The Fearless Advocate: Acting, Authenticity, and the Truth of the Moment in the Courtroom

The part of you that wants to show and to impress the jury is scared. Those same thoughts that race through an actor’s mind—What if I fail? What if they hate me? Am I good enough?—live inside every trial lawyer before they rise to speak. Fear is an ever-present companion in performance, whether on stage or in court. The paradox, of course, is that the fears that paralyze us rarely come true.

In advocacy, as in acting, fear tempts us to perform rather than be. It drives us to calculate our next move, to anticipate how we’re being perceived, and to plot our gestures or tone. But that very impulse—to “think” about what to do next—pulls us out of the truth of the moment. The courtroom, like the stage, demands presence, not pretense.

Consider the novice actor waiting for someone at a bus stop. The untrained actor imagines what “waiting” looks like—pacing, checking a watch, sighing dramatically. But that’s imitation, not truth. Real waiting depends on who we’re waiting for and why it matters. Are we waiting for a loved one or a stranger? Are they habitually late or unfailingly punctual? The answers shape every gesture, every breath.

Trial advocacy is no different. A lawyer who rehearses “how to sound persuasive” is the actor pacing at the bus stop. The jurors can sense the disconnect—the artificiality of it. But when your words are anchored in the specificity of the case and the emotional truth of your client’s story, persuasion arises naturally. Just as the actor must know who they’re waiting for, the advocate must know who they’re fighting for.

Or take the example of the burglary victim. A novice actor might overplay grief or outrage, trying to convince the audience that a crime occurred. But the true victim’s first instinct is practical: What’s missing? What do I need to do now? In the courtroom, the same principle applies. Jurors don’t respond to grand displays of passion—they respond to authentic human behavior. The advocate’s task is not to show emotion, but to reveal truth.

To be effective, both the actor and the lawyer must reconstruct life. They must pay attention to the psycho-physical reality of each moment. What does fear look like in your client? How does relief sound when the truth begins to emerge? Observation sharpens authenticity. Without it, we fall back on clichés—on what we think a good cross-examination or a persuasive closing argument should look like.

And here lies the heart of advocacy: the jury, like a theater audience, isn’t there to see you. They are there to see themselves—their hopes, doubts, and values reflected in your case. The lawyer, like the actor, becomes a conduit for truth, giving the jury permission to feel what they might otherwise suppress. The more the jury senses that they can relax and trust you, the closer you come to that ideal.

So, the next time you rise to speak, don’t “should” all over yourself. Don’t force what you think a good lawyer is supposed to do. Instead, inhabit the truth of the moment. Feel what’s at stake. See your client. Listen to the witness. Respond honestly.

Because in the end, the best trial lawyers—like the best actors—aren’t performing. They’re living truthfully under imaginary circumstances.