The Substance Of Fire (The Ruskin Group Theatre’s 2024 Production) Theatre Review

When you believe your parent is making a mistake and perhaps losing control, when should you step in? It’s never an easy decision, and for the children of Isaac Geldhart, it is made even more difficult by the circumstances of his childhood which have more or less defined his life and continue to do so. How can you argue about priorities and values with a survivor of the Holocaust? Jon Robin Baitz’s play The Substance Of Fire is a compelling drama of family dynamics and the changing values of a world that perhaps never made sense to begin with. The excellent new production of the play at The Ruskin Group Theatre in Santa Monica stars Rob Morrow as Isaac Geldhart and Marcia Cross as Marge Hackett, a social worker who is to help determine Isaac’s competency.

The play begins in a conference room at the New York publishing firm owned and run by Isaac. It is 1987. The set includes an outline of the skyline as part of the back wall, a nice touch, and the sounds of the city outside are heard until the first lines of dialogue, putting in mind the hustle of the city. As the play opens, Sarah Geldhart (Fiona Dorn) and Martin Geldhart (Barret T. Lewis), two of Isaac’s three children, are discussing the situation at the publishing house. And they are clearly not close. Sarah is seated at the conference table, while Martin remains standing for a while, his backpack still on his shoulder, as if he might leave at any moment, indicating he is not comfortable there, even with just his sister. At one point, she reaches out, inviting him to dinner, but he tells her he can’t make it. Before Isaac even enters, the audience gets a sense of the troubling dynamic of this family. And when he does enter, it is like a strong force, and he is followed immediately by the third son, Aaron (Emmitt Butler), and the two seem to be in the middle of an argument, one that we guess to be ongoing. The question is whether to potentially save the company financially by publishing a novel of dubious literary quality, a novel that Aaron has brought to the firm, and which both Martin and Sarah like. Isaac is not willing to entertain the idea, not willing to risk the reputation of the company. We in the audience can’t help but love Isaac’s passion for reading and for books, even as we suspect he might be wrong about refusing to publish the novel in question. Instead, he plans on publishing a six-volume work on Nazi medical experiments. Aaron tells him he doesn’t understand his father’s Nazi obsession.

Though we sense the three siblings are not particularly close, we do learn that they often speak on the phone, and the subject of these conversations is their common worry about their father. There is a nice stage picture at one point, with Martin at one end of the room, Aaron at the other, and Sarah and Isaac seated at the table in the middle. But even Sarah will turn against her father before the end of the scene. The play is, in part, about what we decide to prioritize and where we make our stands. What is wonderful is that at various times we in the audience find ourselves disagreeing with each of the characters. There isn’t a villain here, and there isn’t an easy solution to things, though you might also find yourself wishing to offer one. (The one that occurred to me was to create a different imprint under the publishing company for novels that might not strike Isaac as serious enough to fit his company’s regular brand.) Each of the actors does such a good job that we find ourselves siding with the different characters in turn, and hoping for a positive outcome, even as we see them heading toward destruction.

The play is also about turning down dinner invitations. In addition to Sarah’s invitation to Martin, Martin asks Isaac when they last had dinner together. And there is a touching moment between Sarah and Aaron, when Aaron asks her to dinner and she says she can’t (though she had earlier invited Martin). The first act ends with Martin again inviting his father to dinner, and Isaac telling him it’s not possible. We get the feeling that if all dinner invitations would be accepted, perhaps everything could be resolved. After all, these dinner invitations are the characters’ way of reaching out, trying to connect to each other, and they are thwarted at each opportunity. In the second act, which takes place in Isaac’s living room, Isaac invites Marge to dinner, an invitation that is at first also turned down. In the second act, we learn that there might be something else within Isaac that possibly leads him to make his decisions. Marge is there to start the process of determining whether Isaac is competent. Is he in his right mind? Three and a half years have passed, not a terribly long time, but long enough to see a change. He admits to getting confused. Is it simply aging? How much of his present is still a product of his childhood during the Holocaust? Earlier, was he simply being cruel to his children, or were those hints of some mental decline? It is easier to accept if it’s the latter, for we like the character. Isaac repeatedly confuses Marge with a person who might want to purchase his literary collection, which includes a postcard created by Adolf Hitler. And how much is his current mental state the result of losing the company, of believing he has been betrayed by his children?

These questions and ideas keep the audience engaged, but it is mainly the performances that do that. I wonder if the play would be so compelling with a lesser cast. All five actors deliver strong performances, and Rob Morrow and Marcia Cross are especially captivating, giving nuanced performances that draw us further in. What a pleasure it is to see actors of this caliber in such an intimate space. When Isaac asks Marge if her children think she’s crazy, her honest and matter-of-fact answer of “Yes” is delightful. It’s also hilarious. That is something you might not expect because of the work’s subjects and themes, but this is actually a funny play. The audience last night was laughing aloud often. And much of the humor comes in the interactions between Isaac and Marge in the play’s second half. When she finally begins to ask him the questions on her paper, he finds the first one to be ridiculous and says, “Next.” It is a completely delightful moment, and we find ourselves relating to him all the more. Earlier in the play one of his sons accused him of having lost his sense of humor, but in this scene we see that he has managed to retain it. The play is both funny and heartbreaking at different moments, sometimes in the same moment. Isaac at one point says, “There was a time when people used to revel in words,” and we can’t help but feel for him, because what he has lost we feel we’ve all lost. While there are some issues that are brought up in the first half that are left unresolved in the second, there is not the sense that we’re missing something. It is like we are seeing two pieces of this man’s life. But when Marge does agree to have dinner at some future date, we feel that things are going to be okay. And the play leaves us with a final incredibly touching moment with Isaac and Martin.

This production of The Substance Of Fire was directed by Mike Reilly, with scenic design by Ryan Wilson, lighting and sound design by Edward Salas, and costume design by Michael Mullen. The play runs through September 1, 2024, with performances every Friday, Saturday and Sunday. There is one intermission. The Ruskin Group Theatre is located at 3000 Airport Avenue, in Santa Monica, California.