K.J. Yossman Over the five weeks I’ve spent reporting on Kevin Spacey’s trial for sexual assault, I’ve been struck more than once by how much the experience could be mistaken for an immersive theater show.
Each day outside Southwark Crown Court, press and public jostle for a glimpse of the double Oscar winner as he heads in and out, just as they used to clamor for him by the stage door of the Old Vic, the prestigious London theater where Spacey spent more than a decade as artistic director.
Inside the building, down a drab, windowless corridor on the second floor, you’ll find Court One. As you enter, you must bow to the judge, Mr Justice Mark Wall, who is perched up on his bench in a plush red jacket with a fussy white collar and spectacular plush sleeves.
In front of him are the lawyers, Christine Agnew KC for the prosecution and Patrick Gibbs KC for the defense, sweeping around the court in their curly grey wigs and Hogwarts-style black robes.
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