A romp for Rumpole fans

THE British barrister, like the American trial lawyer, may often be something of a dramatist, combining the roles of playwright, actor and director in planning and presenting a case before the audience of judge and jury. John Mortimer, a prominent member of the British bar (he argued for the defense in the “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” case), has also distinguished himself as a writer and dramatist. Probably his most famous creation, certainly the best known to American public television viewers, has been the crusty but endearing old defense lawyer Horace Rumpole.

Can anyone think of Rumpole without conjuring up the image of the late Leo McKern, the superb British character actor who played the role to such perfection? Overweight, badly dressed, with a face like a well-worn sofa and a head crammed full of legal precedents, forensic expertise and apt quotations from the Bard and other literary classics, Rumpole is a master of the art of cross-examination and the bane of complacent judges who automatically assume that the accused is damn well guilty.

Rumpole is also the hapless husband of the overbearing Hilda (a.k.a. “She Who Must Be Obeyed”), who seems to be perpetually disappointed that the promising young lawyer she married all those years ago never rose to the position of prominence in his profession that was enjoyed by her father. Rumpole, in turn, is always complaining about having to make enough money to satisfy what he considers Hilda’s unreasonable demands: He particularly resents her purchases of household cleaning materials, preferring to spend his money on cigars and cheap plonk at Pomeroy’s wine bar.

In terms of his position in the legal profession, Rumpole has never risen to the level of his creator. . Both, however, have a love for literature, and Mortimer, in addition, is the master of a crisp, witty, eminently readable prose style. Rumpole also seems to share his creator’s distinctive political views: staunchly liberal on some issues, particularly the legal rights of defendants charged with crimes; suspicious of the establishment, yet wary of newfangled notions such as smoke-free workplaces, sexual harassment suits and celebrities’ rights to privacy.

A tad hostile at first to the incursion of women into his profession, Rumpole soon appreciates intelligence and merit when he sees it in a woman like his feminist colleague “Mizz” Liz Probert or Phyllida Erskine-Brown, formerly “the Portia of our Chambers,” and lately elevated to a judgeship.

Rumpole’s fans will likely be pleased to find out what their favorite curmudgeon has been up to recently, and the half a dozen stories in Mortimer’s latest collection, “Rumpole and the Primrose Path,” will bring them up to date.

In the eponymous opening story, we find the poor fellow consigned to the Primrose Path Nursing Home while his unkind colleagues back at chambers are planning speeches for his funeral. Needless to say, the wily oldster escapes from the nursing home, defends an innocent woman and uncovers a nasty little criminal conspiracy in the process. It’s a trifle thin and formulaic: One doesn’t feel that Mortimer has taken the trouble to develop the characters or plot very much or to fully extract the maximum potential from his material, but as always, it is polished, well written and quite diverting.

The same might be said of “Rumpole and the New Year’s Resolution,” which has a certain charm, as Mortimer portrays his hero’s world turned pleasantly upside down when Hilda, Rumpole and some of his legal colleagues resolve to be on their best behavior. But the plot is not that intriguing, and readers may well spot the surprise ending before it is revealed.

In “Rumpole and the Scales of Justice,” an outspoken law-and-order police commander who routinely complains about tricky defense lawyers getting criminals off the hook finds himself accused of murder and decides to rely on the formerly despised Rumpole to defend him. Apart from the obvious ironies of the situation, the story is a bit creaky.

The last three stories are more absorbing. In “Rumpole and the Right to Privacy,” Mortimer deftly satirizes the curious phenomenon of people who expend great efforts on getting publicity for themselves but then turn around and sue for invasion of privacy when they get more -- and less flattering -- publicity than they’d bargained for.

But if the irreverent barrister enjoys defending an old-fashioned, nosy newspaperman in that story, he is quite appalled by the client he has to defend in “Rumpole and the Vanishing Juror”: a religious fanatic who has been heard to utter threats against a lap dancer, who turns up dead.

“Rumpole Redeemed,” the concluding story, offers a timely look at the matter of rehabilitating criminals and provides Rumpole with a renewed appreciation for his flawed but fundamentally solid marriage. With McKern gone and Mortimer entering the ninth decade of his life, it is some comfort to know that the Old Bailey hack they have so fixed in readers’ minds seems to have some life still left in him.