Ragtime’ Review: Checking the Status of Our American Dream

When Ragtime first premiered on Broadway in 1998, it was hailed as an epic, sweeping portrait of America at the dawn of the 20th century—a melting pot of dreams, divisions, and revolutions. Two and a half decades later, in a new revival that feels as urgent as ever, the musical proves itself not only a historical piece but a mirror reflecting the tensions and hopes of our current moment.

This latest production, staged at a major regional theatre (and now generating Broadway buzz), delivers Ragtime with renewed energy and sharper political insight. Directed with a delicate blend of grandeur and intimacy, the show reexamines how the pursuit of the American Dream often leaves people behind—and whether that dream was ever truly meant for everyone.

The story, based on E.L. Doctorow’s 1975 novel, weaves together the intersecting lives of three groups: an upper-class white family from New Rochelle; a determined Black musician, Coalhouse Walker Jr.; and a Jewish immigrant artist, Tateh, who arrives at Ellis Island with his young daughter seeking a better life. Their fates collide in ways that expose both the promise and peril of the country’s defining ideals.

At its heart, Ragtime is a story about transformation. Every character, from the stoic Father to the idealistic Mother, faces a reckoning as America itself undergoes a seismic cultural shift. What’s remarkable about this new staging is how those shifts feel eerily current—echoing conversations about privilege, systemic injustice, and the elusive nature of equality.

The musical’s book by Terrence McNally and the score by Stephen Flaherty and Lynn Ahrens remain as powerful as ever. “Wheels of a Dream” and “Till We Reach That Day” still land with the kind of emotional force that makes audiences pause before applauding. But under this direction, the songs take on deeper resonance. The production resists nostalgia; instead, it pushes the audience to question the comforting myths that often surround America’s founding narratives.

Visually, the staging is both striking and symbolic. Industrial scaffolding and projections of newspaper headlines blur the line between past and present. A ragtime piano sits at the center of the stage, reminding us of how art and music have always been tools of resistance. Costumes remain period-accurate, but the minimalist set allows the themes to breathe in a more contemporary context.

The performances anchor the production with emotional clarity. As Coalhouse Walker Jr., the show’s moral compass and tragic hero, the lead actor embodies both pride and pain. His transformation—from a joyful musician celebrating new love to a man consumed by rage and injustice—is handled with devastating precision. In his hands, Coalhouse becomes not just a character from history, but a symbol of every Black man whose dignity has been stripped by a nation that promised equality.

Opposite him, the actress playing Mother gives one of the most nuanced performances in the revival. Her gradual awakening to the realities beyond her privileged life is the production’s emotional core. Her rendition of “Back to Before” is less a wistful reflection and more a declaration of independence, asserting that empathy is the first step toward revolution.

Meanwhile, Tateh’s storyline—the immigrant’s tale of reinvention—feels freshly relevant in an era when immigration and identity remain national flashpoints. His journey from poverty to filmmaking mogul mirrors the contradictions of the American Dream: the belief that success is possible for all, and the painful truth that it comes at great cost.

But perhaps what makes this Ragtime revival most powerful is its insistence on looking forward. The show’s creators understood that history repeats itself, and this production makes that cycle impossible to ignore. The scenes depicting police violence, racial injustice, and social unrest—though set in 1906—resonate with haunting familiarity.

Even the choreography feels charged with intent. Movement director and choreographer reinterpret traditional ragtime dance motifs into something more layered and reflective, often using stillness and repetition to suggest the cyclical nature of oppression and progress.

Musically, the orchestra does not shy away from the lushness of Flaherty’s score, yet moments of silence are equally potent. The use of light and sound—particularly in Coalhouse’s final moments—transforms tragedy into an act of defiance.

What truly distinguishes this production is how it refuses to let the audience off the hook. The American Dream, it argues, is not a fixed ideal but a constant struggle—a negotiation between those who benefit from the system and those who fight to be seen within it. Ragtime lays bare the costs of complacency, asking whether we have truly evolved since the days of Coalhouse and Tateh.

As the curtain falls, the cast assembles to sing the final refrain, “Make them hear you.” The words feel less like a plea and more like a challenge. It’s as if the ghosts of America’s past are addressing the present, urging us to listen—to history, to one another, and to the truths that musicals like this have long been trying to tell.

This Ragtime revival does not simply restage a beloved musical; it reclaims it as a living document of America’s unfinished story. In doing so, it turns nostalgia into activism, reminding us that progress, like music, requires rhythm—and relentless motion forward.

In 2025, when national identity feels as fractured as it did a century ago, Ragtime hits harder than ever. It’s not just a period piece—it’s a prophecy.

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