Set against the backdrop of the bustling and chaotic life of New York City in 1906, the musical “Ragtime” made its grand debut on Broadway in 1998, radiating a sense of self-assured significance. Much like how Michelle Obama would later praise “Hamilton” for showcasing the contributions of immigrants, “Ragtime” saw itself as a narrative encapsulating the essence of America.
Each participant in the production had something to prove. Canadian producer Garth Drabinsky was an industry outsider, willing to invest heavily in lavish production values and extensive advertising. Director Frank Galati aimed to demonstrate that the techniques he honed in Chicago could transform a sprawling narrative, like E. L. Doctorow’s epic, into a significant Broadway musical. Book writer Terrence McNally was bursting with ambitions for the theatrical form. Meanwhile, composers Stephen Flaherty and Lynn Ahrens sought to show their versatility by weaving together ragtime, shtetl music, and the poignant ballads of a disenchanted wealthy wife.
The production, despite its occasional missteps, effectively captured the tumultuous spirit of America in 1906, emphasizing that change and its accompanying upheaval are constants, yet asserting that progress lies ahead. Ultimately, it was the stirring score of “Ragtime” that captured the hearts of many, and this is precisely where the new revival at Lincoln Center wisely places its emphasis.
While Lear deBessonet’s direction may not be labeled minimalist, though it originated as a City Center gala, her approach shifts away from sweeping declarations about America. Instead, it hones in on the vivid characters Doctorow created: a musician named Coalhouse Walker and his beloved Sarah, a New Rochelle family bewildered by change, and an optimistic Jewish immigrant whose unwavering belief in his new homeland propels him to success.
The grand metaphor of a nation in perpetual motion is notably absent, replaced by designer David Korins’ more psychological and expressionistic set design. There is minimal choreography, and although the orchestra matches the original in size—touted as “the largest on Broadway”—it remains concealed beneath the stage, a subtle nod to anti-triumphalism. The performers, without the solace of visible orchestral support, must rely on their own conviction.
In today’s context, America is far removed from its 1998 state. Attending “Ragtime” now underscores just how much has changed, particularly in terms of confidence in a shared future. This rendition focuses on a different aspect: the inevitable struggles with personal disappointment and loss that Americans face.
That’s fair enough. It’s a different time and all of that was always baked into the material. Especially the novel.
Better yet, the new focus plays into the strengths of an empathetic cast that sings the bejesus out of these famous songs. Joshua Henry’s Colehouse feels younger than has been typical, less initially polite, more impassioned and, of course, his voice is the stuff of standing ovations. Nichelle Lewis’ Sarah is more fragile, which makes her crushed optimism especially moving. As Tateh, Brandon Uranowitz focuses on energetic joy. He expands the role and makes it all the more essential to the piece. Both Lewis and Ben Levi Ross, who plays the brooding Mother’s Younger Brother, bring qualities to those two characters I’d never seen before. They are doing the best work of the night; Ross, especially, fleshes out what mostly has been a caricature.
Caissie Levy, whose Mother shares the lead with Henry’s Colehouse, gets the full focus of the Lincoln Center audience as she plants herself center stage and sings the anthemic “Back to Before,” an 11 o’clock number that builds and modulates like crazy, the character going from zero to 70 in five minutes. Levi delivers what you expect from that (as do all of these performers, really) but she also has a quizzical quality, a sense that this Mother does not believe anything will ever work out.
“Ragtime” is generous to all of its characters, not unlike “The Gilded Age,” the TV show with Broadway stars. Its foundational belief in “our children” seems corny today, especially at the end.
But there is still something touching about its conviction that they will have a better life. I mean, Americans look to musicals for hope, don’t we?
