Suits

For a long time Suits was that show Dave had on at night. Scheduled on the home of witty banter, I assumed it was a glossy American sitcom akin to Entourage. Last year the nation started to take note because its actress, Meghan Markle, was marrying our Prince, he wore a soldier beret, Prince Harry. Still, I didn't pay much attention to it until our friends told us to watch.

Initially, I was reluctant. We were told it was a legal-drama, not a sitcom. Having watched The Good Wife and its spin-off, The Good Fight, I didn’t know if I wanted to watch another courtroom procedural. Even though I’m a creature of habit in my daily life (bowl of muesli for breakfast, cheese roll for lunch, Wetherspoons approach to dinner: Monday is chilli night; Friday, burger in a bun) when it comes to culture, I like to vary my diet. I try and read different authors so I experience different styles, and try where possible to watch different genres so I don’t fall in with the lo-fi indie crowd that my personality is at risk of moping into.

I like to know where I am with my meals.

So I didn’t want to watch Suits. But I’m getting married soon, so I thought I should practise compromise. The Girl wanted to watch it, so I agreed. (That’s compromise, right?)

At first I wasn’t a fan. After the first few episodes, I compared it unfavourably with The Good Wife. I said it had shine, but it didn’t have soul. I claimed it had wit, but it lacked charm. It didn’t focus on women’s brains, but their butts. Now that I’ve watched the first season I think the case for the prosecution is unfounded; many of my arguments could be thrown out as prejudicial.

A lot of my opposition towards Suits is rooted in its Pilot episode. The précis for the show is this: Mike Ross is a gifted brainiac: he's Sherlock with social skills. Early on we see him taking a university paper; he’s in disguise, hidden by a baseball cap. The reason for this is that he sits exams on people’s behalf. A cerebral gigolo: he’s a brain for hire. Not only does he supply answers, his flatmate wants him to supply drugs. Mike is less sure about this, but money is a great persuader. On playing glorified delivery boy for his friend, he runs into trouble. To all extents and purposes, he’s been set up. His friend didn’t want to deliver the drugs himself because of the risk attached. The police are onto the crew and there’s a small chance that the hotel they’re delivering to might be watched. Fortunately, Mike has the street-smarts to go with the book-smarts: he senses something is wrong and runs for cover.

It's more Mad Men than Lad Men.

In fleeing the scene, Mike runs into the law. Or lawyers to be exact. A law firm who have booked a hotel suite for interviews. Harvey Specter, a hot-shot lawyer, is there to find his protégée. Unfortunately, all the Harvard graduates have the charisma of a legal textbook. Specter doesn’t just want theory; he wants confidence too. He hears the kid’s story, enjoys its tale, and only wishes he had the legal backstory to go with it. Although Mike admits he hasn’t go the sweatshirt, he’s Harvard material through and through. So the subterfuge begins: Mike Ross will work in a law firm despite having no legal qualifications to speak of. If the pair are rumbled, Specter will be disbarred, and Mike will be – well – he’d have to be barred to be disbarred; let’s just say his grandma will be disappointed with him. All in all then, Harvey’s got more to lose than Mike. Harvey though is a gambling man, so when it comes to risk he’s all in.

I think the concern I had about the show was that it would have a frat boy mentality. Mike and Harvey are incredibly bright, swapping barbs, ventriloquizing film scenes; whereas the women take a back seat. I’m not saying beautiful women can’t have deep characters; it’s just at first the camera seems to Vic Reeves them, sticking its tongue out, rubbing its knees, whenever one comes on screen. There’s Jessica, the head of the firm; Rachael, the paralegal, and Donna, Harvey’s secretary, who appear for decoration. For fans of The Good Fight, it’s a very different feel: there, women are front and centre, admired for their brains rather than their beauty; here, it feels the other way round. Over time though, this changes and you appreciate the writers are depicting strong, complex women where their looks don’t define them. In many ways it’s like Mad Men, showing a cross-section of women and the obstacles they face in a male-dominated world.

It's quite a disturbing GIF isn't it.

Another thing Suits has going for it is a love story. I wish I could say I made this next spot, but I didn’t. In the first episode, Mike Ross is shown around the office by paralegal, Rachel Zane (Meghan Markle). After watching the Pilot I turned to The Girl all smug and went, “I know why it’s called Suits. It’s wordplay, isn’t it? Suits is a derogatory term for corporate workers; it’s also what lawyers do: they administer legal suits.”

Unimpressed, she turned to me and went, “Have you thought about the names of the characters?”

I said, “No.”

She went, “Think about the surname of Mike and the first name of the Meghan Markle character.”

The penny dropped: “Ross and Rachel!”

“Exactly.”

It’s very much a Ross and Rachel relationship with the will-they, won’t-they turning into the on-off oscillation of love and heartache. Being a romantic I approve of this part of the show.

As I approach my concluding statement, I guess it falls on me to say, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you’ve heard arguments for the defence; you’ve heard arguments for the prosecution. Both arguments are compelling (after all, I wrote them). However, I think it’s clear to see that Suits is a legal-drama worth its salt. It’s fun, but wise. Smart, yet soulful. Beautiful and substantial. I rest my case.” (Swaggers back to table, knowing he’s nailed it.)

Suits is available on Netflix. (I’m available to defend and prosecute TV shows pro bono.)