Before a Fraught Final Hearing, Luigi Mangione’s Lawyers Asked for His Trial to Be Livestreamed

As Luigi Mangione took his seat in a Manhattan courtroom on Tuesday morning, after conferring for a moment with his attorneys about which one was his, he briefly gazed into the gallery of reporters and supporters who have been tracking his every movement since he was arrested.

In his gray suit, open white shirt, and hint of a prison stubble, the 28-year-old Mangione looked steady, even nonchalant. Two court officers stood directly behind him, one over each of his shoulders. It was the final hearing before Mangione’s state murder trial in September, and as one of his lawyers sparred with the judge about the terms on which that long-awaited proceeding would be transmitted to the world, he turned back a few more fleeting times toward the crowd, not making eye contact with anyone in particular.

Given that the defendant has not said much of anything since his alleged assassination of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson in December 2024 turned him into a global symbol of class rage, such glances are inevitably mined for intention and meaning. The central legal debate in the last stretch leading up to Mangione’s trial has revolved around who will get to participate in this perhaps futile—though understandable—interpretive exercise. (Mangione has pleaded not guilty in his state case as well as in a parallel federal case that is scheduled to go to trial in January.) As celebrity trials have become hotbeds for content creators and social media personalities, Mangione’s attorneys have been arguing to permit more of them at the trial: the court’s “secret process” to grant general access to the proceedings to only 68 journalists, they argued in a July filing, “does not represent the scores of independent journalists who have an interest in covering these proceedings.”

A handful of Mangione supporters made themselves known at the final hearing before the defendant’s trial.

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The defense wanted an overflow room—a separate courtroom where the proceedings would be played via video feed—and for the trial to be livestreamed. (New York state law bans cameras from most criminal proceedings, and come Tuesday, some of the need to incorporate independent journalists had ostensibly dissipated: No one who wanted a seat at the hearing appeared to have been turned down, and two of the Mangionistas, a trio of Mangione supporters who became tabloid sensations in May after acquiring city press credentials, were among the court-approved press corps.) Their allegation that prosecutors and the court had collaborated in “hand-choosing the reporters permitted to attend the proceeding” was a fairly eye-popping one, and the government responded in kind, offering a glimpse of the temperature around the looming trial.

“The defense’s baseless accusation…appears to be nothing more than an attempt to spread misinformation about this case and delegitimize the proceedings,” prosecutor Joel Seidemann wrote in a response filing. (Seidemann previously worked under Mangione’s attorney Karen Friedman Agnifilo when she served as Manhattan’s chief assistant district attorney, adding an element of intrigue to their clashes for the scores of onlookers who have come to treat the legal personalities in the case as cult figures in their own right.) In his view, he later added, “the media attention surrounding this case—and the efforts of some of the defendant’s supporters both to intimidate witnesses and to interfere with the functioning of the jury—will place extraordinary pressure on witnesses and potential jurors alike.”

Both Agnifilo and her husband Marc, the celebrity defense lawyer joining her on Mangione’s behalf, appeared to be in good spirits as they arrived in the courtroom to settle the dispute. Karen offered a hearty “good morning” as she walked towards the defense table, taking a moment before the judge arrived to swipe a few brushes through her hair. Marc strode over to the prosecution’s table with a smile, saying, “I just wanted to say hello.” But Judge Gregory Carro, a stern Rudy Giuliani appointee, had a decidedly less sunny tone as he addressed their concerns.

“There has never been a discussion or decision by this court to exclude or limit public or the press in these proceedings,” Carro said. “Quite the opposite is true.” He described Mangione’s attorneys’ objections as “without merit and a reckless mischaracterization of the efforts undertaken by this court.” There would be an overflow room after all, and “it had nothing to do with your objections,” Carro explained to Marc. (Carro also ruled that the jury in the trial will be anonymous, a rarity typically reserved for high-profile trials.)

Addressing Seidemann in the same building where Donald Trump’s criminal trial took place in 2024, Carro noted that this wasn’t the court’s “first rodeo.” The prosecution needn’t worry about an overflow room, he said, where phone use wouldn’t be permitted—“we have that all under control.” (As if on cue, a reporter’s phone then began to ring. She was lightly reprimanded by a court officer but allowed to stay.)

Carro wished the attorneys a good rest of their summers as he signed off for the day and Mangione shuffled back through the side door of the courtroom. The Mangionistas and traditional news reporters alike waited outside 100 Centre Street to catch a glimpse of the Agnifilos. For the general public, no press credential or court filing was needed to join the enduring fervor surrounding the case.

“Luigi Mangione is a hero!” a biker shouted as he rode past the courthouse.