The defense and prosecution are still in preliminary hearings with their primary obstacle being to select as fair a jury as possible, considering the circumstances of the case. But with Marcia Clark stumbling over bad ratings from prospective jurors, Johnnie Cochran and Robert Shapiro conducting a dick-measuring contest, and Faye Resnick releasing a bombshell of a tell-all… It’s really difficult to find a dozen people who aren’t biased. And that’s before the race card. Of course, Clark is cracking jokes to cover her insecurities over the fact that everyone already seems to hate her, and she hasn’t even presented her opening arguments against O.J. The reason? She’s too harsh-looking, with her unfortunate haircut and lipstick choice. She should trade in pantsuits for a skirt, consider “softening” her look overall. Sarah Paulson embodies Clark’s simmering frustration, striving not to take such criticism personally when all she wants to do is find a fair jury and she has to listen to focus groups insult her as if they know her. You know who the prospective jurors really think they know? Nicole Brown Simpson, thanks to an idiotic Faye who’s too focused on her cocaine withdrawal hard candy to realize that every detail she’s babbling to a gossip columnist-turned-ghostwriter is immortalizing her so-called friend. It was brilliant to bring Connie Britton back right as things are revving up; she tosses off mentions of O.J. and Nicole’s on-again/off-again sexual tension (complete with voyeurism and exhibitionism), and her and Nicole’s enthusiastic coke sessions so nonchalantly that you almost miss the bombshells until they hit. Ultimately, both sides agree on a jury composed of several black women, with the prosecution giving up some ground in an effort to look likable (oh, Marcia) and O.J. joking, “If these people convict me, maybe I did do it.” Thing is, he’s not laughing when Shapiro and Cochran endanger the Dream Team’s standing in the press with their ego battle. John Travolta is downright scary as Shapiro with those shark eyes bound to look even more menacing once we actually get into the trial. Watching Shapiro slowly lose his hold over his team, and realize that his schmoozing is the equivalent of just spinning his wheels, is like seeing a car right before it’s wrecked.
