- When can you conclude that an object has been invented? I think most people would agree that the inventive process requires more than simply having gathered the requisite parts. On the other end of the spectrum is mass production, which can surely only occur after an object has indisputably been invented. The grey area between these two extremes is at the heart of Marc Abraham's biographical drama Flash of Genius. University engineering professor and self-described inventor Robert Kearns (Greg Kinnear) claims that he came up with the intermittent windshield wiper after several inspiring moments in his life compelled him to construct a working prototype in his basement. The Ford Motor Company asserts that their version of the wiper was developed independent of Kearns shortly after he loaned them his prototype. It seems like a strange coincidence, but Kearns is going to need proof before taking one of the country's largest car manufacturers to court.
- But lest you get the wrong impression, let me assure you that Kearns is not remotely interested in money. Instead, he sees himself as a noble engineer who is owed credit and an apology by Ford for stealing his idea. Clearly, he blames the smarmy Ford executive Macklin Tyler (Mitch Pileggi) most directly, but Kearns is so obsessed with getting his apology that he is also willing to alienate his onetime friend and business partner Gil Previck (Dermot Mulroney), his lawyer Gregory Lawson (Alan Alda), and eventually even his devoted wife Phyllis (Lauren Graham) in the process. Kearns sees his many children occasionally, but he plays an increasingly unimportant role in their lives as the years tick by. Near the film's end, Kearns finally wins the case against Ford, and the credits inform us that he also collected millions from G.M. Considering the course his life has taken, these feel like Pyrrhic victories at best.
- Strangely enough, the person Kearns reminds me of most is neither Edison nor Tesla, but rather Glenn Ford's character David Bannion from The Big Heat. That's slightly unfair since Bannion's relentless quest for justice led to the death of pretty much every woman he ever met, but Kearns' similar attitude gradually drives away all of his friends and family members. These are clearly the actions of a disconcertingly obsessed man whose strange pilgrimage to Washington D.C. was probably symptomatic of a greater mental problem. The film itself captures this single-minded devotion well while providing plenty of interesting period details ranging from car launching parties to Mulroney's spectacular 70's coiffure. It occasionally stumbles through the narration, highlighting a few humdrum moments in Kearns' life and deploying sloppy onscreen captions to inform the audience how much time has passed, but ultimately Kearns is an interesting enough specimen to keep things watchable. By the film's end, you might even find yourself rooting for the guy against your better judgment.
- Bill Smitrovich plays a judge.
- Based on a New Yorker article by John Seabrook.
