Exam-Taking Advice

Amazing though it may seem, at law schools around the country it is final exam time. With that in mind, I thought I would post some exam-taking advice. The exercise is largely the same each year, however, so rather than re-inventing the wheel, here are links to some previous advice on the subject.

Perhaps the place to start is with my post entitled Reflections on Law School Exams. It includes general advice and links to some of my prior exam-related posts. Another useful post on this blog is on The Pros and Cons of Exam Typing. Students--and professors--sometimes assume that typing an exam is always better than writing one. I don't agree--even though typed exams are by definition more legible (something I of course appreciate).

There is a lot of exam advice in the blogosphere, and it's easy to get overwhelmed by the sometimes conflicting advice given. But two additional sources (not from this blog) that I strongly recommend are the following:

Law School Exam-Taking Tips. This excellent post on Concurring Opinions by Professor Daniel Solove at George Washington University Law School covers a lot of useful ground. 1Ls (and 2Ls and 3Ls, for that matter) should take his advice to heart.

Bad Answers, Good Answers, and Terrific Answers. This very useful post on the Volokh Conspiracy is by Professor Orin Kerr, who is also at George Washington University Law School.

Law School Exam Advice from Pitt's Jurist website. The University of Pittsburgh's excellent Jurist website lists excellent links to information on taking law school exams. There's a lot of useful information here.

Good luck studying, and good luck on exams!

Clooney v. Clayton, Part 6

This is my last post about the movie Michael Clayton. I've been devoting some of my recent posts to law practice-related themes and issues in the movie, and I have had a lot of fun with it. In fact, it is a movie I enjoy thinking about. I actually enjoy thinking about it more than I enjoyed watching it. For more comments in that vein, see my original review of the movie. My other posts about the movie have focused on Hollywood's distorted representation of big law firm practice (what a shock!), the mythical law firm "fixer" (lives with Bigfoot?), how law practice shapes people, and not always for the better, and how law practice can interfere with family life. Not happy subjects, I know—but an ordinary commute back and forth to a 14-hour-a-day job would not be that exciting to watch. The subject of this final movie post is the topic of legal ethics.

Specifically, is Michael Clayton's job as a "fixer" unethical?

The old Model Code of Professional Responsibility used the phrase "appearance of impropriety" in a variety of contexts. Canon 9's EC (Ethical Consideration) 9-6 provided as follows:

Every lawyer owes a solemn duty to uphold the integrity and honor of his profession; to encourage respect for the law and for the courts and the judges thereof; to observe the Code of Professional Responsibility; to act as a member of a learned profession, one dedicated to public service; to cooperate with his brother lawyers in supporting the organized bar through the devoting of his time, efforts, and financial support as his professional standing and ability reasonably permit; to conduct himself so as to reflect credit on the legal profession and to inspire the confidence, respect, and trust of his clients and of the public; and to strive to avoid not only professional impropriety but also the appearance of impropriety.

The newer Model Rules of Professional Conduct do not use the phrase "appearance of impropriety," but the rules' preamble does state, among other things, that "[a] lawyer is a representative of clients, an officer of the legal system and a public citizen having special responsibility for the quality of justice."

There's nothing in either set of model rules about being a fixer. And there's nothing per se wrong with helping to get your firm's clients (and partners) out of trouble, is there? After all, when one of Clayton's law partners gets arrested, Clayton posts bond for him. He does not bust the guy out of jail, Rambo style.

On the other hand, the tone and tenor of the movie clearly suggest that Clayton's job is not honest, and that Clayton does not like what or who he has become. Does that make what he does unethical? If not, does that suggest that the legal ethics rules are too narrow in some way? Or are the legal ethics rules intended primarily to govern behavior, and not the subjective beliefs of law practitioners?

In any event, the movie clearly tells us what the "right thing to do is," but it does not tell us how Clayton feels about it.

The last scene of the movie is of Clayton, having just done the "right thing" (plot spoiler!), riding around in a cab. He's just turned his client over to the authorities--a client who has committed (and will continue to commit) the fairly heinous act of willfully marketing a lethal commercial product to the public. Presumably this violation of client confidentiality falls well within the scope of Model Rule 1.6(b)(1), which permits a lawyer to breach client confidentiality "to the extent the lawyer reasonably believes necessary . . . to prevent the client from committing a criminal act that the lawyer believes is likely to result in imminent death or substantial bodily harm . . . ."

So Clayton turns the client in, and according to the movie that perhaps sets him morally "free." The last scene is a single shot that is several minutes long, during which the credits role, and the camera stays on Clooney, who does an excellent job of looking conflicted. He knows he has just done the right thing, but he is clearly having trouble feeling any emotions about it. Is that a symptom of modern law practice, at least at big firms?

Perhaps--in a highly exaggerated way. Lawyers sometimes represent clients whose positions give them pause. Is that wrong? What about advocating aggressively for those clients? Don't they deserve their day in court? But what if we do not like the outcome? Should lawyers simply not represent those clients? What is better?

I tell my classes that all too often the answer to legal questions is "it depends." That's technically true, I suppose, and I firmly believe that it is important for law students to understand that the law is generally not black and white in its application. And yet such grayness and ambiguity can lead to moral uncertainty. So that even when we clearly "do the right thing," we're not always clear how we should feel about it. Clooney's Michael Clayton embodies that in spades.

The Dilbertic Method

The Socratic Method takes a lot of flak from law students and lawyers, many of whom regard it as some form of hazing/hiding the ball/rite of passage. Those are not entirely inaccurate criticisms--by which I mean to say that while I think the method has its place, I never much enjoyed it as a student. For that reason--and for the more important reason that mixing up teaching methods helps (I hope) keep class more interesting and is more conducive to learning--I do not rely on the Socratic Method all that heavily.

I am writing about the Socratic Method because of today's Dilbert comic strip. It was, yet again, about the pointy-haired boss. When I read today's strip (11/25/07, which is available in the Dilbert archives here), my first thought was, "Wow, I used to have a boss just like that." (And no, I am not telling you who it was.)

And then I started thinking about this Dilbert strip in the context of the law school classroom, and it got even better. And funnier. First you need to read the strip. And then you need to read on.

When Dilbert's boss says "I need you to do something, but I don't have time to explain it," that's akin to the feeling law students sometimes get when called on in class under the Socratic Method. That is, you read the cases, think you know where the material is going--and then you go to class, and BOOM, you have no idea what is going on. All kinds of ideas are being extrapolated from the text by the professor. And then you get called on socratically. You hear the words, but what do they mean? What's the answer? In fact, what's the question?

Then the professor asks some sort of leading question, which is intended to facilitate class discussion and critical thinking, but it smells and feels like a trap. Which is sort of like Dilbert's boss saying, "I'll give you just enough information to send you down the wrong path." Like I said, a trap.

Then the professor asks a follow-up question that reveals a potential flaw in your answer or argument. Like I said, a trap, and you have to think your way out of it, shooting from the hip all the while. Which is like Dilbert's boss then saying, "After you do it wrong I'll treat you like you're some sort of idiot . . . [and] then I'll put you through the embarrassment of undoing everything you did." You are faced with revising your answer, in front of the whole class. Not a lot of fun. It's a good skill, mind you--lawyers need to be able to think on their feet and argue their points (we are advocates, after all)--but it is often not fun.

And of course, the ultimate judgment on what students say and think is--grades. It is a common feeling for students to think that a course has been one big game of "hide the ball," and that final exams, especially in the first year, are a crapshoot. Only after you have taken them do you get the chance to figure out if you guessed right or not.

So, Dilbert is funny. Ha ha. But law school is serious business. A lot of what this strip suggests, in the Socratic context, is that law school classes would be better with less hiding of the ball, more engaging teaching, more frequent testing (whether actually for grades or mock exams,) and a lot of other changes. I've actually written an article about it, which I will be posting about soon. In the meantime, we can learn how to improve law schools from Dilbert.

Clooney v. Clayton, Part 5

The Thanksgiving Holiday is again upon us. It is a time for family and for being thankful for what is truly important in our lives. And that subject brings to mind yet another theme from the movie Michael Clayton that I want to talk about. For those of you who have been following this blog recently, I have been writing posts about this film, with each post dedicated to one of the movie's law practice-related issues or themes. Previous posts in this series have provided a general review of the movie, as well as discussions of the movie's hyperbolic representation of big firm law practice, the myth of law firm "fixers", and the nature of law firm partners. Today, the subject is lawyers and family. And my point is this:

In this movie, Michael Clayton ignores his son.

Boy, this one hurt. Clayton is divorced (obviously--most lawyers in movies are divorced, right?), and the little time he spends with his son is spent not really paying attention to him. He drives the boy from point A to point B, and while his son talks Clayton says "Uh-huh" a lot. His son wants to discuss this really cool book he's been reading, and Clayton's response is "Uh-huh." Which does not mean that he does not love his son--he does. There is one scene in the film that drives that point poignantly home, as the two ride along in Clayton's car, and for once Clayton really tries to talk to the boy. But for the rest of the movie, the responsibilities of Clayton's job distract him at virtually all times from other, more important things like his son.

That phenomenon is not reserved for lawyers, of course, but it is an all too common phenomenon for practicing attorneys, and even a fair number of law professors too. In this respect, the movie does not engage in hyperbole at all. (See my previous point about hyperbole here.) Lack of real focus on family matters is a theme worth thinking about at any time, but perhaps especially during the Thanksgiving holiday.

Clooney v. Clayton, Part 4

This post is the fourth installment of my series discussing law practice issues raised by the movie Michael Clayton. My three previous posts in this series are located here (#1, which also reviews the movie), here (#2), and here (#3). In my prior posts I talked about the exaggerated, hyperbolic nature of the movie's plot and about how law firm "fixers" are like the Boogeyman: sort of scary, but not real. Today's topic is the terrifying subject of senior law firm partners--which, unlike the Boogeyman, are both scary and real.

Specifically, my point is that law firm partners are sometimes like "white tigers": they are fierce and elegant, but would have difficulty surviving outside their contained environment.

That observation (by a previous colleague of mine) is a wickedly accurate bit of profundity, and this movie illustrates it well. Senior partners are highly trained and very successful at what they do. But too often the distorted incentive-reward structures of law firms can result in skills sets, and even personality traits, that might not be rewarded in other, more natural settings.

Exhibit A in the movie is the junior partner, Barry Grissom, played by Michael O'Keefe. Barry is an arrogant jerk. Clayton does not like him, and Barry does not like Clayton. Sydney Pollack's senior partner Marty Bach does not like Barry either. But Barry bills and collects a lot of hours, and he successfully manages and retains paying clients, and that is ultimately what counts. Would he survive in another environment that depended more on interpersonal skills? One would hope not.

Even more intriguing is Exhibit B, Marty Bach. Pollack plays him with a great deal of ambguity, and to me that makes this character both the most realistic and most compelling one in the entire movie. Obviously he is a highly successful senior partner, with a lot of money, a lot of power, and an enviable lifestyle. That much is clear. What is less clear is how his mind works. How has he managed to achieve such success without cracking, like Tom Wilkinson's character Arthur Edens does? Marty professes to care for Michael Clayton and be a true mentor for him, but is Marty really a mentor and protector? Is Marty even in touch with his own internal tensions? Has he come to terms with them, or does he just bury them (as people often do) under a mountain of work?

One of the most disturbing scenes in the movie for me was that of Arthur Edens' wake (sorry, plot spoiler): Marty speaks of Arthur's death with sadness in one breath, and then in the next acknowledges that the firm has "caught a break" because of the death, since Arthur can't do anything more to harm the firm. How does Marty manage to balance the two poles of his thinking? Is the compassion just an act? Or can he somehow segregate compassion from business? And if the latter, then what affect does that have on his psyche?

The question I do not want to ask, let alone answer, is this: if I were in practice for 40 years at a big firm, like Marty Bach, how would I strike this balance? Could I do it at all, or at what cost?

I think it is important to ask ourselves such questions. If we make conscious choices about our career paths, then we generally can live with them. But if we do not make conscious choices, sometimes we cannot. Practicing law, with a firm or otherwise, can be a marvelous career path. But I would hate for anyone to make this career path choice--or any career path choice--without thinking about and assessing the costs and benefits involved.

Sounds Like the Law

I heard a story on NPR's Morning Edition today that has to be blogged about. Boston University Law Professor Mark Pettit sings in his Contracts class. What's more, his songs are parodies of pop songs, and they are about the cases he teaches in Contracts. I suppose the experience of being in his class, when he sings, must be like learning the law from Weird Al Yankovic.

There is a good bit of scholarly literature on the subject of humor in education, and how humor improves learning. For a list of some scholarly articles on the subject (all of which are presumably not funny), see here.

Pettit is admirably shameless. People remember something when they laugh about it, and words set to music or in poetry are easier to remember. And as the NPR piece demonstrates, Pettit has engaged students both in and outside the classroom: they pay attention in class, they think about the subject of Contracts outside of class, and they write lyrics for Pettit to perform. That's what's called active learning, and it improves the quality of education. And it makes the experience more fun.

Maybe I should have a Contracts lymerick contest next semester. Or for that matter, why not now? So here are are two lymericks-in-progress for my next class, on the subjects of (a) Leonard v. Pepsico (the video referred to in the case is located here) and (b) Empro Manufacturing Co. v. Ball-Co Manufacturing, Inc., 870 F.2d 423 (7th Cir. 1989) (I can't find a free link to the case). Those who have nothing better to do--and those who do have something better to do but would rather do this--can complete the lymericks and post as comments. Feel free, of course, to revise the lymericks as needed. And it goes without saying, but I will say it anyway: keep it clean!

Re PepsiCo:

PepsiCo did firmly reject
Leonard's claim for a Harrier Jet
[Fill in the rest?]

Re Empro:

When its letter of intent was rejected
Empro said "contracts must be respected"
[Fill in the rest?]

Clooney v. Clayton, Part 3

This post is my third installment about law career issues raised by the movie Michael Clayton. My two previous posts in this series are located here (#1) and here (#2). See #1 for my review of the movie. Today's subject of choice is George Clooney's role as a "fixer" in his law firm. And my point about this fixer role is this:

I think the law firm "Fixer" is like the Boogeyman: disconcerting and a bit scary, but also not real.

I practiced in a big law firm for a number of years. I never, ever heard of--let alone met--a law firm "fixer." I don't think they exist. And if they do, then like the Loch Ness Monster they probably want to stay hidden.

Think about it: the math just does not add up. There certainly are people in law firms who are good at fixing problems, but that does not mean problem-fixing rises to the level of a practice area, like complex litigation or corporate mergers and acquisitions. In fact, large firms are so driven by the billable hour that lawyers who do not bill most of their time would have a hard time surviving, let along thriving. Plus, in my experience, clients are not a bad set of people, and they get in trouble no more often than a firm's own lawyers. So is a full-time "fixer" really needed? I doubt it. If a law firm needs a fixer, surely it has bigger problems, like criminal indictments against its partners and the like.

However, Clayton's job as a fixer fits well into the hyperbolic landscape of the film. (See my previous post on this point.) Clayton is trapped in his job: the firm does not have to make him partner because he is stuck--he can't readily move to another firm--but the partners do not want him to leave because of all the secrets he knows. So while it does not comport with the facts of law practice, the role of fixer works within the confines of this movie, and it helps to move the plot along.

On second thought, though, perhaps solving problems is a separate law practice specialty. Except the people who specialize in it are not called "fixers"--they are called "management." The problems they grapple with, however, are things like how to staff a case, who to promote, how to fire someone, etc. Not sexy Hollywood stuff. Unlike Clooney the Boogeyman.

Trudeau v. Socrates

A few moments ago an anonymous commenter posted the following comment on my previous post entitled Second (Life) Opinions, in which I talked about both laptop bans in class and the impact of the game Second Life on the practice of law:

"Maybe Trudeau will give you permission to post today's Sunday Doonesbury on your site ... laptops vs. the Socratic Method ..."

I hadn't seen the strip (don't get it in my local paper; don't read it online), so thanks to Ms. or Mr. Anonymous for the reference. The strip is really funny. The Doonesbury strip in question (11/11/2007) can be found here (click the archives link).

Second (Life) Opinions

I'm in the midst of a series of posts on the movie Michael Clayton (here and here), but two news items from the ABA Journal warrant a detour.

Item #1: Professor Kibosh and the Evil Laptop. First, on the ever-popular (or not) subject of laptop bans in classrooms, there is an article in the ABA Journal concerning the increasing popularity of laptop bans in law school classrooms. I've blogged about the subject numerous times; look for my posts labeled by the "computer" category. And of course every time I suggest that a ban might be justified in some circumstances, I get angry reader comments.

I am undecided on the subject, and my current position on the matter is that if I can't decide whether a ban is desirable or not, then I should just leave matters be. Perhaps I should let students vote on the matter? I don't know. But this article points out yet more perils of laptop use: IM harassment in class and obscene videos.

Virtual Law Practice. This article really, really interests me. Apparently at least one law firm is setting up shop in the online 3D gaming world of "Second Life." As Craig Jones of the UK's Simpson Millar explains, "Many of our clients have injuries which can make it difficult for them to meet us at our offices. Others are too busy. Second Life is a way of 'seeing' your legal representative and receiving advice without coming to our office."

So in other words, this is real legal advice, provided in avatar-to-avatar format. How very fascinating, and it raises interesting questions. In a very large sense, this is no different, substantively, from communicating with clients by e-mail or phone. But what if avatars can one day be programmed to provide advice independently (provided, of course, that a fee is paid)? Is that different somehow than having general legal memos available for download for a fee? Is it different from the practice of having canned legal advice that is modified, around the edges, for a client, and then charging the client for it? Could a law firm establish a subsidiary company to provide general "legal" (and perhaps strategic) player advice pertaining solely within the Second Life world? Law firms set up subsidiaries quite often to provide business and personal services-related advice, so why not in this context?

Also, what if a law school set up shop in Second Life? Is this a viable means for long distance (or e-commuting) education? Would this run into trouble with the ABA? Stanford law professor Lawrence Lessig and Judge Richard Posner have in fact made appearances on Second Life, so the intersection of legal academia and the online world is not farfetched by any means. I don't play Second Life right now (but boy, it intrigues me), so for all I know there is already a law school in the game.

And perhaps most interestingly, what if an avatar-professor decided to prohibit her avatar-students from using simulated laptops in her Second Life classroom?

Makes my (non-simulated) brain hurt.


**Photo credit: Steve Garfield**

Clooney v. Clayton, Part 2

Several days ago I wrote a review of the movie Michael Clayton. In that post (which can be found here), I promised to write a series of sequel posts on law practice issues raised by the movie. This is the first of those sequel posts. Today's topic is none other than cinematic hyperbole.

Specifically, the basic thesis of this post is that the movie is all about HYPERBOLE!

OK, so that statement itself is hyperbolic. But in an important sense, the movie is indeed hyperbolic and filled with archtypes. Which is to say that it is a typical movie. At its core, the film is about a guy who is in a big law firm, who feels trapped in his job, is good at it but no longer has any passion for it, has perhaps backed into his career specialty, and is desperate to get out. In my opinion, that is the story of thousands of lawyers nationwide. To be quite honest, it was, in a way, my story a few years ago.

When experienced on the personal level, this sort of feeling is incredibly compelling, and there is more than a little anguish involved. And I am sure that in virtually every screening of this film there has been at least one lawyer sitting in the audience who knew exactly how Clayton felt. I suspect that some of this blog's readers do, too. But for the rest of the audience, being paid big bucks and not being happy just isn't that compelling of a story. And to be fair, who would want to go see a melodrama in which the protagonist sits at a desk for 14 hours a day? If I wanted that sort of entertainment, I could get it for free at any big law firm.

So in Michael Clayton, the story is far sexier. Clayton is not just a lawyer. He's a "fixer" who does the firm's dirty work. And he's not a partner, so he is at the beck and call of the firm's big dogs. And he's in debt, and apparently to shady financiers. And he has a gambling problem of some sort. And he'd be a lot happier if he were a prosecutor, like he used to be, making a lot less money. And to top it all off, there's murder, and a car bombing too.

All of which is to say that Michael Clayton does not represent a typical day at the office. But the exaggerations are intended, as they usually are, to amp things up in a way that makes the story more accessible, and perhaps even more understandable, to the general public. Again, in this sense the movie is no different than many other movies and TV shows. Who wants to watch a medical drama in which the doctors mostly scrub their hands and dictate reports? What about a cop show in which firearms are never drawn? Or science fiction with no aliens?

In this sense, then, Michael Clayton is best viewed as an accurate identifier of the broad theme of entrapment that pervades US big law firm culture. Here is a guy who is good at what he does but wants out, and does not know quite how to achieve the exit. The details of his predicament, as exciting as they are, are little more than window dressing for this all too common dilemma.

Clooney v. Clayton

When I started Law Career Blog, I made a solemn pledge to myself: I would review every movie in which the law and George Clooney played major parts. I started with a review of Syriana in 2005, which is located here. (The excellent Good Night and Good Luck just missed the cut; it came out right before I started this blog.) And then I stumbled, perhaps, when I did not review The Good German or Ocean's Thirteen. (It might have something to do with not having seen them yet--but they are in my Netflix queue. So much for timeliness.)

So I suppose I should recast my solemn pledge: I will review every movie in which the law and George Clooney play major roles, and about which I have something to say. That's a promise I can keep. And Clooney's latest, Michael Clayton, certainly gives me a lot to talk about.

So much, in fact, that instead of posting a single review, I will write a series of posts about the movie. This first post will be a general review; the posts that follow will focus in greater detail on various themes or issues in the movie that I found interesting.

My Review of Michael Clayton

In Michael Clayton, Clooney plays a lawyer at a big New York law firm who specializes in being a "fixer"--a lawyer who solves messy problems for his law firm. This means that his area of practice specialization is not a particular subject area per se. Rather, it consists of the skill of resolving awkward problems in a quiet, covert (but not necessarily unlawful) fashion. While it's a living, it's not a particularly rewarding one. And then Clayton discovers (for reasons I will not go into) that the firms' biggest client has been involved in a very serious, very illegal, very deadly cover-up. Clayton is thus faced with a choice: does he help the firm, or does he reveal the client's wrongdoing? Add to this the fact that Clayton (a) is not actually a partner in the firm (he is "of counsel" to the firm, with a contract that might or might not be renewed), (b) was originally a prosecutor (i.e., used to "do the right thing," but now works for the big evil law firm), and (c) is heavily in debt because he invested, not too wisely, in a restaurant that went belly-up, and you have the makings of classic drama. Does Clayton do what he needs to do to survive, regardless of what is right? Or does he perhaps sacrifice himself in the name of justice?

If this sounds like a somewhat conventional thriller, well, that is exactly how it struck me. Which is not to say it's a bad movie. It's not. It's actually quite good in many ways. It captures some of the feel of law practice at a big firm, and it features excellent performances by Tom Wilkinson as a bipolar attorney, Tilda Swinton as an evil (and perhaps slightly incompetent) in-house lawyer, Sydney Pollack as a corner office partner (my favorite character in the film), and Michael O'Keefe as a jerk of a junior partner (my second favorite character in the film). (All bios are available through IMBD's website for the film.)

On the other hand, the whole movie seemed less than the sum of its excellent parts--very good, but not great, as if it were trying to be more than it is. Which is not uncommon for serious-minded movies. After all, when someone is making a "message" movie, will people go see it if the message is "Gee, this is something you perhaps should think about?" Or are they more likely to see it if the message/issues cut directly to the heart and soul of society? Such as, say, the rule of law and how money and power might be above the law? Look at the movie poster for Michael Clayton and you have your obvious answer: the poster trumpets that "The Truth can be Adjusted," not that "Working for a Law Firm can be Not So Fun Sometimes." So in this manner, the movie overreaches a bit. (More on this in a subsequent post.)

Yet despite this--on the third hand, I suppose--I have been thinking about the movie a lot since I saw it. And that means that it struck some chords deep within me, despite my inherent cynicism. These chords will be the subjects of my posts over the next several days. Please stay tuned.