The thing about The Good Fight is that it’s weird. Really weird. Most legal dramas are comfortable. They’re basically procedural blankets where the bad guy gets caught, the lawyer makes a rousing speech about the Constitution, and everyone goes for drinks at a dimly lit bar. But Robert and Michelle King—the geniuses behind The Good Wife—decided they didn't want to play it safe when they moved to CBS All Access (now Paramount+). Instead, they crafted a show that felt like a fever dream about the Trump era, the Biden transition, and the absolute dissolution of the American legal system as we knew it.
It’s brilliant. It’s messy.
When Diane Lockhart, played with a perfect mix of elegance and growing insanity by Christine Baranski, loses her life savings in a Ponzi scheme during the pilot, the stakes aren't just financial. It’s an existential reset. You’ve seen this before, right? A titan falls. But the way The Good Fight handles it isn't through melodrama. It’s through satire so sharp it draws blood.
The Good Fight and the Death of "The Rules"
If you watched The Good Wife, you remember the rules. Alicia Florrick believed in the law, even when she was cynical about it. In The Good Fight, the law is basically a suggestion. The show starts with Diane watching the 2017 inauguration in stunned silence, and from that moment on, the series becomes a living document of political vertigo.
The writers did something risky. They wrote in real-time.
While other shows were ignoring the news cycle to stay evergreen, this series leaned into it. They dealt with the "Pee Tape," the rise of alt-right trolls, the Kavanaugh hearings, and the absurdity of corporate DEI initiatives. It wasn't just "ripped from the headlines" like Law & Order. It was more like the headlines were being screamed at the characters by a Greek chorus of animated singing birds.
Remember the "memo 618" plotline? That’s where the show really found its footing. It posited a world where a secret judicial memo allowed the wealthy and powerful to simply opt-out of the legal system. It felt like a conspiracy theory, but the way Baranski and Delroy Lindo (playing the incomparable Adrian Boseman) reacted to it made it feel horrifyingly plausible.
Why the Characters Work (Even When the Plot Is Wild)
Let's talk about Lucca Quinn. Cush Jumbo is a powerhouse. In the early seasons, her friendship with Diane provides the emotional anchor the show needs. But then you have Maia Rindell, played by Rose Leslie. Her arc is fascinating because she starts as the victim of her father’s financial crimes and slowly has to harden herself to survive.
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But honestly? The show belongs to the guest stars and the recurring eccentrics.
- Elsbeth Tascioni: Carrie Preston is a national treasure. Watching her scatterbrained genius dismantle high-priced litigators is the purest form of joy.
- Marissa Gold: Sarah Steele’s transition from a quirky assistant to a formidable investigator is one of the best slow-burn character developments in modern TV. She’s the audience’s proxy—sarcastic, fast-talking, and zero patience for nonsense.
- Roland Blum: Michael Sheen’s performance in season three is divisive. Some people hate it because it’s so over-the-top. He’s playing a Roy Cohn-esque figure who snorts drugs and sings show tunes. It’s chaotic. It’s loud. It’s exactly what the show needed to represent the "anything goes" era of politics.
The casting choices were impeccable. Bringing in Audra McDonald as Liz Lawrence was a masterstroke. The dynamic between Liz and Diane—two powerful women from very different backgrounds trying to run a Black-owned law firm in a white-dominated industry—provided some of the series' most nuanced commentary on race and power.
The Musical Shorts: A Genius Pivot
You can't discuss The Good Fight without mentioning the Jonathan Coulton songs. Yes, the animated shorts.
Most TV executives would have laughed a creator out of the room for suggesting an animated song about Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act or the "troll farms" in Russia. But here, they worked. They broke the fourth wall in a way that felt educational but also deeply cynical. It was the show’s way of saying, "We know this is confusing, so here’s a catchy tune to explain how the world is breaking."
The Shift From Legal Drama to Surrealist Satire
By the time the show reached its final seasons, it had moved away from being a "lawyer show" entirely. It became a show about how we cope with a world that no longer makes sense.
Season five and six were particularly wild. We had a fake court in the back of a copy shop run by Mandy Patinkin (Judge Wackner). This wasn't just a wacky subplot. It was a profound look at how people lose faith in established institutions and start looking for "justice" wherever they can find it, even if it’s legally non-binding and presided over by a guy in a robe who isn't a judge.
It was a commentary on the "sovereign citizen" movement, the polarization of the US, and the sheer exhaustion of being a citizen in the 2020s.
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Then there were the literal explosions. The final season featured protests and violence escalating outside the firm’s windows while the lawyers inside tried to argue about billable hours. The juxtaposition was jarring. It was supposed to be.
Is It Better Than The Good Wife?
That’s the big question. Honestly? It’s different. The Good Wife was a prestige network drama—it had to be 22 episodes a year, it had to follow certain tropes. The Good Fight is leaner, meaner, and much more experimental.
If you want a steady diet of courtroom wins, stick to the original. If you want a show that reflects the feeling of scrolling through Twitter at 2:00 AM while the world feels like it’s on fire, this is your show.
The budget was clearly higher. The cinematography shifted from the bright, flat lighting of network TV to something more cinematic and moody. The fashion? Unbeatable. Diane Lockhart’s brooch collection alone deserves its own spin-off.
Why People Missed Out
The show suffered from being on a burgeoning streaming service. When it launched, not everyone wanted to pay for another subscription just to see what Diane Lockhart was up to. By the time it gained traction, it was already three seasons deep.
Also, the political nature of the show was a turn-off for some. It’s unapologetically liberal, though it often turns its sharpest satirical eye toward liberal hypocrisy. It mocks the "resistance" as much as it mocks the right, showing how both sides can become untethered from reality.
Actionable Takeaways for Your Watchlist
If you're looking to dive into The Good Fight, or if you dropped off after a few seasons, here is the best way to approach it.
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1. Don't skip the "previously on" segments. Unlike most shows, these are often narrated or edited in a way that sets the tonal mood for the episode.
2. Watch it as a companion to history. If you can, look up the dates these episodes aired. Seeing how closely they tracked with real-world Supreme Court decisions or political scandals makes the writing feel even more impressive.
3. Pay attention to the background. The Kings love visual gags. Watch the news tickers on the TVs in the background of the law firm. Listen to the random conversations of the paralegals. The world-building is incredibly dense.
4. Accept the surrealism. When Diane starts micro-dosing or sees an imaginary talking deer, don't roll your eyes. The show is using these metaphors to describe a mental breakdown that many people felt during the late 2010s.
5. Finish the journey. The series finale is one of the most honest endings to a show in years. It doesn't offer easy answers. It doesn't pretend that everything is "fixed." It simply acknowledges that the fight—the "good" one—never actually ends.
If you want a show that challenges your brain, makes you laugh at things you probably shouldn't, and features some of the best acting on television, go back to this one. It’s a time capsule of a very specific, very loud era of history. You might find that it makes more sense now than it did when it first aired.
Start with the pilot. Watch the descent. It’s worth the ride.