When the Courtroom Becomes a Pulpit 

By Noah Bolmer

With absolutely no fear of being mistaken for the 1960 original, the 1999 television adaptation of Inherit the Wind dramatizes the Scopes “Monkey” Trial, a 1925 Dayton, Tennessee case, where teacher John Scopes was prosecuted for teaching evolution in violation of the Butler Act, enacted that same year. The original play by Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee, written in 1955, used the trial as a metaphor for McCarthy-era suppression of intellectual freedom. This version, starring Jack Lemmon and George C. Scott, attempts a more literal retelling. While the ideological themes remain visible, the film’s courtroom scenes often drift into theatrical indulgence, especially when it comes to the portrayal of expert testimony. 

The most conspicuous breakdown occurs when defense attorney Henry Drummond (Jack Lemmon) calls prosecuting attorney Matthew Harrison Brady (George C. Scott) to the stand as an expert on the Bible. The moment is framed as a strategic countermove after Drummond’s scientific witnesses are barred. What follows is a scene that abandons legal structure in favor of rhetorical spectacle. The courtroom becomes a stage for belief rather than a forum for evidence, and the film loses its grip on both realism and dramatic tension. 

Setting the Stage 

The trial centers on Bertram Cates (Tom Everett Scott), a fictionalized version of Scopes, who is charged with violating a state law that forbids the teaching of evolution. Cates is defended by Henry Drummond, a seasoned attorney modeled after Clarence Darrow. Drummond is portrayed as principled and defiant; committed to the idea that the right to think is essential to liberty. Opposing him is Matthew Harrison Brady, a populist politician and three-time presidential candidate modeled after William Jennings Bryan. Brady arrives in town as a celebrated moral authority, invited by the community to prosecute Cates and reaffirm their religious values. 

The judge (David Wells) presides with barely a veneer of neutrality, and predictably sides with Brady’s camp. He rules that the validity of evolution is not on trial, only the legality of teaching it. This decision strips Drummond of his expert witnesses and leaves him without a factual defense. In response, he calls Brady to the stand as an expert on the Bible. The move is dramatic, but the execution is legally incoherent and narratively strained. 

The Scene 

Brady takes the stand as a biblical expert and Drummond begins by asking whether he believes the Bible should be taken literally. Brady says yes, and the courtroom settles into an approving quiet. The audience in attendance clearly has no idea what is coming. Drummond doesn’t challenge the answer directly. Instead, he begins to test its limits. 

He asks about biblical parables; If Adam and Eve were the first humans, and Cain was their son, where did his wife come from? Brady hesitates. He offers no textual explanation, only the assertion that “the Bible satisfies me.” Drummond moves on. He asks whether the days described in Genesis were literal twenty-four-hour periods. Brady insists they were. When pressed, he says, “I do not think about things I do not think about.” The line is meant to deflect, but it lands as a retreat. Drummond responds with a dry parry: “Do you ever think about things you do think about?” The courtroom laughs. The judge does not intervene other than with a few (anachronistic) gavel whacks. 

The exchange continues. Drummond asks whether a sea sponge can think. Brady answers, “If the Lord wishes a sponge to think, it thinks.” The line is delivered with conviction, but it reveals the fragility of the framework. Brady’s literalism cannot accommodate ambiguity, and Drummond’s questions are designed to expose that. The audience watches the unraveling. The courtroom has shifted from legal inquiry to public reckoning. 

Procedural norms fall away. Drummond begins to lecture. Brady responds with sermons. The judge, as ever, allows it. There is no effort to limit the scope of Brady’s testimony or to enforce the question-and-answer format. Attorneys are expected to ask questions when examining witnesses. They are not permitted to deliver speeches or editorialize during examination. Expert witnesses are held to the same standard—they respond to questions. They do not make speeches or offer unsolicited commentary. None of that structure is present here. 

The testimony is permitted to wander into grandiose speeches, irrelevant argumentation, and direct communication with the onlookers and jurors. There is no objection from opposing counsel, no instruction from the bench (other than, as before, the occasional fruitless gaveling), and no attempt to clarify what the jury is meant to take from the exchange. The courtroom borrows the language of legal procedure but does not apply it. The judge never performs his function as gatekeeper. In a real trial, that role would include enforcing relevance, limiting testimony to appropriate topics, and striking responses that drift into advocacy. Here, the testimony is allowed to unfold without any scrutiny. The scene succeeds as drama, but it fails as expert examination. 

Aftermath 

The jury convicts Cates and recommends a fine which the judge sets at one hundred dollars (close to $2000 in 2025 dollars). Drummond objects to preserve the right to appeal. The courtroom empties. Brady, sidelined and ignored, begins to read his prepared closing statement. He collapses mid-sentence and is carried out. A reporter who had been following the case closely mocks Brady’s legacy. Drummond pushes back. He defends Brady’s sincerity, even while rejecting his rigidity. In the final scene, Drummond stands alone in the courtroom. He picks up Origin of Species, then the Bible, weighs them briefly, and places both in his briefcase.  

Analysis 

The film takes place in 1925, the same year as Scopes, and Tennessee had no formal evidentiary standard for expert testimony at the time. The Frye standard, established in 1923 by the D.C. Circuit, was beginning to influence courts across the country, requiring that scientific evidence be based upon principles that had gained general acceptance within the relevant expert community. Though later supplanted by Rule 702 in federal courts, Frye controls in some state jurisdictions even today. 

Brady is accepted as a biblical expert without objection. His method—literal interpretation of scripture—is culturally familiar and widely practiced. The court could reasonably take judicial notice of the Bible as a foundational text. The issue is not whether Brady’s views are mainstream. It is whether his testimony is structured in a way that meets the threshold for expert evidence. 

Under Frye, the court would need to establish that Brady’s interpretive framework is not only recognizable, but also applied in a way that assists the jury in resolving a material issue. That requires more than sincerity. It requires a clear connection between the expert’s method and the question at hand. The film does not show that connection. Brady’s answers are personal and theological. They do not clarify facts or offer analysis that could help the jury reach a verdict. 

The courtroom also fails to enforce the procedural boundaries that Frye presumes. Expert testimony must be limited to relevant topics, and follow a question-and-answer format. It must be subject to at least some minimal judicial oversight. None of that occurs. Drummond shifts from examination to performance, Brady pontificates, and the judge allows it. The testimony is permitted to unfold without structure or scrutiny. The Frye Standard is meant to protect the trial from turning into a forum for personal conviction. In this scene, that protection is missing. The courtroom borrows the form of expert testimony but abandons its function. The result is a dramatic exchange that carries no evidentiary weight. 

A Missed Opportunity 

The expert witness scene begins with procedural legitimacy but quickly abandons the standards that give testimony its weight. Brady is vetted, accepted, and given the floor, but what follows is pure fantasy. The courtroom permits belief to stand in for expertise, and the trial becomes a stage for rhetorical collapse. It gestures toward intellectual stakes but never engages them. The result is a portrayal that misrepresents the role of expertise and misses the opportunity to explore its true power. In a story built around the right to think, the courtroom forgets how to ask. 

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