Before Joe Irvine copied Willy Moon, the only important suit this year was Harvey Specter. In June, Tim Lambourne shared his triumphant story about how binge-watching the legal drama Suits helped him win his underdog tenancy dispute.

A few years ago I lived in a four bedroom flat on Summer Street in Ponsonby, Auckland. If you’re unfamiliar with the suburb, Summer Street is about three quarters of the way down Ponsonby Road, right next to KFC. If you are unfamiliar with Auckland, Ponsonby is one of its most expensive, gentrified neighbourhoods, though it has still managed to stay interesting enough to have a KFC.

The flat was a pretty good one. Four bedrooms, wooden floors, a spa pool out the back. It cost $850 a week to live there, which we made more manageable by filling the biggest room with a couple. It had an en suite.

About a year before I moved into the flat with four mates. But, as happens with flats, people move out. By this point everyone bar me had filtered in through TradeMe.

After a couple months of flatmate jostling we filled the place with an accountant, barista and a couple who banked and built. We all got on well enough, but it was more of a flat of convenience as opposed to a flat of best buds everyone mostly went about their business.

Craig (all names have been changed), the builder, and I did share a passion for ‘banging tunes’ which got on the nerve of Sarah the barista, who had to get up early to go to work at a café. I understood Sarah’s frustration. I’m not sure if Craig did.

Craig was starting to push the boat out, party wise. I came home to the lounge one day and found DJ equipment attached to a speaker half the size of a fridge. It came with its own stand to support itself. Fridge speaker had no problem filling the house, and probably street, with banging tunes.

A couple of months after the fridge speaker moved in, we received a letter from our property manager terminating the tenancy agreement. I guess it wasn’t a huge surprise, but still, it was a milestone: my first eviction. We had 90 days to move out.

Only, I was sure we were on a 12 month lease. I fished out the tenancy agreement from behind an unused wok in our miscellaneous cupboard certain I would find a breach of contract. In the back of my brain there lived a memory, vague to be sure, probably something I had heard at a party from a friend of a friend, about how you can’t be evicted during the middle of your lease for “too much partying”, because “partying” is too ambiguous a term. One person’s Burning Man is another person’s book club.

Unfortunately upon closer examination, we were not on a 12 month lease. We were on a month-to-month lease which could be terminated at any time.

It was on to plan B. I didn’t want to move out. I liked my house. Also, probably more pointedly, I lacked the logistical abilities to deal with something that adult.

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Around the time of our eviction notice I started binge watching a show called Suits.

Suits is a show about lawyers. Fancy commercial lawyers that work at one of New York’s top fictional law firms.

The fanciest of the lawyers is Harvey Specter. He is the big dog. Handsome, hyper masculine, early forties probably. When we are first introduced to Harvey Specter he is winning a game of poker. Harvey does cool guy things like drink whisky you haven’t heard of, drive fast cars, sleep with lots of women and win big fancy lawyer cases.

Suits juxtaposes Harvey Specter, big dog, with Mike Ross, the puppy. Mike is Harvey’s associate, new to being a lawyer – in fact he is only a lawyer because Harvey has taken a risk in hiring him.

You see Mike has a secret: he didn’t go to law school, which is something you need to do to become a lawyer. Mike got kicked out of University for selling answers to tests, but we know that Mike means well, he was using that ill-gotten money to help his Grandma.

So why hire a fraud? Well, Mike is also a genius. Human calculator, photographic memory, all that shit.

Mike’s fraudulosity? Fraudulessness? Fraudality? It effortlessly fulfills dramatic television requirements by adding tension to both his character and the show’s story-arc. The threat of Mike being caught is used throughout the show to drive the narrative, build pressure, and keep us hooked.

It also does one other important thing. It forces Harvey to constantly explain the fundamental aspects of being a lawyer to Mike, which in turn explains the fundamental aspects of being a lawyer to us at home. First year doctors on medical shows like Scrubs and Grey’s Anatomy will often explain the technical and complicated to us laymen.

Suits’ version is more compelling though because Mike, like us, isn’t supposed to be there. He is the anti-lawyer lawyer, the people’s lawyer, a young Atticus Finch or Adam Sandler’s character from Big Daddy.

Friends of mine who work in commercial law in real life have said that Suits isn’t very realistic, but I don’t care. I didn’t watch 300 for the history lesson, I watched for the entertainment. But to 300’s credit I now know how Gerard Butler, Michael Fassbender and 298 other Spartans held off the Persian Army at the battle of Thermopylae.

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A few thousand years after Thermopylae, and a couple of a couple of months before our own eviction battle began, we woke up one day after an Auckland downpour and found a hole about the size of a frying pan in the floor beside the toilet.

The wooden floor had disintegrated like weetbix in hot water. You could see right through to the ground a couple metres below. Because the house was raised off the ground it was kinda dangerous. A groggy, stumbling early-morning toilet visit could have ended with a leg in hole.

We rang the property manager Rebecca, a blonde woman in her late thirties, direct and professional. She said she would get it sorted. A couple weeks went by. Nothing happened. The hole got bigger and we had to stop using that bathroom and instead use Craig and Nikki’s en-suite bathroom – which you could only get to by going through their bedroom.

I appreciate that a broken bathroom in a Ponsonby flat is not high on the list of great housing struggles. We had certainly faced bigger challenges in our lives, but it was a little annoying, so Craig asked Rebecca about paying less rent. Rebecca said that we should keep paying rent as normal, and we could sort out a rebate once the bathroom was fixed. That sounded like a good deal. So we waited.

One month after the hole first appeared the bathroom was fixed. The construction dudes took longer to fix it than Rebecca had anticipated, because they had to build a brand new bathroom floor.

Before our eviction notice came we held off bringing up the rebate with Rebecca. We knew we weren’t the best tenants (fridge speaker) so the thought of poking the bear and asking for some money seemed like a one way ticket to eviction city. Besides, Rebecca said she was handling it.

Turns out we were already on the train to eviction city – so when the letter came, we poked away.

We emailed:

I showed Rebecca’s reply to the rest of the flat and we all agreed it looked a lot like she was suggesting we weren’t going to get a rebate. We poked again:

Rebecca replied:

Rebecca could smell a rat and she sensed we didn’t belong at the grown ups’ table. She let us know by questioning our ‘advisors’ who, as you probably guessed, definitely did not exist.

It certainly sounded like we weren’t going to get that rebate. Had the owner wanted to give us some money out of the kindness of his owner heart, he would have already done that. Her asking him, at least without a show of strength from us, wasn’t going to yield anything.

When the eviction letter came along we were a flat of convenience. By the time the shitty bathroom, eviction notice, and that second email rolled around, we were a flat united. It wasn’t so much about money either. Getting evicted stings. It’s kind of like getting dumped, you’re the loser.

We wanted to emerge with a pyrrhic victory, if nothing else, and getting a rebate felt like it would be a win.

While we didn’t have advisors, we did have professor Google, who was telling us we had a case. After some copying and pasting from Housing New Zealand’s website I channelled some of the lessons I had learnt from my class in contract negotiation on Suits.

First, lay down some facts.

I replied:

Then, hit em’ with some opinion dressed up as fact.

One of Suits’ key lessons about the law is that you don’t want to go to trial. Trials are risky, expensive, and you could just as easily win as lose. What you want to do is settle, but to get the best settlement you need the upper hand, and to get the upper hand you need to make it look like not only will you go to trial, but you will smash trial, giving the opposition no option but to settle on your terms.

Hence my email continuing:

Her reply:She was trying to guilt trip us, which could have worked had she been on our side in the earlier emails, rather than attempting to shut down the conversation.

We put our foot on the gas and replied:That was our last big play. All our cards were on the table.

We waited.

From Rebecca:

We got our rebate.

A late battle won in a lost war. For Sparta! Kidding. But still, it felt really good to get something back.

The flat moved out pretty quick after that. We took our money and went our separate ways. I don’t see them much these days, but I do wonder about them, especially Craig and Fridge Speaker.

I also don’t think we would have pushed as hard as we did had I not been binge watching Suits at the time and channeling Harvey Specter and Mike Ross. Which sounds lame, and it is, but it provided a playbook on how to deal with people who are trying to fuck you over, namely, don’t let them fuck you over.

It also opened my eyes to how easy it is for people with even the tiniest, smidgiest smidgen of knowledge to lord it over you. What if we hadn’t been taking tips from big dog Harvey? This lady would have happily, and maybe illegally, ripped us off.

It’s made me question a lot of the ‘official’ things that we take as gospel, simply because their letters have a logo at the top or an LLC at the end.

Turns out with just a touch of pushback, so long as you’re using the right words and googling the right google, you aren’t as helpless as you might think.

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A reissued post from July this year, days before the premiere of the much-anticipated Outrageous Fortune prequel Westside. Alex Casey talked to creator James Griffin about getting started in television, the perils of funding in New Zealand and the Van and Munter spin-off that time forgot.

It’s a dizzying feeling to walk into the Grey Lynn villa where you know a large chunk of New Zealand’s scripted television has been born and nurtured, in one way or another. James Griffin is unequivocally one of the most prolific and acclaimed New Zealand television writers working today. There’s a sense of national importance and pop culture heritage that comes with absorbing in his working environment – but at the same time, it’s just a house and he’s just a man doing his job.

For example, on the doorstep where James Griffin may have first conceived of Outrageous Fortune’s West family, there now sat an empty ASOS box. I was prepared for showers of scripts, shelves stuffed with awards and endless stacks of DVD boxsets. Actually, he did have all of that, even the Russian version of The Almighty Johnsons. “We’re a family of magpies,” he says, kicking some laundry down the stairs.

James Griffin’s most recent project is Westside, co-created with long-time writing partner Rachel Laing. A prequel to Outrageous Fortune, the six-part series has skipped back a generation to explore Auckland’s wild west in the 1970s. It’s the latest in a jaw-droppingly long television bio, and I was interested in discovering his process for writing and creating television at such a high rate. He made us some peppermint tea, and noted that he actually had a script due on Monday that he had forgotten about. “It’s alright, I’m well-versed in the art of the blank page,” he said.

Amongst the plush Mario toys, Daleks and Stars Wars merch, he talked candidly about his projects that have failed in the past, and how writing television is often less a transcendent process and more of a numbers game.

“You need to know that if you have five things going, four of them will die on the floor,” he said. “You have to get used to that.” He’s all for killing the baby, and moving onto the next thing that might lure in funding bites. Griffin openly mentioned that he was actually chasing NZ on Air’s Platinum fund, by trying to write a historical drama, when he realised he was already sitting on the perfect idea in Westside. We looked around his DVD library (it was immense) and jam-packed office space. I wondered how many dead scripts were lurking in every drawer…

Growing up, did you always have a strong relationship with TV and writing?

I was that kid at school who, whenever everyone complained about having to write things for class, always quietly enjoyed it. I secretly liked writing stuff. At high school I wrote for and eventually edited the school newspaper. When I got to university I wrote reviews and silly little columns for Craccum. Up to this point, I still never really considered myself a writer. It wasn’t until I got a job as a script editor for TVNZ that I realised I had written for my whole life. Writing was never a conscious decision.

How did you get into TV writing? Was that something you had alway wanted to do?

Not at all. I became a writer by accident and stayed one out of fear of unemployment. When I finished my BA, I enrolled in a broadcasting communications and started training to be a director. Directing seemed really cool, you know that’s always what everyone wants to do.

After that course, I got accepted to a training scheme through TVNZ. I worked in rigging, set painting, props and really learnt how TV worked from the ground up. After that, I saw there was a job as trainee script editor going in the drama department. This is back when TVNZ had a drama department, of course. I winged the interview and I got the job.

What was the first show you worked on as a script editor?

The first series that I worked on was Gloss, which just came about for me simply because there was no-one else to do it. I was 22, and doing essentially the same job that I am doing now. I had no clue what I was doing.

Gloss was an invaluable experience. There’s no better way to learn how to something than being forced to do it. In our writer’s room, we used to have all these sheets of paper plastered all over the walls with lines and characters and story arcs. Above that, we hung a huge banner that said “it’s only television”. It’s always important to remember that it isn’t life or death – it’s just TV.

Something that definitely wasn’t “just TV” was Outrageous Fortune. What do you think is was about that world that struck such a chord with New Zealanders?

I think the “outrageous” part of the title was a lot to do with it, actually. It took proper and tame kiwi drama and kicked it in the ass. I think we created a good world with compelling characters, but I think the casting was the strongest part. They walked into those roles and just fully inhabited their characters.

I also think the central premise of the show touched on something universal. The simple focus of the show was “a mother wants the best for her family”. We made sure that we always returned to it throughout the series. When a premise holds out for that long it’s got to be doing something right for the punters.

How did you know when you wanted to pull the plug on Outrageous Fortune?

First of all, we never imagined that we were going to run for six seasons in the first place. But as the seasons kept getting funded and TV3 stayed happy, we realised we’d have to make a decision as to when to end it. I think that, by the end of season six, it was time. We didn’t want the show to lose its steam.

The thing about funding shows in New Zealand is that there is a glass ceiling – the funding stays the same and the budgets rarely grow. So we had X amount of money for Outrageous Fortune, but as each season continued, the actors were getting pay increases. Which is fine, and they absolutely deserved it. But when you have a big core cast, more is going out.

There ended up being increasingly less money left for us do fun stuff like stunts. We tried to top the budget up in various ways, but the writing was on the wall. Outrageous Fortune was about to turn into a bunch of characters sitting in a room and talking to each other – also known as a soap.

And of course, now there’s Westside.

We’d always joked about doing some sort of Outrageous spin-off of some kind. I wrote a joke opening scene for a Van and Munter spin-off. They were out having a doobie in a field and they wake up in the anal probing room of a spaceship. Strangely enough, nobody wanted to make it. Which is a shame, because it would have been extraordinary. Munter had eaten a curry so the alien crew had abandoned the ship and they were left alone. I thought it would have been comedy gold.

I can’t believe Westside got made and that didn’t. How did the concept for Westside come around, had it always been part of the plan?

There was always potential for it as we had used flashbacks in Outrageous, but I was never working towards it. Rachel [Laing] and I were both chasing NZ on Air’s platinum funding and trying to write historical dramas. Those are the only types of shows that receive that level of funding. I was writing something set in the early 70s and so was she. She just rang me up one day and said “let’s do Ted and Rita”.

We got together and watched old Outrageous episodes to set the rules. It was fun to excavate the characters out of the old world. For example, a throwaway line in Outrageous meant that Carol O’Driscoll could exist. That initial funding incentive is actually why it’s structured the way it is – because we were trying to get the platinum grant and have a bit of fun with history on the way.

The Wests are a big part of kiwi pop culture, how was it coping with the pressure of delving back into that family?

There was a real sense of messing with history. I think we’ve done justice to them, but also created something that stands on their two feet. It also feels like we are flying a flag for kiwi-made drama – something that is in grave danger at the moment. There’s a great wave of reality content recently. Why is it even called reality? There’s nothing real about Ben Barrington in a tuxedo. I just hope we don’t kill the beast altogether, because NZ drama is very important.

What’s your writing process like, do you have TV show ideas spitballing constantly?

I’ve learnt that you always need to have two or three things on the go. You need to know that if you have five things going, four of them will die on the floor. You have to get used to that. I’ve been very lucky in that years ago, Rachel and I got together and came up with ten ideas. One was Outrageous Fortune. Nine never got made. It’s all a numbers game.

You’ve been with the TV landscape for a reasonable amount of time, what are the main changes that you have seen?

After The Blue Rose didn’t rate, people were saying that drama is dead and reality is king. Thankfully it’s still here, just, and hopefully will rise again with these new platforms that need filling. It always comes back to money. How do you pay for these things? There have always been peaks and troughs through my career, but I hope I don’t live to see the death of drama.

I’m pissed off the only New Zealand network interested in scripted comedy at the moment is Maori TV, I think that’s a tragedy. It’s so New Zealand though. It’s the Melody Rules complex. We’re all so embarrassed and angry saying “you didn’t make me laugh so that’s crap.” I don’t like Mrs Brown’s Boys, but at the same time I know that a lot of people like it.

Do you think it’s harder for people to get into television writing now?

Yes, I do think it’s harder now. It’s a catch-22 – the only way to get a job is to get a name, and the only way to get a name is to get a job. If you are good, clever and willing to write across all sorts of things, people will notice and they will come to you. It’s just getting that first thing across the line. There’s still not a lot of money in it, it’s not Hollywood.

Have you worried about how one show like The Blue Rose receives $6.9 million, whereas lesser-known people making low-budget productions often struggle to secure any funding?

First of all, TV is an expensive thing to make. It’s not real money, it’s NZ on Air money, which is divided accordingly to represent, inform, entertain and educate. There’s a designated budget for drama, and a platinum budget for the big historical stuff. It’s not like by putting $8.5 million into Filthy Rich that they’ve taken that money away from making 10 really cool documentaries. It’s a separate budget. The real tragedy would be if that if none of the funding was contested for. So yes, I’ll agree that it’s expensive, but making television involves a lot of people.

What are you excited about on television at the moment?

Find Me a Maori Bride is cute, I’m really enjoying that. I watched Game of Thrones but I rapidly lost patience with it. I’m also enjoying Veep and Silicon Valley. I like online shows like You’re the Worst and Man Seeking Woman. You’re the Worst is an anti-rom com, it’s full of such cynical characters. I like the Crowd Goes Wild as well, that’s probably one of my favourite shows.

What’s next for you?

My latest show 800 Words is being edited at the moment, that will go to Channel Seven first in Australia and then TVNZ will screen it later this year. Aside from that I’ve just got a lot of things in development at the moment – always just trying to keep the ahead of the beast.

Click below to watch Westside, Outrageous Fortune and The Almighty Johnsons on Lightbox today

This content, like all television coverage we do at The Spinoff, is brought you thanks to the excellent folk people at Lightbox. Do us and yourself a favour by clicking here to start a FREE 30 day trial of this truly wonderful service.