Ruby Moon

Ruby Moon by Matt Cameron is a contemporary play that explores the grim mythology of the missing child in Australian folklore. The Fusebox at the Factory Theatre is the perfect venue for this intimate, sensitive production of the play by Samsonite Productions, directed by Johann Walraven.

The first thing the audience sees upon entering the theatre is a child-sized mannequin dressed in Ruby’s last known clothing. It is a haunting image we are familiar with from a media saturated with stories of missing white girls. The set is a cross between the suburban Australian living room and a dramatic playing space, complete with coat racks holding various costumes. As such, the stage is set for a very real fear to be explored in a very heightened manner, which is very true to Cameron’s script.

Ruby Moon is an incredible ask for its two actors. One male and one female must each command four very different characters, never really leaving the stage or undergoing wholesale changes to their appearance. Pash Julian shines as Sid, Sonny Jim, and the Professor, thoroughly embracing the idiosyncrasies of these strange characters, and winning the audience over with moments of genuine comedy. Samantha Lee seems to show less range with the characters of Dulcie, Veronica and Dawn, but one has to wonder if this is in the writing of the female characters than in the actor’s portrayals. While the male characters in Ruby Moon are inventive and rich with back story, the female characters almost seem to be no more than the old lady, the whore and the little girl. Again, this is not necessarily a reflection on this particular production, but a hurdle that must be overcome with the play. The hardest task of the actors in Ruby Moon, however, is not the presentation of a wild and wacky host of characters, but of creating a meaningful and sincere relationship between Ray and Sylvie, Ruby’s worried parents. Julian and Lee struggled to manage this in the initial scene of the play, but as each scene unfolded, they connected and relaxed into these important roles. This could simply be put down to opening night jitters, and the unfortunate reality of a small weekday audience in the Sydney theatre scene. These little bumps will surely be ironed out towards the weekend and the rest of the run.

The music, composed by Kathleen Leary and Josh Starita, was an appropriate balance of haunting and familiar. Low rumbles and drones were used very effectively to create a sense of unease. A Sound Designer’s skills could’ve been employed to marry the sound effects with the soundscape and musical elements. The limitations of an independent production in a small theatre meant that the onstage phone would ring from a speaker two metres away, and that there was no way for an audience to discern nearby sounds from those in the distance.

The costume design was well thought out, and the perfect amount of adjustment required for each character. Transitions between characters and scenes were handled expertly, with not a moment of energy dropped during costume changes. In an interesting move, the costume design is credited to a menswear label, Fortunate Son. As such, it seemed odd that Julian’s shirt when dressed as Ray appeared quite large on him. This may have been for a practical reason however - perhaps ease of removal?

The lighting was incredibly simple and incredibly effective. It is a play driven by two performers and to do anything more with the lighting would’ve taken away from their performances. Onstage were three operational lamps that were another effective way of marrying the theatricalism of the play with the realistic qualities of the story. It was hard not to feel that these lamps could’ve been used more as a story-telling device than they were, however.

The final scene was beautifully directed and well-handled by the performers, leaving the audience with the exact amount of closure the play requests. Overall, this is a production worth seeing. Two actors exploring their craft within a beautiful Australian play that is atmospheric and thought- provoking.

Jessica Lovelace