4.2.12 WC: 191694 When I complained to my son, who had co-produced the film, that I don’t throw phones when I lose cases—even capital cases—my son responded: “Dad, you’ve got to get it through your head that the person on the screen isn’t you; it’s your character—‘the Dersh Character.’” He continued to assure me, in his best professional manner, that characters have to “establish themselves” early in the film, and that this “establishing scene” was intended to convey my energy and my passion for the rights of criminal defendants. “If we had several hours, we could have demonstrated your passion by recounting your involvement in many other cases, but we had about a minute; hence the smashed phone.” I wasn’t satisfied. “That scene doesn’t show passion,” I said. “It shows a temper tantrum.” My son tried to explain that a character in a film has to be shown with some faults early on in the film, so that he can “overcome” them. “I know you don’t lose your temper,” Elon assured me smilingly, “but the viewing audience has to see you grow.” Still, I didn’t like being portrayed as a person whose passions—manifested by occasional curses in addition to the smashed phone—are reserved exclusively for his professional life. My “girlfriend” in the film—a mostly fictional character played by Annabella Sciorra—complains loudly that my character has nothing left for the people around him, and my character seems to agree: “My clients are the people I care about.” Poor guy! I hope that’s not me, although I do have to acknowledge that people who know me only professionally assume that I have nothing left for those I love. But the fact is that I reserve a lot of love, loyalty and friendship for family and people close to me. I asked Ron Silver—who knows how important my family and friends are to me—how he felt playing me in way that he knew was something of a stereotype of the passionate lawyer for whom, Oliver Wendell Holmes’ said, “the law is a jealous mistress.” He responded: “I’m pla