The 2026 film Mercy presents a disturbing vision of the courtroom of the future. Chris Pratt plays an LAPD detective who awakens strapped to an execution chair and must convince an artificial intelligence-driven court that he is innocent before time runs out. There is no traditional judge or jury before him. Technology has not merely entered the courtroom; it has essentially become the courtroom.
Mercy is science fiction, and its automated justice system is deliberately extreme. But the movie raises a surprisingly relevant question for those of us who plan real courtrooms: As we introduce more technology into the courtroom, how do we make sure we do not diminish the human experience of justice?
Some of the most significant physical changes inside American courtrooms have involved technology. Evidence presentation systems, computer monitors, electronic case files, remote appearances, cameras, and sophisticated audio systems have become increasingly common. Each serves a legitimate purpose. Technology can improve efficiency, expand access, and help people understand complicated evidence.
The concern is not the technology itself. It is what happens when technology begins to mediate the human experience at the center of a trial.
A courtroom is fundamentally a place where people evaluate and communicate with other people. Judges listen to litigants. Jurors watch witnesses. Attorneys observe jurors' reactions. Defendants confer with counsel. Victims and families observe the proceedings.
Much of that communication is nonverbal. Physical presence, eye contact, body language, tone of voice, and even silence contribute to the experience.
Research into remote proceedings suggests that these interactions matter. One study of 370 detention hearings found that measures associated with procedural justice—including voice, respect, and neutrality—were significantly lower when detainees participated by videoconference rather than appearing in person. Researchers also observed greater difficulty with visual contact and attorney-client communication.
Other research suggests that virtual proceedings can alter eye contact, nonverbal communication, conversational flow, and perceptions of participation. At the same time, remote proceedings can remove barriers to court access and provide substantial benefits. The lesson is not that courts should reject technology, but that they should be thoughtful in its use.
Procedural justice research has demonstrated that people evaluate courts not simply by whether they win or lose. Their perception of fairness is also influenced by whether they had an opportunity to be heard, were treated respectfully, perceived the decision-maker as neutral, and trusted the process.
Those principles have physical implications. Can a litigant make meaningful eye contact with the judge? Can an attorney communicate privately with a client? Can jurors observe a witness while examining evidence? Does a remote participant appear to be part of the proceeding or merely an image on a screen?
These questions suggest that the next evolution in courtroom planning may have less to do with adding technology and more to do with understanding psychology.
Procedural justice provides a strong connection between psychology and the courts, but several related fields can also inform future courtroom design:
These approaches come from different disciplines, but they point toward a common conclusion: courtroom design is not psychologically neutral. The physical environment can influence stress, attention, and communication. The visibility of participants and presence of technology can also affect dignity and perceptions of fairness.
This does not mean abandoning the traditional courtroom. Courts deal with serious matters, and the courtroom should convey authority, security, and respect for the judicial process. The opportunity is to distinguish between formality that gives the courtroom meaning and conditions that create unnecessary anxiety, distraction, or distance.
These questions are not entirely theoretical. Research in Sweden provides an interesting example of examining courtroom architecture, technology, security, and the practice of justice together.
The Swedish Just Room? project studied how architecture and technology relate to everyday legal practice in district courts. Among its objectives were understanding how new technologies affect court space and how increased security has changed the use, perception, and layout of that space.
Related research examining Swedish district courthouses built between 1970 and 2020 found substantial changes in their spatial organization. The value of this work is not that it establishes a Scandinavian model that American courts should copy. Rather, it demonstrates the value of studying the courtroom itself as part of the administration of justice.
The traditional American courtroom has remained remarkably stable. The judge occupies an elevated bench. The witness sits nearby. Jurors occupy a separate box. Attorneys sit at opposing tables, with the defendant seated alongside counsel in criminal cases. The public observes from the gallery.
There are good reasons for much of this arrangement. It communicates roles, supports security, creates order, and expresses the dignity of the judicial process. The National Center for State Courts similarly emphasizes transparency, openness, balance, fairness, dignity, and public trust in court facility design.
But perhaps we should reconsider some aspects of the layout through the lens of psychology.
Screens should not automatically become the dominant objects in the room simply because they are large. Jurors should be able to examine digital evidence without losing visual contact with witnesses and attorneys. Remote participants should be positioned to provide meaningful presence. Judges should be able to use technology without spending proceedings looking down at monitors. Attorneys should have digital information available without creating electronic barriers between themselves, their clients, the jury, and the judge.
The physical environment deserves similar attention. Acoustics should support natural communication. Lighting should encourage attention without glare or fatigue. Furniture should be quiet and comfortable. Distances and orientations between participants should support appropriate eye contact and communication while maintaining security and judicial authority.
These may seem like small considerations individually. Collectively, they determine whether technology supports the human experience or begins to displace it.
For generations, we have evaluated courtrooms primarily through functional questions. Are the sightlines adequate? Is the judge protected? Can prisoners enter securely? Can everyone hear? Is the technology current?
Those questions remain essential. Psychology suggests that another set should become part of courtroom planning:
Technology will undoubtedly become more sophisticated. Artificial intelligence will enter the courtroom in ways we cannot yet predict. Remote participation will continue, and digital evidence will become increasingly complex. The challenge is not to resist those developments but to design around them intelligently.
The fictional courtroom in Mercy takes technological justice to an extreme: an extraordinarily efficient system in which almost all of the traditional human relationships of justice have disappeared. Real courts are obviously nowhere near that world, but the underlying warning is worth considering.
Perhaps the courtroom of the future should not begin with the question, What new technology can we put in this room?
It should begin with a different one: What kind of environment helps people experience justice?
The most successful courtroom of the future may not be the one with the most technology. It may be the one that uses technology almost invisibly while preserving what matters most: the ability of one human being to see, hear, understand, and be understood by another.