Max Ritvo (Eric Sirakian) has little patience for critics or bloggers who, according to his good friend and mentor, Sarah Ruhl (Sirine Saba) points out, “misunderstood his work”. The very word ‘critic’, he notes in his American accent, “contains the word ‘dick’”. For the whole of the second half, the words “There is no god” are writ large in block capitals on the back wall of the stage, itself positioned like a catwalk with the audience sat longitudinally on either side. But then Max namedrops Buddhism and Catholicism in the same scene, which wasn’t the first or the last time the narrative left me more than a little baffled.
Max, Sarah tells the audience time and again, liked to give in-person readings of his poetry. The audience turnout would sometimes be very substantial. In this production, however, he launches straight in, reciting or reading poems without providing sufficient context. “She was a liquid baby.” Who? And what even is a liquid baby? Or, “D is a purple letter.” Okay then. If you say so.
This is very much Sarah Ruhl’s story – a stage adaptation of a book co-written by her and Max, and it’s Sarah, or at least this stage version of her, that controls the narrative entirely. Absolutely nothing happens unless Sarah declares it to be so – even on Max’s wedding day, the audience is denied hearing directly from him as to how he’s feeling. Google ‘Max Ritvo’ (other search engines are available) and you’ll discover very quickly what happened to him. With that in mind, I do not consider it too much of a spoiler to reveal he died of cancer in 2016 at the age of twenty-five. In the play, he strives and struggles until he can strive and struggle no more, and there was a silence that went on for so long that my mind couldn’t help but wander. That would have been more than sufficient and very poignant. But Sarah just had to declare that Max is dead and in doing so, rather ruined the moment. It was as if he couldn’t even die without her permission. I found it unnecessarily self-indulgent. Me, me, me!
A cellist, Laura Moody, provides some live music, and thankfully it’s never overdone, but rather pitched at the right level. The stage itself was kept mostly bare, dominated as it was by what looked to me to be a translucent Perspex block, which took up more than half the length of the stage. From my vantage point, it did nothing except amplify the view of members of the audience sat opposite. If it was meant to amplify how opaque the play was, well, it was an absolute triumph in that regard.
Max Ritvo’s writings are more often than not deeply thoughtful, though listening to them as delivered in this production left me feeling nonchalant rather than captivated. Perhaps it was because the letters of the show’s title were originally written to be read – that is, they weren’t written with a performance in mind. The small cast work very hard, but I suspect the book will tug at the heartstrings more than this rather emotionally detached adaptation.
Review by Chris Omaweng
Max Ritvo is an exceptional young man. At just twenty years old, he’s a student at Yale, performing in an experimental comedy troupe, and writing poetry containing wisdom and insight far beyond his years. Eager to explore writing in all its forms, Max applies to Sarah Ruhl’s playwriting workshop. And in Sarah, he quickly realizes he has found not only a mentor, but a friend.
When Max finds out his childhood cancer has returned, the two correspond continually – pursuing an understanding of life and of art and sharing their innermost thoughts with honesty and generosity. Based on their real communications, Letters From Max is a rich mosaic of letters, poetry, music and dialogue that tests theatre’s ability to express the ineffable.
CAST
Sarah – Sirine Saba
Max – Eric Sirakian
CREATIVE TEAM
Writer – Sarah Ruhl
Book by Sarah Ruhl and Max Ritvo
Director – Blanche McIntyre
Designer – Dick Bird
Lighting Designer – Guy Hoare
Sound Designer – Roly Botha
Composer/Cellist – Laura Moody
At some performances the cellist will be Alice Purton / Gabriella Swallow
LETTERS FROM MAX
Hampstead Theatre
23 May to 28 June 2025
