Theatre in Review: Ragtime (Lincoln Center Theater/Vivian Beaumont Theater)

	Joshua Henry. Caissie Levy, Brandon Uranowitz. Photo: Matthew Murphy

If Lear DeBessonet's new production of this modern musical classic makes anything clear, it is that Ragtime is our time. Terrence McNally's book wrangles E. L. Doctorow's seemingly unadaptable novel, creating a Cinerama snapshot of America in 1906, roiled by economic inequality, racism, immigration, technological disruption, trade unions, celebrity culture, tabloid crime, and political violence. Remind you of anything? Aware that this lily needs no gilding, DeBessonet succeeds by getting out of the show's way, providing a clean, clear, visually stunning staging filled with bravura performances. A quarter-century-old piece, set more than a century ago, speaks, directly and eloquently, to the present moment.

McNally's remarkable adaptation tracks six protagonists from three wildly different social sectors while making room for the parade of public figures who cast long shadows over the action: eat-the-rich anarchist Emma Goldman, plutocrats JP Morgan and Henry Ford; Booker T. Washington, with his uplift-the-race philosophy; Harry Houdini, improbable symbol of immigrant achievement, and Evelyn Nesbit, model, chorus girl and trophy wife, who, entangled in a sordid murder case, monetizes the scandal, reinventing herself as a vaudeville sweetheart. The free flow of fact and fiction creates an almost hallucinogenic vision of a country bursting with energy yet explosive with rage. Driving the action are Stephen Flaherty's music, a river of melody blending ragtime, klezmer, period pop styles, and grand orchestral gestures, and Lynn Ahrens's witty, pointed lyrics, which cut to the heart of each new situation, precisely and economically.

The production turns on a trio of stunning star performances. Coalhouse Walker, ragtime musician and reformed rake turned ardent lover, benefits from Joshua Henry's magnetic smile and rousing vocals. Winning back Sarah, the mother of his child, he burnishes "Wheels of a Dream," his yearning vision of a fresh start, free from racism's taint. Later, when that dream is dead, thanks to an attack by an Irish gang, Henry masterfully handles the sorrowful "Sarah Brown Eyes," and, having embarked on a campaign of retribution that ends in a hostage situation, he lends enormous dignity to "Make Them Hear You." Caissie Levy's Mother, a seemingly content suburban matron jolted by the discovery of Sarah's abandoned child, grows more independent with each new appearance, culminating in "Back to Before," her joyous declaration of independence. Brandon Uranowitz bristles with humor and fury as Tateh, an immigrant striver and devoted father who claws his way out of the tenements, reinventing himself as the Baron Ashkenazy, king of the one-reelers.

Also: Nichelle Lewis' Sarah is, alternately, wounded, hopeful, and desperate as Sarah, turning the number "Your Daddy's Son" into an unsettling animal cry of pain. Colin Donnell's Father, husband of Mother and a prosperous fireworks merchant, is a stolid, yet oddly touching figure, his received ideas about class and personal rectitude leaving him behind in the rougher, more egalitarian America being born. (He is especially effective in "New Music," a meditation on the sound of ragtime that ends up with him positioned as a stranger in his own home.) Ben Levi Ross is poignant as Mother's Younger Brother, who, spiritually lost and hunting for meaning, puts his knowledge of explosives to the wrong sort of use. (His plot line resonates eerily in these days of young people driven to political extremes.) Constantly passing through are Shaina Taub's Goldman, rousing crowds in Union Square and egging on strikers at a Massachusetts factory; John Clay III's Washington, reluctantly intervening in Coalhouse's takeover of the JP Morgan Library; Rodd Cyrus' Houdini, a frustrated mystic basking in the public's affection yet yearning for something deeper, and Anna Grace Barlow's Evelyn, clinging at her vanishing fame any way she can ("I'm not an actress! I'm a personality!").

Given the teeming cast and rangy narrative, Ragtime is constantly in danger of becoming top-heavy. But, from the moment the entire cast rises on a lift, accompanied by gorgeous uplighting, it's clear that DeBessonet grasps the show's essential values. David Korins' production design is built for speed, not spectacle, relying on elevators, turntables, and movable scenic elements to suggest a multitude of locations. "Journey On," unfolding on two ships passing in the night, is staged on a pair of towering rolling staircases, with a tiny Statue of Liberty in the background. Mother and Father's New Rochelle home consists of a doorway, a piano, a staircase, and a set of gables hovering in the background. Korins' biggest coup is a drop depicting Atlantic City with a forced-perspective boardwalk and an illuminated roller-coaster. Korins also employs a trio of transparent drops that work with projections, by 59 Studio, of ocean vistas, a country road, the view from a moving train, and the interior of the Ellis Island Immigrant Station.

The stunning lighting by Adam Honore and Donald Holder artfully carves characters out of the darkness, sweeps the stage in crowd scenes, and strategically deploys saturated color washes to suggest various locations and emotional tones. Linda Cho's costumes cut across all social levels and races: nattily tailored ice cream suits, immigrants' rags, and carefully shaped silhouettes and enormous hats for ladies of fashion. Based on the performance I attended, Kai Harada could dial down the sound levels a notch or two; a number like "Your Daddy's Son" needs no hyping, and some patter numbers, like "Henry Ford," are a bit muddy. In any case, the orchestra, comprising more than two dozen musicians, sounds glorious.

Ellenore Scott's choreography makes good use of the Beaumont's expansive stage, mingling the cast members during the opening number before separating them into three separate ethnic groupings. (Wait for the moment when Tateh's little girl bumps into a haughty lady, knocking her purse to the ground; it's a perfect miniature of class conflict.) Each new bit of staging -- the company insouciantly shrugging its shoulders while Evelyn pleads her case in "Crime of the Century," exhausted auto workers dropping over in "Henry Ford," and gracefully promenading vacationers in "Atlantic City" -- is suitable to the moment. And DeBessonet finds many moments of revelation to underscore the action: Father faced with three unwelcome offered handshakes from men he considers outsiders; Tateh's smile collapsing into a cold rage when a stranger offers to purchase his daughter, the sharp comeback by Mother that signals her growing sense of autonomy, and Coalhouse, realizing he has been stalemated, steeling himself and facing his fate with resignation.

The list goes on and on. Ragtime is bursting with intriguing ideas and memorable moments, including the sardonic tribute to Ford's assembly line ("Even people who ain't too clever/Can learn to tighten a nut forever"), the delicate ballads "Nothing Like the City" and "Our Children," which signal the growing alliance between Mother and Tateh, and Edgar, Mother and Father's son, with his bizarre premonitions of World War I. It all adds up to a mirror image of history that looks strikingly, almost disturbingly, like our own.

For all its astonishing relevance to today's politics -- don't expect to see this production at the Kennedy Center any time soon -- Ragtime often feels like the product of an earlier time, when writers and directors aimed to create musicals of broad scope and ambition. Aside from Hamilton and, perhaps, Suffs (the latter written by cast member Taub), contemporary examples are hard to find. Although neither artist had anything to do with it, I sometimes think of the show as the end of the Sondheim-Prince era, in which musicals were designed to challenge, rather than satiate, the audience. Perhaps this superlative demonstration of craft in a first-class production can inspire a new generation of talents to take up the cause. In any case, Ragtime remains a musical that could have been written yesterday. --David Barbour