Perhaps it's not completely fair to compare The Farnsworth Invention, Aaron Sorkin's dry, passionless textbook account of the battle for credit for the invention of television with Rinne Groff's loving and creatively told The Ruby Sunrise, which played Off-Broadway at The Public two years ago and fictitiously deals with the same topic. (Some are pretty much calling the Sorkin piece a fictitious work as well but I'll get to that later.) But even though no play should be required to have warmth, you might hope that an evening involving the creation of a device that completely changed our perception of the world and made it possible for every home to have access to a multitude of artistic events might generate a bit more excitement.
History tells us that curious minds had been working for decades on devices which would eventually lead to the capability of transmitting and capturing moving pictures and synchronized sound before farm-boy Philo T. Farnsworth applied for a patent for television in 1927. Among them was Russian Vladimir Zworykin, who migrated to America, where his work was funded by RCA under the supervision of fellow Russian immigrant David Sarnoff. The Farnsworth Invention deals with the legal battles between the tough, aggressive Sarnoff (Hank Azaria) and the sweet, likable Farnsworth (Jimmi Simpson) over patent rights. And though the author makes it clear in his title where credit for the invention should be awarded, he also credits businessman Sarnoff for having the vision to see that magic box as something that can be marketed as an indispensable part of American life, rather than the fad or toy for the rich that many first envisioned.
Though it's a fascinating bit of history, Sorkin's decision to use the two adversaries as twin narrators, each telling the other's story while a large ensemble plays out quick scenes as multiple underdeveloped characters, may push the story along but it stagnates any dramatic build and gives the actors playing the two protagonists, who both do as fine as can be expected, very little humanity to work with. (Perhaps that's the reason Andrew Lippa was brought on to compose extensive incidental music to accompany the action.) Attempts to romanticize the subject, like Sarnoff's speech about a day when television will show us man walking on the moon, seem like artificial attempts to draw a response from the audience.
While director Des McAnuff's production looks very similar to his work in Jersey Boys (That musical's scenic designer, Klara Zieglerova, provides the same kind of industrial set.) his rapid-paced blend of narration and scene work serves the play very well.
I'm sure I'm not the only reviewer who received an email from someone who goes by "The Perfesser" urging me to visit a web site which pointed out the historical inaccuracies in Sorkin's text, including one biggie in particular. I'm sure Sorkin had his reasons for presenting the story as he did, though I wouldn't say they're especially clear. Still, I count on journalists to tell me the facts. I count on playwrights to tell me a good story. And the truth should never stand in the way of a good story.
After a bit of schedule juggling following the end of the strike, I was happy to fit in a visit to the return holiday engagement (I'm not certain "revival" is the proper word in this case.) of Dr. Seuss' How The Grinch Stole Christmas. Though I enjoyed the show very much last year, it's even better this time around, thanks to some tinkering with the book and couple of additions to the score. But what really makes a difference is the switch from the cavernous Hilton Theatre to the cozier confines of the St. James, a venue that helps provide the intimacy so necessary in musical comedy.
And what I love so much about The Grinch is that it's the rare holiday entertainment you can truly call a musical comedy. Patrick Page repeats his divalicious portrayal of the big furry meanie who may hate Christmas but obviously loves a good showstopper. He kicks up his heels in the snazzy vaudevillian number, "One of a Kind" when he's not dropping acid remarks with foppish glee. "I love it when the little ones cry," he sneers while pointing out at the audience, but really, he's far too loveable to be frightening.
Also back is peppy and funny Rusty Ross as his much abused canine Max, a role that has been beefed up a bit with a merry duet he performs with Ed Dixon, who brings a rugged baritone and a crusty comic sense to his portrayal of the show's narrator, older Max, who recalls the story in flashback.
This may be the first musical adaptation in Broadway history to use 100% of its source material, as I believe bookwriter/lyricist Timothy Mason has included the entire text of Theodor Geisel's original, along with "Welcome, Christmas" and "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch," the two songs the beloved author wrote with composer Albert Hague for Chuck Jones' 1966 animated television special. Mason and composer Mel Marvin do a fine job of adding hummable tunes, Seuss-like lyrics and verse and expanding the story of the recluse on the mountain who seeks revenge on his noisy neighbors down in Whoville by further exploring The Grinch's loneliness and by building up the walk-on character of young Cindy Loo Who into a little girl who is a lot more perceptive than she appears. Caroline London played the role the night I attended and her earnestness and lovely singing voice were charming.
Matt August's mounting of Jack O'Brien's original direction, Pat Collins' lights, John Lee Beatty's set and Robert Morgan's costumes (both faithfully based on the book's original illustrations) are all top notch, as is the enthusiastic ensemble belting out their numbers up to 16 times a week. Here's a show that not only can teach families a lesson about the meaning of Christmas, but can also teach Broadway a few things about what makes musical comedy the most glorious words in the English language.
Michael Dale's Martini Talk appears every Monday and Thursday in BroadwayWorld.com.
Top Photo by Joan Marcus: Top: Jimmi Simpson and Hank Azaria in The Farnsworth Invention; Bottom Photo by Paul Kolnik: Patrick Page in Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas
