The People's Court brings real-life cases to the TV screen
The courtroom door swings open to the beat of music that sounds like a cross between . the themes from Hollywood Squares and Mission: Impossible. In stride Plaintiffs Katharina and Max Binder, the angry owners of Binder's Scissor Styling. Next come the defendants, Ray Cason and his daughter Michelle, 12. At issue: $43 that Cason refused to pay the Binders for a permanent that Michelle got in their salon one afternoon. Cason claimed that the permanent failed to hold up through Michelle's birthday party that evening.
The case is a typical small-claims dispute, just one of thousands that flood into Los Angeles courts every month. But instead of fighting it out in a real courtroom, the litigants agreed to square off in a TV studio for a new show called The People's Court. The half-hour daily program will debut during the next two weeks in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago and 36 other cities. Created by Veteran Producers Ralph Edwards (This Is Your Life) and Stu Billett, the show presents two cases an episode, both drawn from small-claims courts in the Los Angeles area.
Covered by cameras hidden behind screens, the litigants take their places at lecterns* and argue their cases before Joseph Wapner, 61, a silver-haired retired judge whose 20-year career on the bench began with a stint in Los Angeles small-claims court. Wapner deliberates during a commercial break, then renders his judgment, which is final, since the parties on the show must waive their right to proceed in a real courtroom.
The most that a small-claims plaintiff may seek in California is $750. The producers provide an $800 pot for each case. If the plaintiff wins, his money comes out of that fund; the balance is split by the two sides. If he loses, each party walks off with $400 for a ten-minute performance. The monetary incentive is one reason that 60% of the litigants approached by the producers agree to appear on the show. It is also the source of some criticism: a party who created a dispute through wrongful conduct can end up benefiting from it. Such a profit, however, may be more than offset by the adverse publicity, so some businessmen resist the temptation to argue their cases on national television.
Wapner, son of a practicing lawyer who used to appear on TV's Divorce Court, clinched his job in an audition by coolly refereeing a dispute that nearly came to blows, thus beating out eight other candidates. In the cases taped for upcoming shows, fisticuffs is almost the only thing he has not had to contend with. Sam vs. Sam grew out of an unfortunate fight to the finish between a Chihuahua and a Great Dane, both named Sam. Little Sam's owner wanted $700 compensation; he got it.