Review: Parade Grapples With a Legacy of Bigotry in Its North American Tour

Parade musicalizes one of the darkest chapters in American history. Although the events that Jason Robert Brown and Alfred Uhry depict took place more than a century ago, they hold an eerie resonance today as a national tour of the Tony-winning Broadway revival hits the road. At a time when racism, tribalism, and antisemitism are on the rise, the story of Leo Frank and the failures of the justice system toward him feel painfully prescient. Taking this particular show across the country at this moment in time seems as much an act of public service as it does entertainment.

Yet the power of Brown and Uhry’s musical lies in its lack of didacticism. Having premiered in 1998, it shares many characteristics with other musicals of the era, such as Ragtime and Titantic, that fuse historical accuracy with a rousing, anthemic character. Michael Arden’s gripping production recognizes both the heart of the story—that the inability to respect differences in people can lead to tragic circumstances—and the classic theatrical structure that makes the experience memorable and poignant. The music lingers in your ear long after the curtain falls, but so does the message.

The action takes place in 1913 Atlanta, where the shadow of the Civil War still looms large. Leo (Max Chernin), a Jewish transplant from Brooklyn, feels out of place in his new surroundings, even after marrying his native-born wife, Lucille (Talia Suskauer). When Mary Phagan (Olivia Goosman), a 13-year-old employee in Leo’s factory, is found murdered, he emerges as the prime suspect—his supposed guilt buoyed by his outsider status. The action follows his conviction, the quest to clear his name, and his eventual lynching after Georgia’s governor, John Slaton (the superb Chris Shyer), commutes his death sentence.

Arden’s production, which originated at New York City Center before its Broadway run, has been skillfully scaled up for the road. (I saw the tour during its engagement at the Connor Palace in Cleveland, Ohio.) A raised wooden platform dominates Dane Laffrey’s scenic design, emphasizing the performative aspects of Leo Frank’s prosecution: the show trial conducted with vaudevillian vigor by district attorney Hugh Dorsey (the slyly malevolent Andrew Samonsky); the appeals to religious sectarianism led by mountebank preacher Tom Watson (Griffin Binnicker, appropriately slippery); and the crooked journalistic practices of alcoholic reporter Britt Craig (Michael Tacconi, who makes his character both repulsive and sympathetic). Heather Gilbert’s lighting design casts the action in a haunting shadow, and projections by Sven Ortel artfully fuse the past and the present, suggesting what has and hasn’t changed.

Uhry’s excellent book keeps the complicated but devoted relationship between Leo and Lucille at its center. Both Chernin and Suskauer find rewarding dimensions in their characters. Chernin plays Leo with an appropriate touch of hauteur, which disappears as his circumstances humble him. Suskauer charts Lucille’s journey from a meek woman who seems afraid of her own shadow to one of her husband’s fiercest public advocates. Both leads flaunt rafter-raising voices—Chernin’s seamless register leaps are especially thrilling—but their performances never coast on mere vocal pyrotechnics. Their performance of the show’s searing love duet, “All the Wasted Time,” is as notable for its poignant delivery as for the soaring melodies delivered by the singers.

Brown’s score brilliantly blends a modern musical sound with twinges of folk and roots music. The large ensemble performs it well, although some of the younger singers tend to add unnecessary grace notes to the vocal line. Prentiss E. Mouton and Oluchi Nwaokorie are particularly memorable in the second-act opener, “A Rumblin’ and a Rollin’,” which sharply points out the plight of Black southerners that persisted even after Leo Frank’s exoneration became a cause célèbre.

William Faulkner famously stated that “the past is never dead—it isn’t even past.” The musical’s epilogue reinforces this point, noting that attempts to formally establish Leo Frank’s innocence continue to this day. In the face of persistent injustice, Parade remains an essential work of art—a chance to grapple with a shameful segment of the past and to consider how to keep it from repeating itself.