MURDOCH: THE FINAL INTERVIEW
A New Play by an Unnamed Source
Directed by Christopher Scott
Theatre 555
Official Website
Reviewed by David Spencer
It starts with actor Jamie Jackson portraying a TV interviewer in a fairly typical in-person one-on-one, “news magazine” vein. When, finally, he introduces the guest of honor, Rupert Murdoch…he plays Murdoch too, backtracking a bit and making his entrance as a somewhat stooped old man in his 90s. There follows a good deal of swivel-chairing to illustrate who’s talking to whom—Mr. Jackson is the sole performer—and right at the point where you start to fear you’ll be into that illustrative bifurcation for the remainder of the play’s full 90 minutes, it breaks format, allowing for flashbacks, Murdoch portrayed at other ages, interaction with other, invisible people, projections, the pre-recorded voice of the interviewer guiding the proceedings like a sort of god…prompting Murdoch to periodically question exactly what kind of interview this is…and thus do we make our way through the life of the notorious media mogul who did (and does) more to corrupt the dissemination of news in the cause of money and agenda than anyone else in history; his influence so pernicious that, as far back as 1994, when renowned television dramatist Dennis Potter (The Singing Detective, Pennies from Heaven) knew he was dying of pancreatic cancer, he stated that he had named his tumor Rupert Murdoch, so it would seem less like a part of him and give him something to fight against. (A famous quote which I was nonetheless surprised to find citied very late in the evening.)
As to what kind of interview this is…well, given the nature of the biographical rollout, its presentation and the full title, Murdoch: The Final Interview (emphasis mine), it isn’t too difficult to predict the big reveal. The question then becomes whether all that is worth your attendance.
The play, by “an unnamed source,” is decently enough directed by Christopher Scott, at least to the degree that he keeps things rolling along, has smooth command of all the high-tech aspects and, after the “swivel chair scare,” varies Mr. Jackson’s physical staging sufficiently to avoid the play seeming physically static. He can’t defeat the schematic nature of the mostly chronological narrative though (the out-of-sequence interruptions are really only interludes to give the continued chronology wider context), so there’s what felt to me like a mid-show bog-down.
I’m not sure any sole actor could transcend that any more than the director can, but Mr. Jackson doesn’t; and I hasten to add, that’s not because he’s not a talented actor. He’s quite talented indeed, and he has a career resume to back that up. But he’s occupying a very idiosyncratic space. As a native Australian and a fellow whose presence has a sufficient amount of stageworthy insistence, he’s a perfectly logical, capable choice for the role. The problem is, his “instrument”—by which I mean the totality of persona, vocal range and technique—isn’t versatile enough to pull off the illusion of quick-switching among that many separate and distinct characters, either in the manner of a master impressionist like Kevin Pollak (in a set), a master narrator like David Ogden Stiers (in his many audiobooks), or simply a master of essences communicated subtly, like Alec McCowen (in his famous rendering of St Mark’s Gospel). Mr. Jackson, instead, is a very solid, very skilled, highly intelligent journeyman actor doing the best he can with the toolkit at his disposal. It’s not unimpressive; but it’s not a transcendent tour de force, which seems to be what’s required.
But again, and to be fair, with this material, I’m not so sure that’s possible. Or maybe I’m just not so sure it would make the crucial difference. Roy Cohn, as depicted in Angels in America, for example, is an epic historical villain, a towering villain; and of course, if you’ve seen him portrayed by Ron Leibman, Nathan Lane and, more subtly for the camera, by Al Pacino, they tower right along with him inside them. But I’ve also seen Cohn played by actors of far less wattage. It’s not quite as magical. But the role as written, lets them tower enough. The written word has sufficient energy to hurtle them through.
Murdoch, though, as depicted in The Last Interview, seems rather an ordinary villain; petty, for all his power; opportunistic but not operatic. It leaves the actor and his director to do most of the hurtling on its behalf.
And that makes for some heavy “heavy” lifting indeed.