The Rainmaker

The 1990s were an absolute fever dream for fans of the legal thriller. If you couldn't find a John Grisham adaptation on a theater marquee, you probably weren't looking at a theater. We had the high-octane sweat of The Firm, the slick Southern Gothic of A Time to Kill, and the popcorn theatrics of The Pelican Brief. But tucked away at the tail end of the decade is the one that actually matters—the one that traded the chase scenes for a soul.

I revisited The Rainmaker on a rainy Tuesday while my radiator was making a sound like a ghost playing the xylophone, and I was struck by how much it refuses to be the "easy" version of this story. It’s directed by Francis Ford Coppola—yes, that Coppola—and it carries a weight that its contemporaries lacked. While other Grisham movies felt like products, this feels like a film. It’s the "forgotten" Grisham, likely because it’s more interested in the crushing reality of the American dream than in explosive third-act twists.

The Rookie and the Hustler

The film follows Rudy Baylor, played by a pre-superstar Matt Damon who looks so young he practically has "idealism" written on his forehead in permanent marker. Rudy is a law school graduate with no job, no money, and a desperate willingness to work for a local ambulance chaser who looks like he operates out of a strip mall (and basically does).

Damon is great here because he hasn't quite settled into the "Jason Bourne" stoicism yet. He’s twitchy, nervous, and clearly out of his depth. But the real heartbeat of the movie is Danny DeVito as Deck Shifflet. Deck has failed the bar exam six times, but he knows the law better than the guys who wrote the textbooks because he’s lived in the gutters where the law actually happens. Danny DeVito looks like he was born in a wrinkled suit holding a briefcase full of half-eaten sandwiches, and I mean that as the highest possible compliment. His chemistry with Damon transforms what could have been a dry procedural into a genuine buddy movie where the stakes just happen to be life and death.

Opposing them is Jon Voight as Leo F. Drummond, the quintessential corporate shark. Voight is terrifyingly good at playing a man who has replaced his conscience with a billable hour. He doesn’t twirl a mustache; he just wins by being better funded and more ruthless. Watching the "David" of Rudy and Deck go up against the "Goliath" of Drummond’s high-priced firm is satisfying, but Coppola ensures we never forget how tilted the playing field actually is.

A Darker Shade of Justice

While the marketing for The Rainmaker sold it as an underdog triumph, the actual viewing experience is surprisingly somber. This is where the "Dark/Intense" label really earns its keep. The central case involves a young boy, Donny Ray Black, who is dying of leukemia because his family’s insurance company—Great Benefit—refused to pay for a bone marrow transplant.

Coppola doesn't shy away from the ugliness of this. The scenes in the Black household are grim, lit with a sickly yellow hue by cinematographer John Toll that makes the air feel heavy. There is a specific, quiet fury in the performance of Mary Kay Place as Dot Black, the boy’s mother. She isn't looking for a "win"; she’s looking for a reason to believe that her son’s life wasn't just a line item on a spreadsheet.

Then there’s the subplot involving Claire Danes as Kelly Riker, a woman Rudy meets in a hospital who is being systematically dismantled by an abusive husband. It’s a brutal, necessary thread that highlights the film’s central theme: the law is often a blunt instrument that arrives far too late to help the people who need it most. Some critics at the time thought this detour felt "extra," but I disagree. It grounds Rudy’s journey. It shows us that the legal system is basically a casino where the house always wins, and Rudy’s attempts to play "the hero" are often clumsy and dangerous.

Why This One Stayed in the Shadows

It’s bizarre to think a movie starring Matt Damon, directed by the guy who made The Godfather, and based on a massive bestseller could be considered "obscure." But The Rainmaker suffered from a perfect storm of bad timing. It opened in late 1997, just weeks before the Titanic juggernaut flattened everything in its path. Additionally, the public was starting to feel "Grisham fatigue."

Looking back, though, this is the one that holds up. It avoids the glossy, over-produced sheen of other 90s dramas. Coppola and co-writer Michael Herr (who wrote Dispatches, the seminal book on Vietnam) give the dialogue a sharp, cynical edge that cuts through the sentimentality. Even the score by Elmer Bernstein eschews the typical orchestral swells for a jaunty, slightly off-kilter bluesy piano that reminds you we're in Memphis, a city of heat and secrets.

The film serves as a time capsule for a transition in Hollywood. You can see the old-school craftsmanship of the 70s directors meeting the new-school energy of the 90s stars. It’s a movie that values the "little guy" without pretending that being the little guy is easy or romantic. It’s a film about how hard it is to stay clean when you’re swimming in a sewer.

The Rainmaker is a rare bird: a mainstream legal thriller with the heart of an indie drama and the cynical eye of a noir. It doesn't offer easy answers, and its "victory" is tinged with the bitterness of what was lost along the way. If you’ve skipped this because you thought you’d seen every courtroom drama the 90s had to offer, you’re missing the best of the bunch. It’s a masterclass in tone, anchored by a cast that is firing on all cylinders.

***

Stuff You Didn't Notice: Matt Damon actually took the lead role over other candidates because Francis Ford Coppola saw him in a small role in Courage Under Fire and was impressed by his physical transformation. To add to the Memphis authenticity, many of the courtroom spectators were local residents, and Danny DeVito reportedly spent time hanging out with actual process servers to get the "vibe" of Deck Shifflet just right. Also, keep an eye out for a very young Virginia Madsen in a pivotal, heartbreaking role—she’s the secret weapon of the film's second act.