The Tin Pan Alley Rag

The first act of The Tin Pan Alley Rag, which the Roundabout Theatre Company has just opened Off-Broadway, works much better than the second act. In fact, at the performance I attended, the audience's applause was much stronger for the final number of the first act, "Play a Simple Melody"—a high point of the night—than it was at the end of the whole show, which loses a little steam in the second act.

Playwright Mark Saltzman has crafted an unusually ambitious examination of the lives of songwriters Irving Berlin and Scott Joplin. It is a flawed work, but it is quite substantive and well worth seeing. This musical play—offering an odd mix of rewarding and frustrating moments—doesn't always reach its goals. But despite its missteps, it is one of the most intriguing shows I've seen this year.

Saltzman has imagined an encounter, shortly before the first World War, between Irving Berlin—then popularly known as "the King of Ragtime"—and Scott Joplin, who first put ragtime on the map. Berlin, who is white, is then the best-selling songwriter in the world; Joplin, who is black, is living in obscurity. In Saltzman's play, Berlin is depicted as being wholly commercialistic, Joplin as wholly idealistic, a pure artist.

The contrasts between the two men have been exaggerated for dramatic effect. (In this play, Berlin is depicted as a formulaic writer of pop songs, surprised that Joplin—or anyone—would want to write a ragtime opera, since he feels a ragtime opera could not be marketable; in real life, Berlin actually helped redefine both the American songbook and American musical theater, and—in the period represented by this play—even said he wanted to write a ragtime opera himself.) Now, artistic liberties are perfectly fine so long as they help make for a good show. But this production goes overboard in trying to present Berlin as wholly commercialistic, and in the process—trying to prove its thesis—winds up squandering good opportunities for entertainment.

One of the selling points of this show should be that it features the music of Irving Berlin and Scott Joplin—two of the most creative and enduringly popular writers of their times. But fans of Berlin are likely to be disappointed, as I was, at the way such well-loved Berlin songs as "Alexander's Ragtime Band" and "When the Midnight Choo Choo Leaves for Alabam" are treated. These songs, which captivated listeners internationally when first introduced, are given short shrift. I've never seen the timeless "Alexander's Ragtime Band" performed in as perfunctory and charmless a manner as it is performed here. It is given a crass, hard-sell, corny treatment; had the song been introduced like that in real life, it would not have become a hit. The creative team working on this show seems to have wanted to make this song serve as evidence of Berlin's commercialism; but both Berlin and fans of Berlin's music get cheated in the process.

An elderly lady sitting near me muttered after the show was over, "I liked the way Eddie Cantor used to do these kind of songs better." I know what she meant. Cantor—and the other master vaudevillians like Al Jolson and Sophie Tucker who sang Berlin's early songs with such infectious enthusiasm—believed in the material, and performed with heart and showmanship. There was artistry in their work, no less than in the songs. Their body language, when they performed, connected with the lyrics. The musical staging that choreographer Liza Gennaro has provided for "Alexander's Ragtime Band" is painfully, embarrassingly clichéd—pointlessly busy, rather than dynamic; it doesn't connect organically with the song. There should be a reason for a performer to drop to his knees, to move forward or stay in place. I was disappointed with Gennaro's choreography in this show generally—even the dancing to Joplin's wonderfully syncopated music, which should be surefire, doesn't always feel comfortable or natural, much less showmanly.

"When the Midnight Choo Choo Leaves for Alabam" is—like "Alexander's Ragtime Band"—over too quickly. If these songs were presented in full in this show, with sincerity, and given a chance to build, they would be charming. But the creative team seems not to have wanted entertainment-for-entertainment's-sake to interrupt the flow of the drama.

There are moments that work very well. Saltzman packs a great deal of information into the script without it ever feeling pedantic. There is something almost revelatory in the spirit-lifting moment that we first hear any of Joplin's music . And it is a sheer joy to hear one Berlin number, "Play a Simple Melody," be given its full value. Berlin's ingenious counterpoint remains a marvel and a delight.

Saltzman's depiction of Berlin and Joplin's relationships with their first wives—set to some of the most poignant numbers that the two composers ever created: Joplin's "Bethena" and "Solace," and Berlin's "When I Lost You"—is touching. Both men became widowers shortly after marriage. And the sequences dealing with the men falling in love and then losing the women they loved are warm, tender and human. Saltzman makes good use of Berlin's witty "You'd Be Surprised," too, letting Berlin obliquely express through the song his feelings for the gal he loves. Well done! Saltzman is capable of terrific writing. And of communicating a lot, quite economically.

Tin Pan Alley Rag offers some fine performances. Michael Boatman brings an appealing mix of dignity, warmth and presence to the role of Joplin. Michael Therriault creates a lively characterization of Berlin, managing to project great drive, a sense of self-worth, and likeability. Michael McCormick couldn't be more perfect in the supporting role of Berlin's clueless publishing partner, Ted Snyder. I wanted to hear more from ripe-voiced Jenny Fellner, appealingly playing Berlin's wife. And Idara Victor doubles with elan as Joplin's wife and the leading character in his opera Treemonisha.

And there are plenty of good, rich, legitimate voices in this large cast (twelve actors, accompanied effectively by two pianists) to do some justice vocally to Joplin's operatic Treemonisha. I didn't find Mark Ledbetter's slick, one-dimensional portrayal of vaudevillian character Mooney Mulligan interesting—the show could have used one authentic vaudevillian, with flair—but Ledbetter may well have been doing exactly what the director wanted.

I would have liked to have heard more convincing accents at times, particularly from the woman working in Berlin and Snyder's office, who's supposed to be doing a period Jewish accent. Getting accents right is an art in itself. (Incidentally, Fanny Brice—who became a master at it—said she learned how to do a Jewish accent for the stage from her friend Irving Berlin, who wrote some of her earliest hits.)

I loved Beowulf Boritt's evocative set design. The show takes place in the office used by Irving Berlin and Ted Snyder, which, incidentally, was actually on 38th Street around the time depicted in the play—not on 28th Street as the Playbill indicates. There were other music publishers on 28th Street back then, but not Berlin and Snyder.

It bothered me a bit that the first time someone picks up what is supposed to be published sheet music in this play, he is holding up an eight-and-a-half by eleven inch photocopy. Actual sheet music was much bigger in the era covered by the play—ten-and-half by thirteen-and-a-half inches. So many millions of copies of Berlin's songs were sold that the sheet music still remains plentiful and cheap today. Using actual sheet music, or at least photocopies that are the correct size, would add to the authenticity of the show. These are small details, but in a show that has as much to say as this one has, you might as well get the small details right. For some audience members, holding up a photocopy of modern-size sheet music rather than the larger old-style sheet music takes us out of the period.

The staging by Stafford Arima is terrific. The show moves seamlessly from scenes in the "present" (circa 1914) to episodes earlier in their lives. I admire the way Saltzman and Arima cover so much ground so smoothly, in telling two interwoven stories. Arima staged a brilliant production of Ragtime about four years ago at Paper Mill Playhouse, which I wrote was my favorite production out of all that I reviewed that season. That was an ideal warm-up for this show, set in the exact same period, animated by the real music of the period.

(Pictured: Michael Boatman and Michael Therriault; Photo by Joan Marcus)

Chip Deffaa
Cabaret Scenes
July 9, 2009
www.cabaretscenes.org