Broadway used to be a place where comedies such as The Lifespan of a Fact thrived. These were topical entertainments; thought provoking but not too heavy with a talented cast you really wanted to see. On a dismal rainy Monday night in Manhattan, I was rewarded for my effort. In our world of fake news, conspiracy theories and outright lies, a play about a fact checker at a magazine could not be more timely.
Jeremy Kareken, David Murrell and Gordon Farrell wrote this play based on a non-fiction book of the same name. John D’Agata and Jim Fingal published their personal story concerning an essay about a seventeen year old who killed himself in Las Vegas. John is played by Bobby Cannavale (The Big Knife, The Hairy Ape, The Motherfucker With the Hat). His persona is literary genius, big picture guy. Cherry Jones (The Glass Menagerie, Doubt, The Heiress) portrays Emily, the magazine editor torn between brilliant writing and probable literary license. On the one hand in the age of declining circulation, print magazines need stories this brilliant. On the other hand she has to weigh the risks of lawsuits and reputation hits caused by later corrections.
Emily hires Jim to fact check the article. John points out to Jim that the piece is an essay not an article. Dumb intern. A Harvard graduate, Jim throws himself into his work and has copius notes for the story. Every detail is analyzed. John wants to write that the building’s bricks are red even thought they are brown. He states that there are 34 strip clubs in Vegas based on a source that says there are only 31. Red and 34 are much better, more poetic “facts” than the real ones. And so it goes, writer and fact checker sparring the details with a nervous editor on deadline teetering between extremes.
This is a comedy which doesn’t take sides. The two sparring characters are very funny in their quest to prevail. We see ourselves through Emily and her decisions. We live in a world where people believe crazy stuff. I know someone who believes that Michelle Obama is a man and can prove it. Facts are an increasingly valuable commodity in a society dumbed down with underfunded education and overzealous idolatry. How important are the details? If incorrect, does that put a question mark on the story being told? Should there be literary license to let an author tell the tale in their stylistic way? What is true? Is the brick brown all day or can it seem red during sunset?
Daniel Radcliffe’s performance as the fact checker was spot on. He’s a hero, a nerd and a idealist who can also be seen as an indignant snob whose youthful exuberance colors the world in black and white. I’ve seen this actor four times previously in New York: The Cripple of Inishmaan, How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, Equus and Privacy. Mr. Radcliffe is always good. In The Lifespan of a Fact, he excels with sharp comedic timing and a precisely drawn character who is nicely outlined in gray. Further, he confidently holds the stage with Ms. Jones and Mr. Cannavale, two powerhouse actors.
At the end of this enjoyable evening of theater, I am reminded of the band Talking Heads. The song “Crosseyed and Painless” contains the lyric,” Facts don’t do what I want them to.” Whether you are a writer, a businessperson or a politician, there will always be facts that are inherently difficult to swallow. The smartest and most talented people usually figure out a way to embrace them and move on. Then again, there will always be multitudes of ostriches burying their heads in the sand.