Very few actors can bring to the stage what Bryan Cranston contributes to this production of Network; the combination of brilliant talent, total commitment, and pure magnetism make this a performance that shouldn’t be missed by anyone who loves the theater. Add to this his sheer, unadulterated joy in performing, and the atmosphere becomes even more rarified; Frank Langella and Hugh Jackman come to mind. As Howard Beale, the anchorman who falls apart before our eyes, being fired by his best friend Max (Tony Goldwyn) from his longtime job sets off an unforeseeable chain of events. Howard tells the world he just “ran out of bullshit.” He announces plans to commit suicide on the air. The result is a notable upswing in the once-moribund show’s ratings. Total TV creature Diana Christensen (Tatiana Maslany) immediately recognizes that this is her ticket to the bigtime, and doesn’t care whom she steps on the get there. Not only must Beale stay on the air, but the atmosphere quickly becomes more carny, less newscast. Beale goes from being a rather sour reporter with a Walter Cronkite voice (Cranston gets it just right) to what can best be described as a Fox News screaming zealot. When in full self-disintegration mode he advises his audience to lean out the window and yell “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore,” they do just that all over America. I don’t know if this brought tears to anyone else’s eyes, but after two years of listening with incredulity to what’s now being presented as “alternative truth” in the current administration, hell yes, I’ve had enough. To put the situation in almost too pointed perspective, at the end of the show we see the oath of office being administered to the past few Presidents. The New York audience predictably cheers Obama and boos Trump; I wonder if the reaction would be reversed in other parts of the country. Multi-media works well here for the most part. Much of the action is shown on huge screens at the same time it’s being performed live. There are old commercial clips being used; “speecy spicy meatballs,” a completely unmoving “sex kitten” Joey Heatherton, and Evangelical Billy Graham all feature in the mix. While it’s interesting to watch the behind the scenes activity at a newscast, there are moments when the screens shouldn’t be used; we just don’t want to be separated from the immediacy of Cranston’s reactions and emotions. Also, the affair between Max and Diana feels stale and boring. While it’s unfair to compare Maslany to the 1976 movie’s manic and terrifyingly focused Faye Dunaway, this Diana lacks the fire in the belly which we sense would lead her to murder her own grandmother if it meant she could leapfrog over her body to get to the top of the TV heap. Even her clothing is wrong; a wrap dress and unfashionable boots don’t convey the look of a woman who needs to have everything perfect to keep the universe from flying apart. A sex scene between Diana and Max is worse than just silly; it’s sad, totally unerotic, and worse yet, it takes the audience completely out of the moment. We can’t help but remember the hot physical chemistry of Goldwyn and Kerry Washington on the recent series “Scandal.” True, actors need to take on a variety of roles, but to have the irresistible Goldwyn yanked from us by this desiccated version is just depressing. highlight of the evening is a chat Beale has while sitting with members of the audience. That Cranston can switch so easily from running on camera in his underwear and cursing the fates to being the charming, congenial host of the evening is breathtaking. Here, chatting with two obviously delighted ladies in the front row, he seems totally detached from the desperate individual who beseeches us to action by insisting that the first thing we must do is get mad. ”Network,” the movie, was showered with well-deserved honors, including Best Actor for Peter Finch and Best Actress for Faye Dunaway. But the memory quickly fades when we hear Bryan Cranston proclaim “No on has to tell you things are bad. Everyone knows things are bad.” He jolts us back into our current reality by reminding us that people are out of work, punks run wild in the streets, and the air is unfit to breathe. He cracks up, and then Cranston does what only a great actor can do; he remains silent. The sheer guts of that moment is what defines a true artist. At the end of the performance, Bryan Cranston takes the bow that every actor should present; it says “Wasn’t that great? Didn’t we all have one hell of an experience together? Wow!” I hope we can look forward to many more of those moments onstage. Because it feels like at age 62, with a career filled with accolades, Bryan Cranston is just getting started. What a joy it is to live in an age where we can see one of the great actors of our time dazzle and beguile us with his extraordinary craft.
