Separating Cinematic Drama from Real‑World Jury Consulting

By Noah Bolmer

Loosely based on the 1996 John Grisham novel of the same name, 2003’s Runaway Jury is an absolutely unhinged, unrealistic, and entertaining depiction of jury consultants. The title is a colloquial phrase referring to a jury which ignores court instructions, making decisions based on emotion, personal beliefs, or their own interpretation of the law.  

Jury Consultants 

Unlike most legal thrillers, Runaway Jury focuses on a less-often depicted member of the trial team, jury consultants. Attorneys engage jury consultants in high-stakes actions to help prepare the trial team, including expert witnesses, for interacting with, and understanding jurors. Jury research expert Dr. Ellen Leggett describes the creation of the role:  

We were offering the ability to see more clearly what the jury sees, thinks, feels, believes, and ultimately decides. We were going to use psychology and social science research to give credibility to what we reported about what jurors think, feel, and decide. We created the industry on the basis that social science has ways to look at what people might think about cases as jurors. [Then] we were going to inform lawyers so they could strategize better about how to communicate persuasively at trial and magnify what we consider to be just and right outcomes and decisions made by juries. They [could] use the information presented in the courtroom to make sound decisions as opposed to having what happens in the courtroom go over their head. [. . .] We wanted to be both advocates for jurors and provide strategic information for trial lawyers that would help them communicate more effectively. 

In recent years, jury consultants have been engaged in cases ranging from political corruption to celebrity prosecutions, reflecting how their expertise is now considered indispensable in certain high-stakes matters. They help attorneys craft voir dire questions, run mock trials, analyze juror demographics, and prepare witnesses to present complex testimony clearly. Many consultants come from backgrounds in psychology, communications, or social science, and they primarily assist with translating technical or emotionally charged material into narratives jurors can understand. In short, they are advisors who shape trial strategy through behavioral insight. 

The Plot 

Set in New Orleans, Runaway Jury follows a civil lawsuit against a major gun manufacturer after a workplace shooting. The plaintiff’s attorney, Wendell Rohr (Dustin Hoffman), builds his case on principle and appeals to fairness, while the defense turns to Rankin Fitch (Gene Hackman in his penultimate role), a jury consultant whose methods are as aggressive as they are intrusive. Fitch commands a team that profiles jurors, digs into their private lives, and applies pressure to ensure a favorable verdict. He conducts his team from a massive Hollywood CIA-movie-style war room, with a team member assigned to the surveillance of each juror. The nearly inconsequential defense attorney, Durwood Cable (Bruce Davidson) does as Fitch says; no questions asked.  

Inside the jury box, Nicholas Easter (John Cusack) quickly distinguishes himself from the other jurors. His wit, charm, and unpredictability make him both a distraction and a potential threat to Fitch’s carefully orchestrated control. Outside the courtroom, Easter’s love interest Marlee (Rachel Weisz) operates with her own agenda, weaving a parallel game of blackmail that keeps both sides off balance. She claims she can sway the jury (through Easter) for the highest bidder. The trial itself becomes secondary to the hidden war over the jury. Rohr struggles to maintain integrity in the face of Fitch’s manipulations, while Easter and Marlee inject uncertainty. The film builds tension by showing how every juror’s background, bias, and vulnerability can be exploited, turning the courtroom into a stage for psychological warfare rather than legal argument. 

Voir Dire 

The film’s voir dire scene is one of its most theatrical moments. Fitch sits in a surveillance van with a team of operatives, feeding him real‑time intelligence from the defense attorney in the courtroom on prospective jurors using implausible James Bond-style undetectable surveillance specs—complete with audio. He treats jury selection like espionage, barking orders and making snap judgments based on dossiers compiled through illegal tactics. 

A few standout lines: 

• Fitch, dismissing a juror candidate: “She’s a cat lover; she’ll sympathize with victims. Strike her.” 

• Rohr, frustrated by Fitch’s manipulation: “This is supposed to be about fairness, not intimidation.” 

• Fitch, relishing control: “We don’t accept jurors, we own them.” 

Reality Check: Voir Dire 

The defense attorney’s role in funneling courtroom data to Fitch underscores the film’s exaggeration, turning voir dire into a high‑tech, adversarial spectacle. In actual practice, it looks very different; attorneys (and sometimes judges) ask prospective jurors about experiences, biases, and ability to be impartial. While there’s no external command center, lawyers may review public records or social media. Jury consultants advise on psychology and demographics, but they don’t run spy networks. Their input is analytical, not coercive. 

The Trial 

Once the jury is seated, the trial begins in earnest. Rohr presents the plaintiff’s case against the gun manufacturer, framing it around accountability and the human cost of corporate negligence. His courtroom style is measured and principled, appealing to fairness and responsibility. At one point he reminds the jury, “This case is about responsibility. About who must answer when lives are lost.” 

The defense counters with a polished presentation designed to deflect blame, but their real weapon is Fitch’s manipulation. While witnesses are examined and objections fly, Fitch’s team in the surveillance van continues to monitor jurors, feeding him updates through the defense attorney’s specs. Every reaction in the jury box is tracked, every hesitation noted, and every vulnerability exploited. Fitch makes it clear to his team, “We don’t argue the law—we control the jury.” 

Inside the courtroom, Nicholas Easter begins to stand out. His behavior as a juror—sometimes playful, sometimes probing—draws attention and subtly shifts the dynamics of how testimony is received. Rohr notices the disruption, muttering under his breath, “He’s not like the others.” Meanwhile, Marlee’s maneuvers outside the courtroom suggest that she and Easter are orchestrating something larger, adding tension to every witness examination and objection. The trial itself becomes a backdrop for the larger theme: the struggle over who truly controls the jury. The legal arguments are presented, but the film’s energy lies in showing how those arguments are filtered through jurors whose independence is constantly under siege. 

Reality Check: Trials 

In practice, trials hinge on the strength of evidence and the clarity of witness testimony, not on consultants pulling strings mid‑proceeding. Attorneys may adjust strategy based on juror reactions, but those reactions are observed in open court, not harvested through secret feeds. The real challenge lies in presenting complex arguments in a way jurors can grasp, and that’s where consultants add value—helping shape themes, visuals, and expert testimony so the case resonates. The film’s courtroom scenes exaggerate the consultant’s reach, but in reality their influence is indirect, advisory, and always secondary to the facts and law argued before the jury. 

Jury Deliberations 

Once the case is handed to the jury, the film pivots to the closed‑door discussions that decide the verdict. Easter quickly becomes the most vocal presence, steering conversations and reframing arguments. At one point he quips, “We’re not here to rubber‑stamp anything. Let’s talk about what really matters,” a line that unsettles Fitch’s carefully laid plans. 

The deliberations are portrayed as a psychological chess match. Jurors argue, hesitate, and reveal personal biases. One juror snaps, “We’re supposed to follow the law, not our feelings,” while another counters, “But how can you ignore what happened to those people?” These exchanges highlight the real-life tension between reasoning and human emotion. Easter injects humor and sharp observations that shift the tone, keeping the group off balance. 

Outside the jury room, Marlee continues her maneuvering. Fitch, frustrated by the unpredictability, growls to his team, “He’s turning them. I want control back.” The film uses this interplay to heighten suspense, showing deliberations as vulnerable to manipulation and outside pressure rather than insulated and confidential. 

Reality Check: Jury Deliberations 

In actual practice, jury deliberations are strictly confidential. Once jurors enter the deliberation room, no attorney, consultant, or outside party has access to their discussions. Consultants cannot monitor or influence deliberations; their role has ended at this point. Jurors are instructed to base their decision solely on the evidence and testimony presented in court. While group dynamics and personal biases inevitably shape outcomes, the kind of external manipulation depicted in Runaway Jury is pure Hollywood invention. 

Resolution and Verdict 

As deliberations reach their climax, the film heightens the tension between Rohr’s integrity and Fitch’s obsession with control. Easter’s influence inside the jury room becomes decisive, reframing the group’s discussions and pushing them toward a conclusion that neither attorney can fully predict. Marlee’s parallel maneuvers outside the courtroom converge with Easter’s actions, revealing that their strategy has been building toward this moment all along. Although Fitch ultimately pays Marlee, the “buying the jury” scheme has been a ruse, both are shown to have compelling personal reasons to push for a guilty verdict, and they walk away with the money, ostensibly to right an earlier wrong involving the same parties. 

The verdict is presented as the culmination of competing forces: Rohr’s appeal to fairness, Fitch’s manipulative machinery, and the jurors’ own struggle to reconcile law with conscience. The film underscores that the jury, not the lawyers or consultants, ultimately holds the power, even if that power has been contested at every turn. 

Reality Check: Verdicts 

In real trials, verdicts emerge from jurors weighing evidence and testimony under strict instructions from the judge. Consultants and attorneys have no role once deliberations begin, and outside parties cannot shape the outcome. While group dynamics and persuasive personalities can influence how jurors reach consensus, the kind of orchestrated manipulation depicted in Runaway Jury—where hidden agendas and external maneuvers drive the verdict—is a cinematic exaggeration. The reality is far less dramatic: verdicts are the product of confidential deliberation, guided by law and evidence, not by consultants claiming control. 

What the Film Got Right 

For all its cloak‑and‑dagger exaggeration, Runaway Jury does capture some truths about how jury consultants operate in high‑stakes cases. The film is correct in showing that attorneys often rely on consultants to study juror behavior, anticipate biases, and advise on strategy. It also highlights thatjurors are not blank slates—personal experiences and attitudes toward corporations can shape how they weigh testimony. 

The movie’s voir dire is fantastical, but its depiction as a critical battleground is accurate, complete with a portrayal of peremptory and causal challenges. While Fitch’s surveillance van is pure Hollywood, the underlying point, that jury selection can decide the fate of a case before opening statements, rings true. Consultants really do help attorneys frame questions to uncover hidden biases and guide challenges. 

Finally, the film highlights the tension between principle and persuasion. Rohr’s insistence on fairness versus Fitch’s obsession with control dramatizes the real dynamic where trials are ultimately about how narratives resonate with jurors. Consultants exist precisely to help attorneys understand that human dimension, often by noticing when a juror’s words and body language don’t line up—cues that belie their true leanings, even if they don’t directly affect how evidence is interpreted. 

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