covered on television was Billy Eugene Manley's in Oklahoma City during December of 1953:

At that time, cameras from WKY-TV were housed in a specially-constructed booth, entirely enclosed, in the rear of the courtroom. Sound was recorded on a microphone hidden near the front of the court, while additional lighting was provided by photo-flood lights placed in the chandeliers. WKY-TV filmed the swearing in of the jury, some of the trial testimony and the sentencing of Manley. The films were later shown, after editing, during the news broadcasts. Judge A.P. Van Meter had a small button fastened to his desk which he could push at any time to discontinue automatically the operation of the cameras. (Geis 420)

While the first television coverage of a trial took place in Oklahoma City, it is assumed that the first live broadcast was initiated during the Harry L.Washburn prosecution in Waco, Texas, in 1955. Only a year later, in February 1956, Colorado set an extraordinary example by permanently allowing cameras in its courtrooms "with the provisions that: (a) final consent for coverage should rest with the trial judge and should be decided on a case by case basis; and (b) there could be no camera coverage of an objecting witness or juror" (Barber 12). This decision was met with criticism by the media. In a state hearing, media representatives argued that Canon 35 was unconstitutional because it restricted free speech and the people's right to information (12). After three weeks of consideration, Justice O. Otto Moore, who was initially

<sup>2</sup> The House of Delegates is the policy-making body of the ABA.

opposed to cameras in the courtroom, surprisingly changed his mind and recommended the adaptation of a new code of judicial conduct to the Colorado Supreme Court. Colorado Rule 35 was intended to replace the existing Canon 35.

The already slow-paced progress in the debate on news cameras came to a sudden halt with another high-profile case and the conviction of businessman Billie Sol Estes in 1965. Estes appealed the verdict, arguing that he had been deprived of a fair trial due to the extensive photographic and televisual coverage of his proceedings. Eventually, his case was handed to the Supreme Court, which "issued a five to four decision […] that froze debate over camerasin the courtroom formore than a decade" (Cohn and Dow 19).

On a federal level, the Federal Rule of Criminal Procedure 53, adopted in 1946, regulated court conduct and expressly prohibited "[t]he taking of photographs in the court room during the process of judicial proceedings or radio broadcasting of judicial proceedings from the court room" (Barber ix). The wording of this legal rule has since also been modified in acknowledgment of new technological developments and the entry of television into American households. Although the revised regulation permits exceptions, Rule 53 still reflects a mistrust of the federal courts towards the electronic media coverage of criminal trials and acknowledges the controversy surrounding the matter. In a prohibition issued in 1972, the Judicial Conference of the United States explicitly forbade the "broadcasting, televising, recording, or taking photographs in the courtroom and areas immediately adjacent thereto" (Administrative Office of the U.S. Courts).

Fundamentally, the question of electronic trial coverage in the US reflects a constitutional conflict between the press, the public, and the judiciary, or more specifically, between the First and Sixth Amendment of the United States Constitution. Media representatives often cite the First Amendment in their defense which guarantees freedom of the press and people's right toinformation.They consider the process of news reporting a civic duty that requires conclusiveinformation for accurateness. By opening legal proceedings up to the public, proponents of extended media access to trial procedures call television a "tool for social democracy" (Thaler, *Watchful Eye* xxii) and courtroom cameras an "ally of the judicial system" (xxi). Telelitigated trials reduce the public's misconceptions about the legal system and enable the autonomous assessment of the provided information. In this respect, courtroom cameras become an essential democratic tool by exposing executive authorities to public scrutiny (Barber 31).

Citing television's educational value gains further significance considering the preponderance of television in American society. According to the 2021 American Time Use Survey, commissioned by the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, Americans spend approximately three hours, which equates to more than half of their daily leisure time, watching television. On the contrary, social interactions take up less than 40 minutes per day. French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, who has dealt extensively with the influence of television on people and their culture, argues that "[t]elevision enjoys a de facto monopoly on what goes into the heads of a significant part of the population and what they think" (Bourdieu, *On Television* 18). Taking into account that television is today's "most common and constant learning environment" (13), cameras potentially enable viewers to "construct a clearer 'reality' of the American courts, which can only enhance and legitimize the processes of law and renew faith in the justice system" (Thaler, *Watchful Eye* xxii).

The lead prosecutor in the O.J. Simpson trial, Marcia Clark, used similar arguments to convince Judge Lance Ito of the benefits of the courtroom camera. During a hearing in November 1994,Clark expressed the opinion that it would allow the public to see the evidence as it really was and refute any rumors or speculations circulated by the tabloid media for dramatic effect. In an interview, she also stated: "Having the cameras in the courtroom allows everyone to see how a trial really proceeds, so then they see the actual evidence as it's being brought out, and that's a good thing" (*O.J: Made in America*, disc 2, 01:46:17). O.J. Simpson's defense team initially also believed that the presence of the camera would work in favor of their client and ensure that Simpson could safely return to his life after an acquittal, for the transparency of the courtroom camera would help restore his reputation should it be unjustly tainted (Hayslett 74). Similar claims to impartiality and transparency are substantiated on reality television in general by the provided immediacy of observation on screen, resulting from a presumed non-existence of scripts on the one hand and the usage of unobtrusive equipment on the other hand. By placing people "in contexts of comprehensivemonitoring"(Andrejevic 46), reality television promises glimpsesinto the truly authentic moments of the cast members since it is too challenging for them to continuously tailor their image for an invisible television audience (46).

A historical perspective on electronic trial coverage seems to support the camera's *raison d'être*in the legal sphere, considering telelitigation has always constituted an integral part of American culture alongside the broadcast of other dignified national ceremonies such as inaugurations and church services (Cohn and Dow 59). This could be attributed to the fact that court proceedings are ritualized and at a closer look, reflect the familiar structure of a sports game: the lawyers play (argue, present,manipulate) in their arena (the courtroom) until one side wins and the other loses, while the judge represents the referee who enforces the preexisting rules and determines whether both parties play fair.<sup>3</sup> In the Simpson case, for instance, Judge

<sup>3</sup> Similarly, Richard Schechner regards the performance process in a jury trial as a"performance quadrilogue," which occurs between four categories of players: sourcers(e.g., detectives), producers (judges, technicians, directors, etc.), performers, and partakers (spectators, fans, juries, the public, etc.). The sourcers gather evidence, which is assembled into two opposing narratives by the prosecution and the defense. The producers set the legal rules and framework for the trial. The performing parties are the judge, the prosecutor, the defense, and the witnesses (and, as I would argue, the defendant as well), who orchestrate the legal play in

Ito always opened the proceedings with the statement, "Back on the record in the Simpson matter," followed by a listing of the defendant and the present attorneys. According to Goffman, such "ceremonies of entrance" (Goffman, *Encounters* 7) are "signs acknowledging the initiation […] of the encounter or focused gathering as a unit" (18) and displays of what Schechner calls "restored behavior" (Schechner, *Performance Studies* 10); i.e., "repetition in heightened form" (Pollock 4). Consequently, Lance Ito "play[ed] a dual role in the trial process: first, as representative of the Law; second, and more significantly from the point of view of interactional dynamics, as controller and moderator of the talk produced by all the other participants" (Cotterill 93). As Cotterill elaborates, Ito was responsible for various types of address such as providing instructions to the jury or ruling on motions and objections.<sup>4</sup> Ito also "monitor[ed] and regulat[ed] the speed at which the trial narrative unfold[ed]" (45). He instructed counsel to "move on" or to "ask the next question" (Court Transcript, 19 July 1995) when the attorneys pursued an already resolved issue for too long:

Other times, Ito urged counsel to rephrase questions he deemed incongruous:

Judge Ito also had the power to place "a time limit on the lawyers in their arguments" (Court Transcript, 26 September 1995) and "upon each side a limit of no more than

front of the partakers. With regard to the witnesses, Schechner establishes five concentric circles: the jury, the families and friends of the accused and the victim(s), the press, ordinary spectators, and the public who follow the proceedings in the media or on television. The performance process, configured as a "Z-path" around the performance quadrilogue, intricately links and accentuates the relationship between performers and partakers (Schechner, *Performance Studies* 61–62).

<sup>4</sup> The proceedings were interrupted over 16,000 times over the nine-month trial (Cotterill 95).

two attorneys may argue to [the jury]" (Court Transcript, 26 September 1995), further setting the ground rules for Simpson's criminal trial. In *Film- und Fernsehanalyse* (2012), Knut Hickethier addresses the essential role of a moderator or host on television who becomes the face of a particular series and the mediating figure between the show and the audience:

Es sind also die […] Moderatoren, die zu den Fernsehstars werden, in denen sich ein Publikum wiedererkennt. Die Moderatoren[…] werden dadurch, dass sie durch ihre Moderation helfen, das Gezeigte einzuordnen, zu zentralen Instanzen der Weltvermittlung des Fernsehens. Vielen Zuschauern erscheint es oft, dass sie "die Sache selbst" seien.  Sie […] sorgen durch sprachliche Prägnanz, stilsicheres Auftreten und perfektes Outfit für eine Aura der Unangreifbarkeit. (Hickethier 179)

Hickethier also explains that "[a]ls Moderatoren organisieren sie einen Ausschnitt von Welt, in dem auf ihr Kommando alles hört, sie scheinen auch die Herren der Wünsche der Zuschauer zu sein" (179–180). Reality television personalities such as Ryan Seacrest and Simon Cowell, for instance, are both inextricably linked to the talent competition shows *American Idol* (2002-) and *America's Got Talent* (2006-). Star chef Gordon Ramsey and his oftentimes radical honesty in evaluating his contestants' kitchen talents is the figurehead of the popular cooking show *MasterChef* (2010-). In the German reality TV realm, the highly successful format *Who Wants to Be a Millionaire* (1999-) and its longtime host Günther Jauch seem to have become interchangeable names. *The Critics' Choice Television Awards* even honor the work of TV hosts by annually awarding a prize in the category "The Critics' Choice Television Award for Best Reality Host."

In the courtroom, apart from procedural sequences regulated by the judge, the layout and the position of furnishings and other objects such as the courtroom camera and computers add recognition value to the legal sessions. Yi-Fu Tuan notes that "[t]he scenery […] is an extension of and reflection of the distinctive […] personalities of the characters" (Tuan 241). Judge Ito's collection of hourglasses, for instance, which he visibly displayed on his desk, became such a familiar sight and an inextricable part of the courtroom scenery that the *Los Angeles Times* dedicated a lengthy article to the judge's peculiar table assortments:

It is widely known around the Criminal Courts Building that Ito alludes frequently to time—hence, the suspected reason for the four hourglasses, one little one stacked atop a big one and two medium-sized ones nearby. […] A well-documented fact […] is Ito's devotion to Peet's Coffee & Tea […]. The mug that's a fixture on Ito's bench comes from Peet's. It's the purple-on-white "Monkey, Dog,

Star" model and sells for \$6.95, Peet's President Sam Salkin said. (Abrahamson, *LA Times*, 26 January 1995)

With its focus on the seemingly trivial and case-independent aspects of the main participants, the media established a "ritual regularity" (Langer 356), through which it was able to sustain its structure of intimacy with the readers and audience and provide a figurative anchor of equilibrium. Duplantier reiterates that "the perceived realism of many reality TV shows is the endless recitation of the trivial and rote elements of consumer life" (Duplantier 36). The new kind of television experience that came with the breakthrough of the genre served monotony as "visual evidence of real life" (Hill, *Audiences* 59) and often "had little to do with conventional entertainment value—the 'entertainment' was seeing someone else do the banal things […], free of any dramatic arc" (36). In "The Triumph of Mass Idols," sociologist Leo Lowenthal cautions his readers not to underestimate "the important role of familiarity in all phenomena of mass culture" from which people "derive a great deal of satisfaction" (Lowenthal, *Literature and Mass Culture* 211). In this regard, watching the Simpson trial became a comforting routine of everyday life for the American people. Furthermore, Sara Gwenllian Jones accentuates that repetition and continuousness invite audiences to establish emotional connections to the program's main characters:

Television's seriality intensifies the audience's imaginative engagement with the cult text and, particularly with its characters. It effects an illusion of contamination and constancy which itself invites speculation; there is a sense in which the fictional lives of characters seem to carry on, unseen by camera or audience, between episodes. (Gwenllian Jones 11)

The fixed position of the courtroom camera further enhanced the feeling of familiarity with the surroundings. It was mounted on a side wall above and behind the jury box. From this angle, the television audience essentially perceived the proceedings from the jury's point of view.

Assuming, however, that it is solely the pursuit of familiarity and relatability that drives media outlets to cover the most benign aspects of a trial would be a misconception. According to Fox, Van Sickel, and Steiger, the underlying force in the pervasive coverage is ultimately of commercial nature (Fox, Van Sickel, and Steiger 12). Uninterrupted and continuous chronicle allows for episodic reports on subjects and issues and, thus, a steady stream of views in the attempt to "regularize the audience for television" (Schmid 140). As was observable in the Simpson case, legal proceedings can be prolonged formonths,and themethods of concretizing a verdict are usually rather tedious and bureaucratic, leaving recurring opportunities for the commercialization of criminal proceedings, which potentially undermine the dignity of the judicial process (Goldfarb xvii). This argument has been particularly supported by members of the American Bar Association. They fear that by televising trials to the nation, complex matters are reduced to entertainment material with maximum dramatic effect. Ultimately, "[p]roduction decisions to cut between ongoing trials, as well as the very selection of trials to be aired, are reflective of the network's sensitivity to luring audiences more accustomed to mid-afternoon soap operas than dense trial coverage" (Thaler, *Watchful Eye* 67), and the broadcast becomes nothing but "a mockery of justice" (Barber 40). In fact, Paul Thaler believes that "[t]he judicial process is one inherently adverse to the demands of the medium [television], and the camera's presence imposes a reordered environment that shifts existing power relationships" (Thaler, *Watchful Eye* 11).

Indeed, the potentially harmful impact of the courtroom camera on participants in and the public following a trial represents one of the most intensely debated aspects of electronic trial coverage and initially constituted a point of contention for the judge in the Simpson case as well. During a hearing on November 7, 1994, Judge Ito pointed out "the perils of television,including nervous witnesses, grandstanding lawyers and salacious sound bites" (Margolick, *NY Times,* 8 November 1994). Ito had received more than 15,000 letters urging him to ban cameras from the courtroom in order to avoid a furor which media networks artificially increased by setting up a \$1 million dollar media complex, called Camp OJ, outside the courthouse (Hunt 87).This camp consisted of numerous "trailers, satellite trucks, and microwave vans; [the media built] five-story-tall scaffolding for broadcast platforms; [and] laid eighty miles of fiber-optic cabling" (Hayslett 5). To the public, these actions implied that Simpson's trial was extraordinary, consequently raising interest in the proceedings and sensitizing people to any new developments in the matter.

To assert some degree of control over the trial coverage, Judge Ito ordered "a large courthouse media center for print and broadcast news organizations" (Hayslett 38) to be established, providing media representatives with two small offices for specific use. In one office, Court TV installed the television-signal-delay equipment, which Ito had ordered as a condition to let the TV camera enter his courtroom. It also served as the workplace for the staff member overlooking the set-up.The other office was occupied by the media's hired pool producer,Nina Goebert, who coordinated the camera shots (38).The courtroom camera itself was operated by a TV remote camera operator who used a video game-style joystick to remotely move the lens or zoom in and out while filming. Next to him, a sound operator adjusted tone settings on a mixer console. Both sat in the back of the courtroom on the juror's side, next to the evidence display operators. In front of them, a small monitor presented the footage the TV camera was filming. Judge Ito ordered a seven second delay of the broadcast feed, and a Court TV employee was assigned to monitor the signal and immediately press a so-called 'kill switch' to interrupt the transmission of the audio and/or video feed in case of transgressions.

Apart from agreeing to the installation of one TV camera, Lance Ito also granted the media's request to have a still camera take pictures during the proceedings, which "primarily served deadline news organizations" (76). Because of pooling arrangements, the camera was supposed to help reduce the number of press photographers inside the courtroom and therefore the overall level of noise. While remote-controlled TV cameras had been used in various areas of public life for years (e.g., surveillance), the still camera inside Ito's courtroom was an innovative technological device. Due to imposed photography restrictions, the print media were forced to find a "high-resolution, remote-controllable still camera model that could pan, zoom, and snap pictures" (11), which was then bolted to the wall next to the TV camera and equipped with a "soundproof box from pieces of an underwater camera housing and a used telephoto lens case" (Pool, *LA Times*, 30 December 1994) as well as an auto-focus zoom lens. Similar to the TV camera, the operator moved it with a joystick. "A finger-size video camera stuck to the rear of the boxed camera's viewfinders show[ed] the operator in the hallway what the camera [was] aiming at" (Pool, *LA Times*, 30 December 1994). Despite those modern technical features, which elevated the Simpson trial to the status of America's first technospectacle (Kellner 14), the pool photographer could only take a limited number of pictures. The still camera used a 36-exposure roll of film, and once it was full, the operator had to wait until court went into recess to change it.

While being restrictive in terms of camera setup, Judge Ito was accommodative towards the media by not following the State of California's recommendation of a two-camera limit and granting the press three additional camera positions:

One of the other positions arose from contentions that the deadline pool excluded commercial, so-called non deadline photo agencies. The other position went to an African American photographer who contended that the black-owned publications he represented needed shots with an African American perspective. Ito then allowed the deadline photographers to have an additional position after they complained that the wall-mounted camera didn't allow them the flexibility to get enough good shots. (Hayslett 76)

Apart from the cameras that served the press and the public, there was also a camera mounted on the ceiling of the courtroom, hidden inside a dark plastic bubble, which constantly scanned the surroundings for disobeying parties such as whispering reporters (Alexander 5).

The advanced technology used in the Simpson case was also reflected in the evidence-presentation system that was separated from the main broadcast feed of the proceedings (Hayslett 88). Much like the signal-delay operator, Judge Ito had a kill switch on his bench to immediately interrupt the broadcast of the trial and/or the evidence feed, and he did so every now and then, mostly out of consideration for the victims and their families. Gruesome crime-scene photos as well as autopsy photographs, for instance, were not televised to the public.

While such precautions in the legal sphere seem to relativize the intrusive character ofin-courtroom filming, critics believe that the very presence of a camera annihilates any authenticity because contestants or trial participants are likely still aware of its presence and adapt their behavior to appeal to the audience and other spectators. Scholars from different fields refer to this problem as "reactivity" (Shulman 21), wherein "just being watched alters behavior, as people change their naturally occurring actions, because they worry about other people judging them" (21). Richard Schechner even goes a step further and beyond the presence of cameras. He argues that "[b]ecause rituals take place in special often sequestered places, the very act of entering the sacred space has an impact on participants" (Schechner, *Performance Studies*150). It might be concluded from this that simply by partaking in the Simpson trial,i.e., by entering the courtroom, all participants were transported "to a different place mentally and emotionally" (72). In *The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life*, Erving Goffman speaks of "social establishments" (Goffman, *Presentation of Self* 238) to describe places such as courtrooms, where physical seclusion additionally regulates the activities happening inside:

Within the walls of a social establishment we find a team of performers who cooperate to present an audience a given definition of the situation. This will include the conception of own team and of audience and assumptions considering the ethos that is to be maintained by rules of politeness and decorum. We often find a division into back region, where the performance of a routine is prepared, and front region, where the performance is presented. Access to these regions is controlled in order to prevent the audience from seeing backstage and to prevent outsiders from coming into a performance that is not addressed to them. (238)

Upon closer inspection, camera footage of O.J. Simpson's proceedings reveals that many trial participants demonstrated on numerous occasions that their behavior in the courtroom was influenced by the knowledge that millions of Americans were watching them live on television, despite Judge Ito's insistence on the most technologically advanced and unobtrusive cameras for filming. In the Academy Awardwinning documentary *O.J. Simpson: Made in America* (2016), Marcia Clark claims that O.J. Simpson in particular was aware of his own and the presence of the camera in the courtroom. She states: "[Simpson] knew when the camera was on him in that courtroom. And he would […] have a really benign expression. And when the camera moved away from him, the face fell" (*O.J.: Made in America*, disc 2, 1:47:20-1:47:30). Clark's statement is exemplified by a scene from the courtroom, in which Simpson seems to indeed adjust his facial expressions upon noticing the movement of the courtroom camera. Another example from the proceedings on April 12 seems to corroborate the prosecutor's observations. As the camera moves towards and zooms in on the athlete's face, Simpson's gaze is drawn to the lens for a few seconds and he assumes a straightened posture ("OJ Simpson Trial – April 12th, 1995 – Part 1, 25:12:23). Schechner claims that "[t]he more self-conscious a person is, the more one constructs behavior for those watching and/or listening, the more such behavior is 'performing'" (Schechner, *Performance Studies* 77). He asserts that the pressure to perform at all times stems from increasing media coverage and panoptic surveillance systems (77), arguing that "[t]he always-open lens adds a disturbing sense not only of being watched but of requiring us to be always 'on,' to play for the cameras knowing that our performances are being studied by people we do not know and whom we have not given permission to look" (77).

O.J. Simpson's defense attorney Robert Shapiro also involuntarily provided numerous examples of reactivity.During a court session on June 15, forinstance, he was captured repeatedly looking directly into the lens of the camera for several seconds at a time ("OJ Simpson Trial – June 15th, 1995 – Part 2," 3:58-4:04). Johnnie Cochran was likewise aware of being filmed and tried to use the courtroom camera's presence to his client's advantage. He often relied on passionate speeches and physical demonstrations to leave an impression on both the jury and the television viewers. Most notably, he put on black leather gloves and a knit cap during his closing argument in September 1995 that were similar to the clothing the murderer had worn during the killings on June 12, 1994, to maximize emotive impact.

Taking all these elements into account, Fox, Van Sickel, and Steiger discount the didactic function of "tabloid justice cases" (Fox, Van Sickel, and Steiger 28) with the argument that "[t]he public becomes very knowledgeable about irregular legal proceedings, and particularly about the personalities involved, but learns little about broader issues and trends in the legal system" (88). In addition, they believe, media reports tend to focus on the shortcomings of the American justice system instead of its strengths, thereby weakening the public trust levels in its judiciary (139). Bordo supports Fox, Van Sickel, and Steiger in their assessment and questions the motives behind the media's pervasiveness in requesting full access to legal proceedings. She asserts: "Ours is an 'infomercial' culture in which the desire to sell products and stories continually tries to pass itself off as 'helping' and 'informing' the public, satisfying their 'rights to know' (Bordo 12). The media scholar and cultural critic worries "about the long-term consequences of all these competing versions of 'history' being manufactured out of the machinery of consumerism" (14). The consequent "infinite interpretability of texts" (87), she continues, works to the detriment of social justice and most importantly, defendants whose right to a fair trial by an impartial jury of their peers might be jeopardized in favor of press privileges. While the Sixth Amendment to the United States Constitution, guaranteeing just and public prosecution, initially served as an additional safeguard against the despotism of autocratic judges, the rule seemingly no longer works in favor of, but is used to publicly humiliate and psychologically torture, a defendant, who "is typically cast as an unsympathetic and culpable figure" (Thaler, *Watchful Eye* 10) by a society that leans toward convictions and condemnation (14). Consequently, perhaps the most pressing

question that arises out of this observation is, whether a defendant can genuinely be granted due process when cameras are present, and their face is disseminated in the media. Re-integration into a community might become a difficult, if not impossible, undertaking, particularly when the defendant has no distinguished career or financial resources to rely on. Even O.J. Simpson, who succeeded to uphold his positive public image to a large degree, lost numerous lucrative contracts despite his acquittal.

Often overlooked, yet equally noteworthy, is the impact of the telelitigated trial on the memory of murder victims who are defenselessly exposed to public judgment and humiliation due to the constant presence of the courtroom camera.Denise Brown, for instance, was forced to testify on behalf of her sister and publicly recount the dehumanizing treatment Nicole Brown Simpson had voluntarily endured from O.J. Simpson:

While Denise Brown's account implicates the defendant, it simultaneously taints her sister's character who seemingly endured her husband's conduct unquestioned. Fundamentally, Denise's exposition serves as one of numerous examples that obviate the prevalence of narratives of shame on reality programs, which present "humiliation as a form of entertainment" (Christian 61). Erving Goffman explains that embarrassment arises when one's projected self is threatened to be dismantled through the revelation of uncomfortable information during a particular social occasion or performance that can be publicly witnessed by others (Goffman, "Embarrassment and Social Organization" 266). On reality television, so-called confessionals constitute a popular and widely replicated segment, whereby contestants reflect on past or present events, oftentimes revealing highly personal information about themselves to captivate the audience (Duplantier 38). In the Simpson case, the confessional element was introduced by the story of Ronald Shipp, whose testimony distinctly demonstrates this principle at work. Shipp was a former LAPD officer and

one of Simpson's longtime friends, who had greatly benefited from his friendship with the athlete for many years. During the murder trial, however, he was called to the witness stand to testify against O.J. Simpson. In February 1995, Shipp stated that, shortly after the murders, Simpson admitted to having dreams about killing his ex-wife. The retired officer also disclosed that Nicole Brown Simpson had contacted him for advice after the New Year's Eve beating in 1989 and shown him the photographs of her bruised face and body.

Defense attorney Carl Douglas led Ronald Shipp's cross-examination with the initial goal of establishing that the witness had withheld information and lied in prior interviews. Although publicly faced with his shortcomings, Shipp readily acknowledged his mistakes. Thus, as the questioning continued, Douglas' approach became more aggressive in an attempt to humiliate the witness. At first, the attorney insinuated that Shipp, similar to Brian "Kato" Kaelin, was a failed actor and "by being the witness who has a conversation with Mr. Simpson, […] is going to possibly enhance [his] profile around the world" (Court Transcript, 1 February 1995).<sup>5</sup> When his provocation failed to unsettle the witness, Douglas claimed that Shipp was not really the close friend to Simpson he affirmed to be:

<sup>5</sup> For the purpose of readability and authenticity, I have refrained from correcting or highlighting the linguistic errors in the verbal statements made in court by the participants and are also reflected in the official court transcripts.

*I ran license plates. That's what I was. I mean, like I said, I loved the guy. (Court Transcript, 1 February 1995)*

Carl Douglas succeeded in establishing that there had never been a close link between Shipp and Simpson, forcing the witness to admit in open court that he was essentiallymerely "one of [the athlete's] servants"(Court Transcript, 1 February 1995), who had been captivated by Simpson's fame. As the former LAPD officer continued to agree with Douglas, Simpson's defense team reverted to exposing Shipp's struggles with alcohol:

Immediately after Shipp's response, Carl Douglas stopped his cross-examination and asked for a recess, thereby leaving the jury and audience with the decontextualized information about the witness' alcoholism. The following day, on February 2, Douglas continued the narrative of shame by exposing Shipp's adultery with a woman who resembled the female victim, Nicole Brown Simpson:

With a few simple, yet sensitive, questions, Carl Douglas denounced Shipp's character in court. Not only was the latter forced to admit his submissive role in the friendship with the defendant, but the public also learned about Shipp's alcohol addiction and adultery as the defense attorney painted a vivid picture of the scene of infidelity: it happened "in the dark" while alcohol was flowing in abundance. Moreover, Douglas made a point to describe the mistress as "a blond" to imply that she was Caucasian, like the murder victim, while Shipp was African American.  If Simpson had been such a horrible person and friend over the years, and Shipp continued taking advantage of the player's material success, the former LAPD officer was not the honest and God-fearing person he professed to be in court.

Outside the courtroom, talent shows such as *American Idol* or *America's Got Talent* can be considered forms of "humiliation TV" (Hill, *Restyling* 197). Both formats feature bloopers or outtakes of failed auditions, during which the candidates fall short of the expectations associated with a talent show. The long-running success of the reality format *America's Funniest Home Videos* (1989-), where viewers are encouraged to send in their own home videos with comedic moments and mishaps, further indicates that audiences enjoy seeing other people's failures and embarrassments.

Two notable out-of-studio-examples for the protruding success of humiliation narratives are the reality shows *Cops* (1989-) and *Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew* (2008–2012). On the law-and-order format *Cops*, the audience weekly accompany police officers as they patrol American neighborhoods and highways. There is no narrator per se, rather, the policemen speak to their audience directly. Similar to the Simpson story, there are car chases, arrests, and examples of how deep people can fall when their lives spin out of control. In all cases, the police officers embody the heroes who "present themselves in the most cleaned-up, wholesome of terms" (Rapping 57), whereas the perpetrators are portrayed "as brutish, irrational, and inherently incapable of understanding or abiding by any legal code" (58). It is noteworthy that the seemingly irrational criminals captured and subdued in the series are oftentimes African American men: "Unkempt, often barely clothed and surrounded by filth and chaos, [they are] allowed to gyrate and gesticulate as the cops show saintlike restraint and patience" (64) and the camera records the breakdown. According to John Fiske,

[t]his figure of the Black male out of control is a cultural nightmare for whites that has played a central role in all the racial media events of the nineties. Its resonance and its terror are so deep because of the symbolic and social connections between the individual body of the Black male and the social body of Black America. (Fiske 257)