Arches Lane Theatre – until 29 June 2025
Reviewed by Claire Roderick
2**
Stories about the fallout from scandals and crimes are always interesting – what happens to those left behind?
Writer and director Roger Steinmann imagines the life of Ruth Madoff, widow of the Ponzi fraudster Bernie Madoff. Was she complicit in his schemes or an innocent wife. Does she know where the missing billions are?
The publicity encourages fans of real-life dramas with a touch of Blanche Dubois and Norma Desmond to see this show, but although Ruth is written as an emotionally unstable recluse alone with her grief, unfortunately there is no dramatic tension or credible arc to her story.
Alone in her luxury apartment, with huge portraits of her husband and two sons creating a shrine-like atmosphere, Ruth’s mind/story lurches around in time as she first imagines a family meal and gets confused about where her family are before traumatic key events since Bernie’s arrest are revisited. This may be meant to show the discombobulating effect of being alone but the discombobulation spreads to the audience as well. As Ruth (Emily Swain) remembers the deaths of her sons – one from cancer, one by suicide – their chairs are removed from the stage in a misguided act of symbolism that misfires. In the corner of the stage is a pile of pizza boxes, the result of Ruth’s fantasist obsession with Italian delivery boy Marco (Evan Emanuel). This storyline seemed superfluous as an overwrought way to hammer home Ruth’s need to escape and facilitate a confrontation with one of Bernie’s victims later in the play.
Ruth yoyos wildly from blissfully unaware devoted loving wife to bitter victim of a cowardly bully, to venal partner in crime with moments of unintentional humour, but the unchanging backbone of Steinmann’s version of Ruth is a narcissistic humblebragging snob ready to attack anyone who dares threaten her privileged life, even now when it lies in ruins. It is only in the last stage of the show where some semblance of self-awareness flickers before being swatted away by the disembodied voices of her sons and husband as the latter tries to guide her to hell with him and her sons try to guide her to the pearly gates. This is probably supposed to be Faustian, but the arguments are psychobabble that sound as if the characters are reading them cold from a cheap self-help book.
Emily Swain’s heartfelt performance is let down by her character being written as a woman who has no identity other than as a mother and wife. And although grief can strip a person of their identity, this play gives no insight or sense of being to Ruth and it is exceedingly difficult to connect or care about the character, despite Swain’s praiseworthy efforts.
Roger Steinmann’s intention is admirable, but at this stage of its development, Ruthless is muddled and vague, not telling Ruth’s story with clarity and insight. This could be a fascinating story with further work. Collaboration with another writer/dramaturg and perhaps cutting the running time could develop a portrait of Ruth Madoff with more humanity, whether as victim or villain.