Petrocelli (1974)
In the fall of 1974, as America grappled with the aftermath of Watergate and a crisis of faith in its institutions, NBC debuted a legal drama that would subtly challenge television conventions while exploring themes of justice, truth, and the American dream. Petrocelli, starring Barry Newman as Harvard-educated lawyer Tony Petrocelli, ran for just two seasons but left an indelible mark on the genre through its innovative storytelling and nuanced examination of the legal system's limitations.
At first glance, Petrocelli might have seemed like just another entry in television's long romance with courtroom drama. But beneath its procedural veneer lay a show that deftly subverted expectations while wrestling with questions about truth, perspective, and the nature of justice itself. Through its protagonist – an Italian-American lawyer who trades Boston's prestigious firms for a trailer in the Arizona desert – the series explored tensions between establishment power and outsider status, between urban and rural America, and between competing versions of truth.
The show's premise was deceptively simple: Tony Petrocelli, alongside his wife Maggie (Susan Howard) and investigator Pete Ritter (Albert Salmi), defends clients in the fictional town of San Remo, Arizona. But while other legal dramas of the era often dealt in moral absolutes, Petrocelli embraced ambiguity through its innovative use of multiple flashbacks showing different perspectives of the same events. This "Rashomon-like" approach to storytelling was revolutionary for network television of the 1970s, suggesting that truth itself was subjective and malleable.
The show's setting was equally significant. By placing its Harvard-educated protagonist in the Arizona desert, Petrocelli created a fascinating fish-out-of-water dynamic that served as a lens for examining class, education, and regional tensions in American society. Tony and Maggie's perpetually unfinished house – they live in a trailer on the construction site throughout the series – became a potent metaphor for the incomplete project of American justice and the eternal struggle to build something better.
What distinguished Petrocelli from its contemporaries was its sophisticated understanding of reasonable doubt. Unlike Perry Mason, where the protagonist inevitably exposed the real killer in dramatic courtroom revelations, Petrocelli's victories were often more nuanced. Tony didn't always prove his clients' innocence – instead, he cast doubt on the prosecution's narrative by offering plausible alternative explanations. This approach more accurately reflected the reality of criminal defense work while raising deeper questions about the nature of truth and justice.
The show's multiple-flashback structure wasn't merely a gimmick – it served as a powerful tool for exploring how perspective shapes reality. Each episode typically showed three versions of events: the prosecution's theory, the defendant's recollection, and finally, Petrocelli's reconstruction based on new evidence. These competing narratives highlighted how the same facts could support radically different interpretations, challenging viewers to question their own assumptions about truth and certainty.
Barry Newman's portrayal of Tony Petrocelli was crucial to the show's success. His character combined intellectual sophistication with street-smart pragmatism, Eastern education with Western sensibilities. Newman imbued the role with a complex humanity that avoided both the stuffiness of traditional legal drama protagonists and the crude stereotypes often applied to Italian-American characters on television. His Petrocelli was passionate but principled, clever but not cynical, and committed to justice while understanding its limitations.
The show's supporting characters were equally well-developed. Susan Howard's Maggie Petrocelli wasn't merely a lawyer's wife – she served as office manager, researcher, and equal partner in their shared enterprise. Albert Salmi's Pete Ritter brought authentic Western swagger to his role as investigator while avoiding cowboy clichés. Together, they formed a trio that represented different aspects of American society working in harmony toward justice.
Petrocelli's examination of the American legal system was particularly relevant in the post-Watergate era. The show aired at a time when public trust in institutions was at a historic low, and its portrayal of a lawyer working outside the establishment resonated with audiences. Tony's choice to practice in San Remo rather than Boston's prestigious firms reflected a broader questioning of traditional power structures and institutions.
The series also demonstrated remarkable prescience in its treatment of social issues. Episodes dealt with themes like corporate malfeasance, domestic violence, and environmental degradation – topics that remain relevant today. Yet it handled these issues with nuance rather than preaching, allowing viewers to draw their own conclusions from the complex situations presented.
Perhaps most significantly, Petrocelli offered a unique vision of justice as a collaborative, community-based endeavor. Unlike many legal dramas that focus solely on courtroom theatrics, the show emphasized the investigative process and the importance of understanding the human context of each case. Tony's success often depended as much on his ability to understand people and their motivations as on his legal expertise.
The show's premature cancellation after two seasons reflected television's shifting priorities in the mid-1970s. As networks increasingly chased younger viewers with action-oriented programming, Petrocelli's thoughtful approach to legal drama fell out of favor. Ironically, the show's attempt to incorporate more action elements in its second season may have contributed to its decline by diluting what made it unique.
Yet Petrocelli's influence can be seen in many subsequent legal dramas. Its use of multiple perspectives and emphasis on the ambiguous nature of truth paved the way for more complex legal shows like L.A. Law and The Practice. Its integration of personal and professional storylines influenced series like Ally McBeal and The Good Wife. And its commitment to exploring justice through the lens of community and human relationships echoes in modern shows like Better Call Saul.
Looking back, Petrocelli stands as more than just a well-crafted legal drama. It represented a unique moment in television history when a network series could combine entertaining storytelling with sophisticated explorations of truth, justice, and human nature. Its protagonist's unfinished house in the desert serves as an apt metaphor for the American justice system itself – perpetually under construction, imperfect but aspiring to something better.
In our current era of polarization and competing narratives about truth and justice, Petrocelli's nuanced approach to these themes feels more relevant than ever. Its suggestion that truth is often subjective and that justice requires understanding multiple perspectives offers valuable insights for contemporary viewers. While the show may have ended prematurely, its thoughtful exploration of these eternal themes ensures its legacy as a pioneering work of television drama.
As we continue to grapple with questions of justice, truth, and community in our own time, Petrocelli reminds us that these challenges are not new – and that addressing them requires both legal expertise and human understanding. In its brief run, the show offered a vision of justice that was both idealistic and pragmatic, recognizing both the importance of legal principles and the messy reality of human nature. That vision remains as compelling today as it was in 1974.
