Picture two renowned men ranting on all night, attempting to oust one another, while drowning out the neighboring dissonance of “tins banging”.  Would it make a difference if these men were “Ragtime King” Scott Joplin and “The Dean of American Songwriters” Irving Berlin?  There is something about having the great masters of American music together, on one stage, retelling the beginnings and consequences of their extraordinary statures.  The Roundabout Theatre presents Tin Pan Alley Rag, a production of two parallels intertwining at a cross point only to have an “unlikely jam session” and a night of uplifting memories ensue. This show reimagines Joplin and Berlin stripped of their exterior layers, as only men, no “The” before them and no “genius” after.

The moderately intimate theater space held a wide range of theatergoers; all generations related to the tunes resonating from the stage. The lighting was impeccable, painting the actors with dark shades, a misty blue, and a bright red, as well as enchant the audience with a whitish glow of heavenly light transcend through the composers’ dead wives. Commonly, a musical emits a statement through their scenery before a show begins. Instead, a barely translucent panel covered the stage with impressive music publishing buildings in the Tin Pan Alley district of Manhattan during the early years of the 20th century.

I was intrigued over the decision to not let the audience see the hands of the composers while making music. Of course, the men weren’t actually playing the piano; it would have gotten “messy” if they made a mistake on the severely common pieces of music. (“Play A Simple Medley,” “Alexander’s Ragtime Band,” “The Maple Leaf Rag”) So I thought, ‘Why not impress the audience with real pianists?’ Well, maybe the director’s aim was not to impress, but to steer the audience to the men’s faces where the real passion lies in music making. While the “actual” scene was in progress I admired the ensemble actors for their continual efforts in staying within their character, including those with at least six personas to portray within two hours.

The wisecracker Michael Boatman (Joplin) and the perceptive Michael Therriault (Berlin) both gave empowering interpretations of their historical figures. However, an especially noteworthy performance came from Idara Victor’s (Freddie Alexander/Treemonisha/ etc.) spectacular vocal display. When the plugger came in with the added changes to his music I found that Boatman and Therriault certainly complimented each other comically during a climax in their budding friendship. At this point, the men’s personal lives united through the flashbacks of a heightened world within reality.

The beginning of the 21st century has welcomed great advantages in obtaining music for today’s youth, but also disintegrated our knowledge of these two prodigies in their natural environment. Tin Pan Alley Rag uses nothing to distract the audience from the main focus. There were no jaw-droppers, just essentially one long flashback, an artfully historic imaginary meeting.