First Week

Not as strong as the pilot, but the team behind The Good Wife has another compelling drama with this spin off.

They picked a case that is easy for viewers to follow, but complex in its elements as well. And them losing is exactly the kind of thing these producers will give us that other legal dramas won't.

They have me hooked. Keep up the good work.

In the second episode of 'The Good Fight,' the show introduces a case that seemed poised to deliver a scathing critique of the privatization of punitive power. The plot centers around the so-called 'Friedman Method,' a fictional variant of the notorious Reid technique-widely condemned for eliciting false confessions through psychological manipulation and coercive pressure. Up to this point, all signs pointed toward a powerful commentary on the excesses of law enforcement in the United States.

But the true anomaly-one far more serious-lies elsewhere: the interrogator is not a police officer. He is just "Benji Diyardian, from BMI's loss-prevention department." BMI's lawyer claims Benji is "trained in police methods," but this is legally irrelevant. Training doesn't grant state authority; a civilian doesn't acquire police powers by learning interrogation techniques. It's like saying some TikTok influencers can issue traffic tickets because they know the traffic laws.

Astonishingly, this fact is never problematized. Maya, the young attorney representing the interrogation's victim, asks sharp questions and challenges the procedure. Yet, she appears genuinely shocked that the police are legally permitted to lie-an implausible reaction from a trained jurist. One need only recall 'Frazier v. Cupp' (1969), the Supreme Court precedent that upholds the use of lies and certain forms of deception by state agents during an interrogation.

So, inventing evidence, witnesses, or entire scenarios can be perfectly legal... as long as you're a police officer. Any regular viewer of procedural dramas knows this. The slapstick scenario in which a seemingly gullible suspect is duped into believing that a Xerox machine is a lie detector is not merely a TV trope-it's drawn from real-life practices. David Simon, in his series 'The Wire' and 'Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets,' portrays the use of such deceptive techniques. Before becoming a showrunner, Simon worked as a police reporter for 'The Baltimore Sun', and in his nonfiction book 'Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets', he meticulously documented various interrogation methods that border on the absurd. These are well-known tactics-designed to instill a false sense of certainty-in order to wear down a suspect's psychological defenses. Their legal basis lies in the fact that they are used by agents of the state.

But Maya never articulates the critical point: the interrogator in this case is a private citizen. Benji carries no badge, represents no public authority, and acts without delegated power. There is no legal justification-no statutory cover-for detaining, isolating, and psychologically tormenting a person for seven hours. What, in the hands of a state detective, fits within the contours of legality becomes-when done by a civilian-plainly criminal: unlawful detention, coercion, possibly even kidnapping. This is not an opinion; it is elementary criminal law.

Since Miranda v. Arizona (1966), it has been mandatory to protect suspects' rights under the Fifth Amendment (protection against self-incrimination) and the Sixth (right to counsel). While private citizens are not bound to Mirandize suspects, neither are they permitted to assume the roles of police officers. When a civilian performs the functions of prosecutor, judge, and cop-exerting pressure with tangible consequences (a confession, a financial penalty)-what we witness is the usurpation of public functions. That is, without any ambiguity, a crime.

And no, the suspect's "consent" to participate does not legitimize the act. Any agreement signed under extreme pressure-especially during an extended interrogation designed to induce guilt-is legally void. Psychological coercion nullifies consent. Constitutional rights cannot be waived under duress.

Thus, the confession extracted in such a setting would be inadmissible in court on two foundational grounds: 1. Tainted source: It was obtained by a civilian lacking lawful authority. Any evidence derived from an illegal act is excluded under the "fruit of the poisonous tree" doctrine (Wong Sun v. United States, 1963).

2. Involuntariness: The confession was secured through severe psychological pressure, without legal safeguards, rendering it invalid under Colorado v. Connelly (1986).

The Reid method-or its fictional counterpart, the Friedman method-is crafted for use by state agents who operate under the (questionable) cover of 'Frazier' precedent. No legal doctrine extends such protection to civilians. The episode had all the elements for a clear-cut legal victory-not due to the brutality of the technique, but because it was implemented entirely outside the bounds of legality.

Can a company act as prosecutor and judge? Yes, but with very narrow limits. Firing someone based on suspicion of theft is legal (the U. S. is an at-will employment country). Demanding financial compensation can be done through a voluntary agreement or a court judgment. But threatening to fire someone to force a payment is extortion.

Real-life example: Walmart has Asset Protection teams that detain suspected employees for up to 2-3 hours in a legal gray area ('Fischer v. Walmart,' 2019). What's illegal in the series: The duration (7 hours) and the use of Friedman/Reid techniques, which transform the detention into psychological torture. Yes, it's true that companies sometimes exploit legal loopholes to terrorize employees, especially in low-wage sectors. But I can't understand how they can treat Benji as if he had the right to kidnap for 7 hours and coerce.

The narrative irony is painful: Maya is scandalized by the fact that the police can lie (a legal, if unsettling, reality), yet remains unmoved by a civilian employing coercion without any legal authority (a clearly illegal act). Is it possible that despite the amount of US legal theory I know, something escapes me because of the distance (I live in Spain/Europe)? But if it escapes me, the series also fails to explain the origin of this normalcy in granting a civilian rights that even the police don't have (interrogating without Miranda rights and without a lawyer).

The series sets the episode at the beginning of Donald Trump's first term, but the problem they aim to critique is therefore earlier and structural. We're talking about a system where punitive power is outsourced to private actors, creating a parallel state without constitutional checks. But the critique falters if a series usually superb for its legal aspects fails in this episode on basic legal principles. And if any American jurist can explain to me how such a blatant disregard for the constitutional framework can be waved away in the name of legal fiction, I would be sincerely grateful for the clarification.

In the scene in the jail between Maia and her father, it's all in the eyes. From the start of that sequence, every actor is concentrating on communicating with their eyes. And don't they just do that!