The sparse action of this wilderness summit meeting has roots with deep import. Henry Ford, entrepreneur and bigot extraordinaire, has plotted to whisk President Warren Harding away from the surveillance of the Secret Service and the prying of the press. Ford hopes to buy an abandoned power plant from Congress at less than a penny on the dollar. Then, prefiguring Hitler's crazed final solution, Ford wants to buy the presidency and rid his nation of those fiendishly clever Jews who conspire to make life in America so miserable. If Harding won't cooperate, Henry will blackmail the chief exec with revelations of the hanky-panky that's been going on in the White House clothes closet. But the chief reason Camping might hold your interest is the wise, cantankerous Thomas Edison, who stands between Ford and Harding as they aggravate each other.
With a little padding for a tummy, and a nicely molded slouch to add an avuncular cynicism, Geddeth Smith does Edison in rousing fashion. Although St. Germain sometimes has him spouting ideas for no apparent reason, Smith delivers his best zingers in lovably curmudgeonly style. He beautifully articulates why America is destined to choose kindly oafs like Harding to lead us instead of brilliant Fords -- and why we're better off that way.
Few contemporary playwrights would spend an evening with such a message. But that's one of the true charms of Camping, along with St. Germain's utter contempt for slickness. One gets used to the overly youthful and robust Paul Falzone, who nicely combines gruff vulgarity with candor and softheartedness as Harding. Even more impressive is Kermit Brown's Ford, evolving from charm to mania as his plot unfolds. But we already know that Ford never became our 30th president, so Edison's quips are never buttressed with any genuine suspense.
