By Zoe Robinson
When the fall play this year was officially announced as “The Farnsworth Invention,” it’s safe to say that we were all a tad skeptical. (About as skeptical as Philo Farnsworth was about his ability to claim the patent for television.)
Many of us had never heard of the play before. “I honestly don’t know what this story is about,” actor Yveliz Ortiz-Dennis told me at our first audition. “I’ve read up on it, but I’m still a tad confused.”
Like Yveliz, I also found the story of how television was invented to be a bit hard to grasp. It made sense linearly, but telling a true story, fact-for-fact, presented a new set of challenges that I, and many of my peers, had never encountered before. When we found out that the play was written by Aaron Sorkin, someone who writes notoriously wordy, complex scripts for films like the film A Few Good Men and TV shows like The West Wing, we were even more scared.
We all wondered: how do we do this super hard show (which, unbeknownst to us, had only been done by 2 casts before) with less time than we’ve ever had to complete a play?
The answer turned out to be shockingly simple: make it fun.
As the play gained momentum, we began to notice that it contained some fairly serious elements. The central character, television inventor Philo Farnsworth, struggles with alcholism and depression, going through a series of devastating events in the final act. Playing him required actor Carson Tinkler to wrestle with super serious issues, and all the rest of us to take them seriously.
While this could easily have become super depressing, we decided to make it fun by enjoying how out of place we felt as actors. “I’m going through marital problems with my husband, Lake [Vinson], at the end of the show,” Yveliz laughed as she told me. “It’s important to understand when I’m acting, but also really funny to think about.”
Using so much scientific jargon was also a daily source of comedy, particularly a key element in the television’s invention: the cathode tube. Not only did we have to work on using liquid u’s (an acting technique that you should definitely look up), but in many of our early scenes, it was evident that we didn’t know what a cathode tube was.
Actors Susan Googe and Ansley Hall had an excellent instance of this towards the end of the play. In a drunken rage, Philo berates their characters and chases them offstage. The first time the scene was rehearsed, we were all shocked by how terrifying it was. After seeing it for the first time, though, we were able to laugh at how awkward it felt to see a costar chasing two others with a flask in his hand. “This is super serious, but outside of the scene, Carson chasing me offstage is so funny,” Ansley told me.
Enjoying how awkward these themes were, especially in the earliest stages of rehearsal, turned out to be key to pulling the show off. Getting into period (the 1920’s) was especially funny as well.
The period hairstyles, especially for the women, turned out to be another super enjoyable activity for us to pull off. Achieving the elaborate styles took time and effort, and we ended up forming our own mini hair salon, helping each other out wherever it was needed.
“This is a very difficult show to do ladies and gentleman, and I’m super proud of you,” Mr. Decker told us as we prepared to go onstage for opening night. We decided to do an affirmation circle to reinforce how collaborative the process had been, and how grateful we were that we not only supported each other, but found ways to make it fun as well.
And though the play ends on a decidedly unfun note with Philo not getting the patent and having a mental breakdown, in real life he got it. So go Philo.
