Based on a 1993 John Seabrook article in The New Yorker, Flash of Genius relates the bittersweet tale of Robert Kearns, a Detroit professor who invented the first intermittent windshield wiper in the 1960s, only to have his design stolen by the automobile industry.

As told here, the fact-based story about perseverance and sacrifice is as frustrating as it is uplifting; it resists being sugarcoated, glamorized or gussied up, which is both good and bad. On the bright side, the relatively drab movie retains the integrity of its borderline crackpot hero, played by Greg Kinnear. But the filmmakers -- led by longtime producer and first-time director Marc Abraham -- don't discover a scintillating or novel way to convey his Sisyphean struggle. Although they stay true to their man and resist selling out, those are qualities the viewer is likely to find more admirable in retrospect than while watching.

The first hurdle to overcome is the fact that patent-infringement is not typically the stuff of soaring drama. Neither are windshield wipers. You'd only associate breakthroughs in wiper technology with genius while driving through a fickle rainstorm. Comparing Kearns and his invention to Antonio Meucci and the telephone, Nikola Tesla and the radio, and Hans Lippershey and the telescope (as the press notes do) smacks of aggrandizement. While Meucci was eclipsed by Alexander Graham Bell, Tesla by Marconi, and Lippershey by Galileo, Kearns was ripped off by the Ford Motor Company.

A second impediment involves the man himself, even assuming his more unsympathetic qualities have been toned down. A professor of electrical engineering at Wayne State University, Kearns comes off as a few circuits short of a dynamic protagonist. A wedding night mishap involving a champagne cork permanently impaired his vision and, years later, inspires the development of "The Kearns Blinking Eye Motor" in his basement workshop. With the help of friend and auto parts supplier Gil Previck (Dermot Mulroney), he takes the idea to Ford. The company has been working on its own version, as have the other two industry behemoths, without being able to come up with the right design. Long story short, Ford steals Kearns' design and refuses to acknowledge his role. 

His business naiveté and moral scruples are oddly disconcerting because they're not adequately explored. The nervous breakdown he suffers certainly doesn't disqualify him from genius status or likeability. The hero who perseveres at all costs and is ostracized for his tenacity is a familiar figure, one often ridiculed as mad. Yet due to the way Flash of Genius unfolds, the audience doesn't see the toll his struggle takes on his standing in the community or at work. Our sympathy is held in check because we're asked to adopt the perspective of the society that says he's crazy to fight Ford and should take the money the company offers at various junctures. We aren't invited to champion him until courtroom scenes in the movie’s final reel.

We can sympathize with his schoolteacher wife Phyllis (Lauren Graham) and their brood of six closely-spaced children, despite not getting much detail about how his crusade for justice affected those relationships. We're not told whether he was an adequate provider during the many years he spent fighting Ford. We do learn Phyllis went back to work after they separated and that he became estranged from his children. Much of the film's emotion stems from the reconciliation that occurs, particularly with his oldest son.

Kinnear adds to the difficulty. He's the right actor to convey Kearns' quirky side but doesn't possess the type of leading-man charisma that smooths over let alone transforms the rough aspects of a character. He began by playing heels and acerbic jerks and his métier is now dark comedy. The charming, kinky and doomed actor Bob Crane in the biopic Auto Focus is arguably his signature role. As for awards buzz, this isn't a sufficiently dazzling performance and will only get attention if the competition is weak. Illustrating its low-wattage, Alan Alda brings much-needed dynamism to the film in two scenes as Kearns' lawyer -- to the point that Kinnear's screen presence is nearly extinguished.

The major drawback of Flash of Genius is its unintentional drone-like quality. It's poorly lit and the somber production design becomes a grind rather than looking like one. While it might be faithfully told and teach the value of perseverance, Kearns' story is rendered without much artistic flare, at the risk of bypassing the audience. We feel almost as cheated as Kearns must have, without being able to share in his ultimate triumph.

(Released by Universal Pictures and rated "PG-13" for brief strong language.)