Does anyone care about getting the facts right anymore? After all, in an age when anyone who disagrees with you is declared to be spreading “fake news,” isn’t it easier to just shrug and say “Who know?” But it does matter, to the point of near mania, to Jim Fingal (Daniel Radcliffe), an intern assigned to fact check an essay by writer John D’Agata (Bobby Cannavale) by his high-powered editor Emily Penrose (Cherry Jones). He not only has to be accurate, he also has to be fast. Jim assures Emily that it’s in the bag. However…it turns out that John’s essay (he insists he doesn’t write “articles”) is riddled with inaccuracies. Determined to prove himself capable, Jim becomes so involved that he even ends up on John’s doorstep in Las Vegas, a fact which is highly resented by the writer. Their disagreement gets so intense that Emily has to come to Nevada to break things up. That is, literally; as she walks in the door, she’s treated to the spectacle of John trying to strangle Jim to death. Not acceptable. The two men are in war over words. Is saying “34 strip clubs” okay if it sounds better than “31 strip clubs”? Is it all right to say that a woman hanged herself when she’d actually jumped off a building? Are blood red bricks more indicative of the scene than dull brown ones? The argument goes on and on, at several times reaching ridiculous proportions. In less skilled hands, Lifespan could easily become pedantic and deathly dull. Here, the play moves rapidly along, jumping easily from one character’s method and motivation to another. The cast is no less than superb, forming a cat’s cradle of three driving forces meeting head on. As Jim, Radcliffe is the perfect Yuppie Millennial. When offered coffee, he requests espresso. Beer should, of course, be craft ale. Radcliffe manages to be both endearing and annoying; his enthusiasm, charm, and perfect comedy timing win us over even as our frustration with him grows. Cannavale’s John is strictly Maxwell House all the way. Nobody smolders the way he does. He towers over Radcliffe, both in size and ego. Unexpectedly, he breaks into a grin when Jim informs him that he won’t be vanquished in a stare-down because the intern grew up with older brothers. That moment of connection and recognition adds immeasurably to the performance. Cherry Jones is, as always, at the top of her game. Here, she’s a lot like Murphy Brown, imperious, brilliant, needing to know that her way is the right way, no matter what the cost. This is truly a production for our time, and more’s the pity. If only the actors now occupying our political stage were half as smart and dedicated as those on the stage at Studio 54, our beleaguered country would be in a lot better shape.
