In Season 3 of Netflix legal drama “The Lincoln Lawyer,” defense attorney Mickey Haller goes to the mat once again for a client. The series, which comes from David E. Kelley and Ted Humphrey, is focused on a single case this time, which gives the 10-episode season a bit more cohesion. A man is accused of murdering a prostitute named Glory Days, who was mixed up in one of Mickey’s previous cases. The key players have been narrowed down to a “shady DEA agent, a crooked ex-cop, a cartel thug, a disbarred lawyer and his idiot son, and an innocent client in jail. Plus, a victim I used to represent. To top it off, I think I’m being followed.”
As a lawyer, Mickey usually lands somewhere between righteous and semi-sleazy. Unlike other legal dramas, including the new “Matlock” on CBS or “Reasonable Doubt” on Hulu, being self-employed means there are no office politics to complicate his life, which streamlines things. As played by Manuel Garcia-Rulfo, he doesn’t come across as especially smart — is it his tendency to mumble his words? — but he’s tenacious and determined and he’s not above occasional courtroom theatrics, like goading someone to take a swing at him in the hopes of getting a mistrial. (The punch is real, the fake blood spilling out of his mouth is not.)
Mickey’s client is small and quivering and barely surviving his pretrial incarceration. He’s meant to be sympathetic. But I couldn’t get past the part where he insists he didn’t kill Glory Days, only to belatedly, almost shruggingly, admit to putting his hands around her throat in a dispute over money.
Mickey doesn’t seem concerned by this revelation (nor does the show) and quickly moves on from it. As a viewer, I had a different reaction. Non-fatal strangulation is an important risk factor in the homicide of women, according to the National Institutes of Health. “The Lincoln Lawyer” may be a streaming series, but it has the soul of a network drama, and nuance and complexity are not its strong suit. At least not in this instance. The show has no interest in grappling with the broader — and much harder — idea that even violent people wrongfully accused are deserving of justice. Gliding past the strangulation feels all the more misjudged for it.
The show is also unsure of what to do with roughly half its ensemble, which is a weird thing to say about a series in its third season. Angus Sampson brings droll energy to the role of Mickey’s grizzled private investigator, who is forever being yanked in one direction or another by his boss, answering Mickey’s frequently frantic calls with a slight shake of the head: “What do you need now?” Mickey’s ex-wife, played by Becki Newton, continues to be a delight as the plucky office manager who may or may not become another lawyer in their small office if she manages to pass the bar. All of that works because the characters are distinctly drawn and serve a clear purpose that pushes the plot forward. The same can’t be said for brief appearances by Mickey’s teenage daughter or his other ex-wife.
Mickey gets a new driver this season for reasons that go unexplained (played by Allyn Moriyon, bringing an unexpected sweetness to the proceedings), but that only continues to leave Mickey’s original driver, played by Jazz Raycole, disconnected from the main narrative. What is her purpose within the show’s ecosystem? Similar issues befall the characterization of Mickey’s current paramour, a gorgeous prosecutor played by Yaya DaCosta, who too often feels superfluous to the story at hand. The show is conspicuously stymied when it comes to servicing Black women characters.
Mickey could also use a better tailor. His suit jackets are a smidge too tight, his pants a smidge too long. And why is he always walking into court with a 5 o’clock shadow? The final moments of the season introduce an entirely new storyline that ends on a cliffhanger. There’s no narrative reason for this, except a sweaty nervousness that audiences need a better reason to return other than simply liking the show. It creates the feeling of being held hostage, by a TV series of all things. When did television become so hostile to its audience?
But I digress. If these sound like so many complaints, it’s because too often “The Lincoln Lawyer” feels like it’s coasting. The show’s creators have enough experience on previous legal dramas that it’s fair to expect this series to be a tick or two better than “mostly engrossing” by this point.
“Mindhunter’s” Holt McCallany joins the cast as an investigator for the prosecution who has it out for Mickey. McCallany plays stolid like few others, and though he’s underused, he makes the most of his big scene in the finale. The show is ultimately at its best when Newton and her character’s enthusiastic competence are at the forefront, or when Mickey finds himself in unexpected one-on-one meetings with dangerous men, be it a duplicitous DEA agent or a sly cartel boss serving time in prison. Mickey trying to figure out, in real-time, just what the hell these quiet conversations with slippery adversaries even mean is where “The Lincoln Lawyer” excels. Assuming there are future seasons, the show should lean into that some more.
“The Lincoln Lawyer” Season 3 — 2.5 stars (out of 4)
Where to watch: Netflix
Nina Metz is a Tribune critic.
