Graham’s portrait of that time — illuminated vividly by director Jason Loewith and 13 splendid actors — pinpoints a moment when rough-and-ready newspaper journalism ceased to be gleeful, turning instead into a grim search for the lowest common denominator. “Ink,” first performed in London in 2017 (and later on Broadway), is no rollicking descendant of “The Front Page,” Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur’s raucous 1928 valentine to Chicago newshounds.
Rather, it’s a testament to cynicism, a model of civic responsibility closer to the sensibility of P.T. Barnum than Ben Bradlee. The Sun did not invent sensationalism, but in feeding reader cravings for gossip, sex, crime, you name it, Murdoch and company further corrupted the discourse, forcing competitors to follow suit — and setting the pattern for the corrosive media universe we live in today.
For a town as obsessed as Washington with making news, being news, breaking news, “Ink” is veritable popcorn fare. The characters are a recognizable gallery of Lamb’s allies and rivals, who follow his instincts into the gutter: the working-class crime reporter turned news editor (Maboud Ebrahimzadeh); the Oxbridge toff with broadsheet airs (Michael Glenn); the upright supervisor of the women’s pages (Kate Eastwood Norris); the haughty owner (Craig Wallace) of the reigning Fleet Street tabloid, the Mirror, whose crown Lamb and Murdoch seek to steal.
Oh, yes — there’s Murdoch, too, portrayed here convincingly by Andrew Rein as a cunning titan accustomed to getting what he wants. Interestingly, though, he’s not the coarse, irritable tycoon whom Brian Cox animated so unforgettably in “Succession” (widely perceived as a TV series à clef about the Murdoch empire). This is a Murdoch of more mercurial motivation, desperate to win but squeamish about some of Lamb’s innovations, particularly the Page 3 pinup display.
That lowbrow milestone is introduced in an intentionally cringe-y scene in which Lamb talks an aspiring actress (Awesta Zarif) into taking her top off for a Sun photographer (Zion Jang) — and for the great British public. The newsstand sales take off. Murdoch, ultimately, is seduced by a formula that works.
Lamb is Graham’s touchstone for a new Britain emerging in the latter half of the 20th century — not just one with a weakness for sophomoric naughtiness, but also an anti-unionist, nativist one that would soon vote for Margaret Thatcher, and later for Brexit. That he was an avatar of a new order would be reflected in the wins Lamb racked up: The Sun’s circulation would surpass the Mirror’s, and he would even earn a knighthood.
If collateral damage occurred in Lamb’s ruthless appeal to his base’s base curiosities, well, so be it. “Ink” recounts the editor’s cold exploitation of what amounted to a tragedy in the newspaper’s family: the abduction of the wife of Sun’s deputy chairman (Todd Scofield). Graham posits that not even the revelation that the intended victim was Murdoch’s own wife could dissuade Lamb from printing every shocking development in the story. Graham and Nickell make Lamb’s drive for the big headline so muscularly compelling that you get swept up in his determination, too.
Loewith and scenic designer Tony Cisek conceive the physical world of “Ink” as a tabloid layout: The walls of the set fold out like giant newspaper tearsheets, with projections by Mike Tutaj that fill modular panels as if they were visual elements of the pages. (A glitch during Act 1 that caused a computer error message to project distractingly onto the stage was the only technical wrinkle.) Costume designer Debra Kim Sivigny provides inspired contrast in the prim period fashion for the professional women and the scantier get-ups for the models the Sun uses to sell papers.
Loewith draws, too, on expert performances from the likes of Glenn, Ebrahimzadeh, Norris, Wallace and Scofield, names in a cast list that always signal polish and intelligence. (Look also for Round House’s artistic director, Ryan Rilette, in a nice turn as a hyper sports editor.) They collectively ensure that this Round House offering — a co-production with Olney Theatre Center — always feels like the real article.
Ink, by James Graham. Directed by Jason Loewith. Sets, Tony Cisek; costumes, Debra Kim Sivigny; lighting, Minjoo Kim; sound and music, Matthew M. Nielson; projections, Mike Tutaj. With Chris Genebach, Sophia Early, Walter Riddle. About 2 hours 45 minutes. Through Sept. 24 at Round House Theatre, 4545 East-West Hwy., Bethesda. roundhousetheatre.org.