First off, let’s get one thing out of the way. Chris Darden and Marcia Clark did actually go to Oakland together. It certainly feels too good to be true. The star-crossed lovers from different sides of the tracks, the Romeo and Juliet of the legal profession. It’s all very Hollywood, but it happened.
Both Darden and Clark spoke of their intimate relationship in their memoirs. Whether or not the road trip to the Bay Area created a rift between them, as dramatized in episode seven of The People v OJ Simpson, is up for speculation. As with most elements of the Trial of the Century, easy answers are not available. The two people who would know the full extent of Darden and Clark’s relationship aren’t revealing anything, even over 20 years later.
What is clear is the cataclysmic effect the bloody glove gambit had on the prosecution’s case. Without the hail mary from Darden, there would be no “If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit” closing argument. There would be no physical evidence pointing to OJ’s potential innocence. The biggest seed of doubt was planted in the jury’s mind in that moment. For Clark and Darden, there was no going back.
As we near the end of the series, the narrative is speeding up. The plot is moving ever closer to the verdict that would divide a nation, one that District Attorney Gil Garcetti tells Robert Shapiro could consume a vulnerable Los Angeles still recovering from the Rodney King riots. As such, writer DV DeVincentis and director Anthony Hemingway manufacture moments that nod to and foreshadow the destination most viewers know lies ahead. Darden’s belief that the glove stunt is a smoking gun, and his irrational certainty that it not fitting doesn’t matter to the jury, is played like a subtle horror movie. Combine that with Robert Kardashian’s wavering faith in his best friend as he searches a garment bag for the murder weapon and last night’s episode resembles a deliberately paced tragedy, a car accident in slow motion. “The gloves are our conviction” might be the saddest quote from the whole series. Besides the stellar performances and the witty dialogue (I still get a kick out of the single illicit utterance of the word “fuck” on basic cable) part of the thrill of this show comes from knowing more than the characters. I catch myself audibly groaning or barking at the screen in frustration whenever the prosecution trips over its good intentions. Hindsight and all that.
Cuba Gooding Jr and John Travolta remain nagging frustrations though. I’m still not sure if I’m supposed to laugh when OJ compares his trial to a football game. When OJ says “put me in coach” while trying to convince his team to let him try on the glove in court, I chuckle at the absurdity of it all. The last few episodes have been light on the camp factor that made the early ones so fun. Even Travolta as Robert Shapiro has grounded his performance. But OJ doesn’t click. Gooding threatening Shapiro over his self-serving behavior never lands as intended. There’s nothing intimidating about the performance – no gravity, no menace. Gooding’s OJ is an apparition, a wispy spirit of a man. I can’t imagine his petulance inspiring the level of loyalty that only now is starting to crack in Robert Kardashian.
This show is, among other things, about the limits of belief and the testing of faith. How does one frame a situation to create a truth? Alan Dershowitz attempts to educate his students at Harvard on the necessity of storytelling in the law. The OJ trial is a masterclass in the power of perception and the effectiveness of manipulation. In order to convince men of conscience like Robert Kardashian to overlook years of domestic violence, the real OJ Simpson had to know how to devastate people with charm. The perception of OJ as a good man outweighed the truth. Every day, we see how Donald Trump uses the perception of strength to dupe voters into believing he’s at all qualified to run a country. Human beings are susceptible to the power of a seductive image.
Conversely, we can also be swayed by aesthetics we find unpleasant. Marcia Clark, on her third hairstyle of the trial, tells Gil Garcetti, “Please don’t mention my hair again. Ever.” Her hair, her clothes, and her demeanor alienated the public and made her job much harder. It’s the surface of things that people often find hard to get past. She was seen as a shrew and would always be that. In last night’s episode, the idea of a romance between her and Darden was strong enough that when it blew up in her face, the rejection stuck. It’s not easy to shake a first impression, or even a second or third. It’s what allowed OJ to be seen as everything but an abuser and for the LAPD to be cast as villains, even if Clark could drunkenly poke holes in the conspiracy theory defence.
A mind made up is a closed system and not much can be done to change it. It’s a blow to the self-esteem to even consider being wrong. It’s what keeps so many in America ideologically rigid and incapable of introspection in the face of a crumbling political system. Who wants to say that they are fallible, to own up to a mistake, to show weakness? The sting of the truth isn’t liberating, as Clark and Kardashian discovered in this episode, it’s actually a prison.
