The Ruby Sunrise: Nothing But The Truth

"Television will be the end of war. Because who can bear to see war in their own living room?"

So prophetizes the young heroine of Rinne Groff's engrossing and entertaining drama The Ruby Sunrise, a self-taught electronics prodigy who, in 1927, is in the midst of inventing the world's first television in a dilapidated barn. World War I killed her brothers, but she could see a future where a camera and a receiver could allow all people to learn about and ultimately accept each other as friends. And though televised footage from Vietnam was a major contributor to the 1960's anti-war movement, how could she have foreseen how directors, editors, corporate sponsors and network policies could determine how the work of an impartial camera can be interpreted into the version of the truth that will reach millions of homes.

Director Oskar Eustis' first production as Artistic Director of the Public Theatre is a passionately idealistic piece that sizzles with colorful characters, creative stagecraft and dialogue that crackles with period earnestness.

Marin Ireland, an actress who habitually makes the most subtle expressions and vocal inflections mesmerizing, opens the play as Ruby, a scruffy tomboy who has snuck her makeshift electrical equipment into the barn next to her Aunt Lois' (Anne Scurria) Indiana boarding house, having run away from her father for reasons that are only hinted. Being an offspring of the marriage between her sister and the man she loved, Lois isn't all that keen on having Ruby around, especially when Henry (Patch Darragh), the farming student who rents a room from Lois, rejects her advances and shows a fascination for the smart girl who spews out technical jargon he doesn't understand.

The scenes between these three are simply staged with natural language, but every so often something seems a little off. A speech from Lois turns severely melodramatic. A kiss between Ruby and Henry leads to a visual which is joyous and romantic, but out of step with what we've seen so far. Finally, Eugene Lee's rustic set suddenly bursts into a 1952 New York television studio and there's the bombastic and hard-nosed producer, Martin (Richard Masur), complaining about low ratings to his egghead writer, Tad (Jason Butler Harner). It's a time where dramatic plays written especially for the small screen are quickly scripted to network specifications, rehearsed in less than a week and performed live in front of millions.

Script girl Lulu (an irresistibly tough and idealistic Maggie Siff) is considered a genius in the biz by Martin -- and would probably be more than a script girl if she were a man -- so when she suggests that people want to see stories about the little guy, the working class, he listens. Tad is also listening, attracted to her as much as he is to her ideas. So when Lulu tells him the story of how her mother Ruby came close to inventing television, he whips it up into a teleplay that sends visions of high ratings dancing through Martin's head. There are some changes needed, though. That word "comrade" sounds too much like a reference to Communism. And you can't have Ruby being pregnant without being married first. And does she really have to come that close to inventing television? The boys from RCA may have a problem with that.

So Tad and Lulu, now paired romantically as well as professionally, must weigh the importance of having the story told with inaccuracies against not having it told at all. And to add more complications, the great actress they were promised to play Ruby (Marin Ireland as a demoralized Elizabeth Hunter) has been blacklisted and replaced by a ditzy Marilyn Monroe look-alike (Audra Blaser supplying some good laughs). While Hunter scolds Tad for playing the network game, the haughty actress playing Lois (Anne Scurria again) gives Lulu the straight talk on the insignificance of truth and art in what they do. "I sell soap.", she declares plainly. Every line reading, every emotion she brings into the text is done for the purpose of selling soap.

When the teleplay is broadcast, the Public Theatre audience sees the result, live as it's happening, in glorious black in white. It's a beautiful moment that's funny, satisfying and richly theatrical. Be sure to watch the closing credits to the very end for an interesting twist.

For all the jokes made about television (the boob tube, the vast wasteland) it is still the most powerful form of communication and vehicle for making the arts accessible that we have. Americans believe what they see on television because it's there right in front of them in their very homes. How can they not believe what they see and hear? The Ruby Sunrise tries to make some sense out of the subjectivity of what is supposed to be hard fact.

I'm looking forward to catching a re-run of this one.

 

Photos by  Michal Daniel: Top: Maggie Siff and Jason Butler Harner
Center: Marin Ireland and Patch Darragh
Bottom: Patch Darragh, Richard Masur, Audra Blaser, Maggie Siff and Anne Scurria

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