To start, how do you introduce your professional identity to LexWire readers today?
I have been practicing corporate law here in Manhattan for 24 years now. I own my own practice and primarily provide outsourced general counsel services to small-to-medium-sized businesses in the greater New York area, with a focus on intellectual property (IP), corporate governance, compliance, and business formation and funding.
How did you move from practicing law to writing and producing films?
It was a dare. Late one evening in August of 2023, I entered into a heated debate with my best friend over the future of AI and its effect on humanity's sense of identity, goodness, and personal agency. My friend was convinced we were all doomed to a future as zombies, devoid of individuality, while I had more faith in us as a species.
I told him that humans have been in tough times before and endured, and that even if AI brought on an apocalypse—experienced by every type of individual, even The Breakfast Club—those characters would still find a way to do the right thing. I was so convinced in my argument that I took out my iPhone and opened the Notes app for the first time to write down my allegory. I wanted the next morning, at the breakfast table, for the other guests to hear my argument and tell me that I was right.
I did share it, and they did agree with me, but they also told me that the story was hilarious and that I should write a movie about it. Ten weeks later, the first draft of my very first screenplay was finished. Eighteen drafts later, it is now under production to become a major motion feature, and I have written five more.
Building on that, which habit from your legal training most improves your scene‑building as a screenwriter?
Cross-examination is all about asking clear, purposeful questions to gather evidence. This skill matters just as much in the courtroom as it does when writing a strong screenplay. Forget the dramatic TV moments—real cross-examination is about focus and preparation. In trial advocacy, every question should have a reason, and you should already know the answer before you ask. This same skill is at the heart of building great scenes.
Let me explain what I mean: When you do legal research, you collect facts to support your case. You build a story in which each piece of evidence fits into the character, plot, or theme. Character means understanding each person's motives and background, like knowing your client. A plot is the order of events that make sense for your argument. The theme is the bigger legal or social question at play. Every fact should help your case, hurt the other side, or be left out.
Screenwriting is similar. Every scene should move your story forward. If it doesn’t, it’s probably just filler. To check, ask yourself if the scene:
- pushes the plot
- develops a character
- shows the theme
If it doesn’t do any of these, it likely needs to be changed or cut.
When I'm researching a screenplay, I'm not just collecting authentic details for texture. I'm cross-examining my own premise with a simple, three-step process. First, I figure out what each character truly believes and wants by asking, "If this character believes X, what would they actually do here?" Second, I challenge my story by asking, "What evidence goes against what I want to happen?" This helps me think about other possible plot twists and keeps the story logical. Lastly, I confront any narrative conveniences by asking, "What am I avoiding because it's inconvenient to my plotline?" This helps me refine my plot by addressing and integrating authentic challenges that characters may face.
One legal habit I always use: I never ask a question unless I already know the answer. In depositions, that's survival. I remember a time early in my career when a well-prepared attorney asked, 'What happened next?' without first thoroughly reviewing the supporting documents. Expecting to build their case with ease, they were instead blindsided by testimony that contradicted previously assumed facts, leading to a critical misstep. Don't ask 'What happened next?' unless you've already read the police report, the medical records, the witness statements, and you know what happened next. You're not fishing.
When you portray the legal system on screen, how do you balance accuracy with dramatic momentum?
I don't.
Not in the way you're asking, anyway.
Here's the truth: the legal system is already dramatic. You just have to know where the drama actually lives. Most legal procedurals get it backward. They think accuracy is boring—that you need to "juice it up" with invented rules, manufactured tension, and courtroom theatrics that would get you disbarred. But that's because they're looking in the wrong place.
The drama isn't in the trial. The drama is in the preparation. Hear me out—trials are just performance art; you're presenting a case you already built. The actual fight? That happened in discovery, in depositions, in late-night research sessions where you find the one piece of evidence that changes everything. So when I'm writing in the legal system, I don't balance accuracy with momentum; I find the momentum in the accuracy. Research finds the facts that matter. Strategy decides what case to build. Negotiation gets what you need without the need for trial. Damage control manages everything that goes wrong. All of that is dramatically rich. You just have to write it like it matters. The trick? Make the audience understand the stakes of the story like a jury understands the stakes of a trial.
Here is where I do make choices. Scripts aren't deposition transcripts, and I'm not sifting through documents. I compress timelines, combine characters, and have conversations happen in rooms rather than over email. The underlying truth? That stays intact. Because the system of human interaction is more cynical, broken, and brutally efficient than anything I could invent. When you portray it accurately, you don't need to add drama. You just need to show people what's actually happening behind the curtain, and the hope that lies hidden underneath.
On the deal side, which negotiation or drafting technique from your law practice has served you best in Hollywood?
To understand the deal they are making more than the deal I'm making. I remember defending a client from an SEC investigation that the Commission ended up dropping after 18 months. When I walked into every one of those meetings, not only was I sure my client was overprepared for any possible tactic that might be thrown at him, I was thinking about what was going on with the investigators: how long had they been with the Commission? Had they been passed over for promotion? Were they near retirement? Was the Commission under stress from layoffs? All of these factors I knew were playing into their decision-making when it came to their strategy, pressure points, and even determining whether to recommend an enforcement action.
I've carried that discipline into the film industry. The scripts are edited and re-edited 3-4 times before being presented for review and notes for edits. When writing, care is taken to tailor the scene work to be mindful of budget, the character dialogue is crafted to attract A-list talent hungry for a chance to stretch their legs or even enter award contention, and the subject matter is chosen to resonate with the zeitgeist of the modern moment. That way, I am not just presenting what I hope is my talent at its best; I'm presenting my talent in what's best for the industry, when the industry needs it.
From your experience, what is one legal mistake you often see in development or production, and how do you avoid it?
Giving up control of the screenplay too early is a common legal mistake. Many times, writers, especially new writers, are so enamored with the possibility of their work finally getting a chance to make it to the screen that they either:
- Take every note, every edit, and every suggestion until their action thriller is suddenly animated and underwater,
- Allow so much input from a well-known director or producer that their name is barely visible as a co-author by the premiere, or
- Forget to protect their intellectual property rights altogether and lose substantially or even all of their stake in their own project.
To avoid this, writers should never be too timid to stand up for the core of their thesis, have red lines ready to defend regarding authorship, and, above all, copyright and register their work.
When adapting real people or events, how do you assess and mitigate defamation or right‑of‑publicity risk before cameras roll?
Study up on public domain and fair use doctrines, and know their limits and boundaries before putting pen to paper.
Turning to team culture, what single practice has helped you build an inclusive set that also reduces legal and reputational risk?
Everyone gets to speak, and everyone knows how decisions are made, from day one.
Finally, for attorneys considering a pivot to screenwriting, what concrete first step should they take in the next 30 days?
Write something. Anything. Then look at it and ask yourself two brutal questions: Do I have a talent for this? Did this give me more joy than lawyering, sufficient to jump off a cliff? If the answer to both questions is yes, stop waiting.