The Farnsworth Invention (stage)

JUST AARON BEING AARON
Words, not images, power The Farnsworth Invention

By Stan Friedman

If one were to psychoanalyze the work of Aaron Sorkin, one might infer a problem with authority figures. Look at Kaffee vs. Jessep (Tom Cruise vs. Jack Nicholson) in "A Few Good Men," Toby vs. President Bartlet in "The West Wing" and Matt vs. Jack Rudolph in "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip," and what you'll find in each case is a highly gifted underdog, with a taste for booze, who must confront a powerful, experienced bossman. In Sorkin's gripping new drama, "The Farnsworth Invention," this formula is once again put into action as Philo Farnsworth, a lowly, genius, alcoholic farmer from Utah competes against David Sarnoff, the President of RCA, to invent and patent television.

Sorkin is an emphatic writer and this play is testament to his skills in creating zippy dialog that entertains and educates an audience even if it often sounds more like the playwright himself doing the talking. Farnsworth (Jimmi Simpson) and Sarnoff (Hank Azaria) serve as narrators, speaking directly to the audience and to each other from across the years. This approach deflects some of the sympathy they might otherwise earn and plays havoc with the depth of the characters. Also, Azaria suffers from being Azaria, which is to say that his Simpsons menagerie forever haunts, and here Moe the Bartender's gravelly voice keeps emerging from Sarnoff's otherwise majestic countenance.

But no matter, Sorkin's wordplay, given life by director Des McAnuff, builds waves of sadness and glee by its sheer momentum. As he did with "Jersey Boys," McAnuff takes a minimal, two-tiered set and lets loose upon it a rapid-fire series of vignettes that matches the torque of the playwright's dialog. Boldly, the staging of the first successful broadcast of a televised image is done with the TV facing away from
the audience, the reactions of Farnsworth's assistants providing a vicarious thrill.

Sometimes showing off ("Music is what Mathmatics does on a Saturday night"), sometimes using his familiar ironic understatement ("You're going to want to not screw this up") Sorkin delivers what his established fans and critics have come to expect: a showcase of his own formidable talent.