Whether “Ragtime” is presented in productions mammoth (as in its 1998 premiere) or modest (the 2009 revival), the musical, adapted from E.L. Doctorow’s kaleidoscopic 1975 novel, reverberates with the directness, passion and allegorical heft of an American folk epic.
Lear deBessonet opens her tenure as artistic director of Lincoln Center Theater with an expanded and exceptional version of the concert-plus production she staged at New York City Center during the weeks surrounding the presidential election last fall. It’s a savvy choice given the positive reception it received, the show’s panoramic scope and the ever-vital themes of the work.
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It’s a thrilling experience, though on the Vivian Beaumont Theater’s vast stage this pageant of a musical feels a bit skimpy. Not that the musical needs opulent sets, but it does call for stunning stagecraft to match the awe of its aspirations. It’s achieved here only intermittently.
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Book writer Terrence McNally artfully adapted Doctorow’s densely packed, historical novel which, from the start, seemed destined to be a musical. (Its title alone would get the theatrical rights rolling.) But because of the multitude of characters and stories of the book, that was no easy task. (The 1981 film version was less than a commercial triumph.)
Tapping into Doctorow’s cooly elegant narration and rambunctious conceit, McNally streamlined the event-filled book into a clear, cohesive and dynamic creation for the stage.
Music unites the interconnecting stories in this saga and expands its passions, with a sumptuous score by composer Stephen Flaherty and lyricist Lynn Ahrens that taps into a wide range of American styles, idioms and amalgams, even as the second act turns more dissonant. Special mention, too, goes to William David B John’s lush orchestrations and the show’s gorgeous choral work.
Director deBessonet’s fluid staging follows three disparate groups — a white, upper-middle-class family, an African-American couple and a newly emigrated Jewish widower and his young daughter. They all face seismic shifts in their lives at the turn of the last century. Dramatic shifts in America, too, as “Ragtime” takes on weighty issues of racism, immigration, class, industrialization, the rise of unions, and the changing worlds for women and popular culture.
That’s a heavy load to balance — on top of a slew of symbols and metaphors. But the leading actors manage to fill in the broad outlines of their archetypical characters (most with generic monikers) with finesse as they adapt, embrace, rebel or are defeated by the chaos of fast-moving times.
From his suburban perch, the imperious Father (Colin Donnell) fails to hear or understand the music of change, especially the new syncopated sounds of ragtime which trips up the inevitability of the beat, creating a new tempo for the times.
However, Mother (Cassie Levy, splendid) appreciates this new music which accompanies her transformative story arc. She changes from dutiful 19th century wife and mother (singing the quaint “Goodbye, My Love”) to a 20th century woman who finally finds the power of her own agency (a resounding “Back to Before”).
Her Younger Brother (Ben Levi Ross, funny, sad and riveting) also yearns for something more than privileged comfort and finds his purpose and inspiration in activist Emma Goldman (Shaina Taub, bringing warmth to the rabble-rousing). Mother’s Little Boy (Nick Barrington, humorously self-possessed) is a curious observer of the changes taking place around him. He’s clairvoyant, too — he foresees the trigger event for a world war— giving the work a touch of prophecy that is better integrated in the novel.
The second story follows the journey of Tateh (Brandon Uranowitz), the Latvian immigrant and his Little Girl (Tabitha Lawing), from New York’s tenements to factory exploitation in a mill town to his re-invention as a populist filmmaker in a nascent industry. Uranowitz’ is both tender and tough in both his struggles and in his triumph, capped with a chronicle of his character’s rise in a dazzling “Buffalo Nickel Photoplay Inc.”
The main propellant of these interwoven stories is the narrative of Coalhouse Walker Jr. (Joshua Henry, simply superb), a successful and charismatic musician, and Sarah (Nichelle Lewis), whom he loved, lost and is reunited with, only to have tragedy fall upon them both. Lewis delicately dials the character’s challenging emotional swings from madness, through recovery, hope and despair. But it’s Henry’s commanding presence, richly felt emotions and powerful vocals that anchors the show while making the production soar.
Though the score is anthem-heavy and earnestness is always hovering, there are moments in the show that are transcendent. The opening number remains a stunner as choreographer Ellenore Scott finding fresh ways of delineating all the major and minor characters and introducing the tensions that will further tighten throughout the show.
Included in these special moments are Coalhouse wooing Sarah out of her room with his enchanting “New Music”; their love duet, “Wheels of a Dream”; the contrasting quests of Father and Tateh in “Journey On;” Younger Brother’s passion in “The Night That Goldman Spoke at Union Square” and, with Goldman singing what the young man can’t articulate, “He Wanted to Say”; and Allison Blackwell as Sarah’s Friend, tearing through the Act One closer “Til We Reach That Day” with artful measure.
The show’s creators also know that lightness is needed, too, and give the audience the occasional breather — while remarkably keeping the themes in play — by tapping into the appeal of secondary characters such as escape artist Houdini (Rodd Cyrus), Evelyn Nesbitt (Anna Grace Barlow, a delight as perhaps America’s first meaningless celeb); and a rude bunch of baseball-loving bros.
In productions large or small — or, here, imperfectly in-between, though still glorious — everything is the service of the show that creates with words, music and movement a grand American tapestry — tears and all.