Don’t underestimate the surprisingly sharp Matlock reboot

Millennials might be the last generation to feel nostalgia for NBC’s Matlock, TV’s answer to the question “what if Colonel Sanders was also Hercule Poirot?”—so much so that they may feel obligated to give CBS’s new reboot a go this month. Whether or not that’s wise counsel, well, we’ll get to that.      

For now, let’s reflect on those dinner-time visits with our sainted grandparents where we were first introduced to Ben Matlock (played by Andy Griffith), that penny-pinching attorney-at-large who shambled through his tabloid world of murder and other crimes of passion in that wrinkled grey suit. If we ate our vegetables by the second commercial break, we might score some ice cream just as ol’ Ben revealed a crucial piece of evidence during that final moment of cross-examination. Faces smeared with chocolate, we watched as the yuppie/murderer-of-the-week was reduced to a splotchy mess, confessing their crimes with either anger or regret to a stunned courtroom audience. Full bellies, justice served, roll credits.

Matlock knew what it was: prime-time junk food. It quickly established a rhythm of salacious crime and rustic punishment, doled out by an aging TV titan. (Creator Dean Hargrove of the Perry Mason TV movies and Columbo would repeat this formula as a producer for Diagnosis: Murder.) Despite this easy-street approach to the material, rife with sex, stabbing, and squirrelly notions of jurisprudence, the series ambled with a certain folksy charm that contributed much to its extended run from 1984 to 1995 across NBC and ABC. Yet junk Matlock remains, silly and wily and oh-so wonderfully trashy. Any prestige assigned to it stems entirely from nostalgia. This explains why the higher-ups at CBS chose a rickety star vehicle as the subject of their latest over-fussed revamp; they believes brand plays a part in why folks decide to tune in these days. Maybe they’re right. 

Luckily, CBS’s update of Matlock, a new courtroom drama from Jane The Virgin creator Jennie Snyder Urman, has more on offer than just nostalgia. It shares a similar empty-calorie appeal with its forebear while being a somewhat sharper and more nuanced affair with conscientious perspectives on justice and age. It also has an ace-in-the-hole in Oscar-winner Kathy Bates, who stars as Madeline “Matty” Matlock, a widowed 70-plus-year-old retiree who returns to the legal workforce only to be underestimated by her peers despite her fierce hankering for justice. (At 76, Bates might be a half-decade older than Griffith when he retired the character, but her vigor runs circles around ol’ Ben.) “When women age, we become damn near invisible,” she informs a room full of high-powered lawyers. “It’s useful because no one sees us comin’.”  

Watching Matty take full advantage of people’s perception of her has great appeal, and Bates is predictably wonderful in the role, oscillating from a doddering biddy to a crusading avenger and back at a second’s notice. She gives a supercharge of charisma to a show that needs it. The series’ lawyer-chic design is generic even by network standards, and while its diverse and appealing supporting cast stands out, few of these players can match Bates’ mettle. Urman seems aware of this, and so Matty spends more time with her youthful cohorts grappling with the obvious generational gaps and their subsequent gaffes rather than flexing legalese and jargon, at least through much of the first six episodes made available for review. That’s a shame, as watching the star of Misery and Richard Jewell command a courtroom, in the rare moments when it does happen, is something to behold.

While the overall structure of Matlock 2024 is similar to original-recipe Matlock, Urman is overly cautious in separating the two. In a meta twist, Matty acknowledges the existence of the Griffith series and occasionally uses its foot-stamping theme song for comic effect, a bit of labored humor meant to deflect the inevitable comparisons made by salty types who have overestimated the original series’ quality. The comedy in this regard is obvious and wearying: Matty introduces herself around the office—”Matlock, like the TV show!”—to which her Gen-Z co-workers promptly retort, “What TV show?” 

The joke gets a few reprises, with Bates powering through each of them as though the obligation to evoke Griffith, a self-inflicted social hindrance, causes her physical pain. (It certainly made us groan.) And even though it’s a star vehicle for Bates, Matlock exists because of its name. (While there is a dramatic reason for Matty’s use of it, we’re forbidden from revealing why.) Yet it also feels self-conscious about being associated with the classic show’s legacy.   

If nothing else, the series’ energy is in the right place. The reboot’s pilot, helmed by Kat Coiro of She-Hulk: Attorney At Law, sets a bracing pace that puts the viewer at ease as the show finds its own Matlock rhythms. Before the first commercial break, Matty has infiltrated the elite Jacobson Moore law firm, snagged a position, and dived into her first case. The show also does not dawdle when it comes to establishing its fresh-faced cast. There’s Olympia (Skye P. Marshall, who is terrific), a dynamic attorney with a heart for the underrepresented and the daughter-in-law to Senior (Beau Bridges), the firm’s vintage managing partner. Olympia has a divorce pending with Senior’s son, Julian (Jason Ritter), which means her flirtations with fellow partner Elijah (Eme Ikwuakor) have to remain hush-hush. More faintly sketched are Billy (David Del Rio) and Sarah (Leah Lewis), Olympia’s spritely legal beagles, who are handy to have around during the show’s weekly pep talks on the firm’s Crying Balcony but are largely there to mug out whenever Matty goes off-book or to reiterate the stakes as needed. 

Speaking of, the stakes in New Matlock are surprisingly more heartfelt than the titillating fare of the original series, and Urman’s series is also notable for the grief it depicts, contrasting the original’s can-do Reagan/Bush/Clinton-era sis-boom-bah with today’s post-COVID, post-opioid-crisis malaise. Matty’s not just looking to financially “make it rain” through corporate legal work but to clear up her deceased husband’s gambling debts, raise her orphaned teenage grandson, and make herself useful for younger clients who, at times, remind her of her daughter, who died after years of struggling with drug addiction. You’d never see Ben Matlock weeping vulnerably to his colleagues or be subject to such distressing material. Matty Matlock shows up with her heart on her sleeve and a few more secrets that burden her.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s during the show’s more tender moments that Bates and her castmates unite into an appealing ensemble that could easily drive several seasons’ worth of comfort-food entertainment. (For her part, Bates has said Matlock is her “last dance,” and as for future seasons, the jury’s still out.) When Matlock taps into Griffith & Hargrove’s cozy-as-a-loveseat formula, it shows its truest signs of life. Naturally, there are the requisite sequences where Matlock unveils overwhelming evidence before the end credits. It’s a nod to TV tradition, and even when Matlock overcomplicates this time-tested material with additional heaps of dramatic schmaltz as the season goes on, one thing remains clear: There is still space on TV for elders like Bates to flex their talents, reminding us that age is in no way a diminishment of our appeal. 

Matlock premieres September 22 on CBS