Ragtime, Piccadilly Theatre, London

A dance to the music of time

To try to understand modern America, it is probably best to start not as Martin Scorsese did, with the New York Irish gangs of the 1860s, but with New York's melting pot of immigrants and entrepreneurs at the turn of the last century. EL Doctorow chose this period for his 1975 book Ragtime, mixing and matching such unlikely playmates as Houdini, the feminist Emma Goldman, the car manufacturer Henry Ford, Jewish immigrants, aspiring black men and women, bigoted labourers, educationalists and conservative industrialists. And then some, all set to the syncopations of the day.

The Broadway production, which I saw a few years ago, garnered several Tony awards and was lavish in its multi-million-pound staging. The London show shares the name, Terrence McNally's book, Stephen Flaherty's music and Lynn Ahrens' lyrics, but certainly not the extravagance of the New York show. This is a very different production, so sparse and economical, with a completely bare stage most of the time, that it is not far from being a concert performance.

On the debit side, the result is that we lose the contrast between the bustle and violence of the city and the sedate house and garden of suburban New Rochelle. The contrast between the wealth of the industrialists and the poverty of the new immigrants is also harder to convey; and Harry Houdini could use a few more props to make him a convincing escapologist. But the sparseness does allow the director, Stafford Arima, to explore the emotion in this piece with an uncluttered emotional focus. True, the story is too often told through stereotypes – the poor Jewish immigrant who rises to become a movie director; the loving black couple who meet with prejudice and police brutality; the radical; the industrialist. But the performances are sensitive enough to overcome this.

Graham Bickley as Tateh, the Jewish immigrant, has just the right mix of tenderness and ambition in his quest to protect his young daughter. Maria Friedman, as the married Wasp whose affections he wins, has long since proved herself one of our finest musical stars. Here again, her singing is immaculate; and she gets the most out of her role as the obedient wife who begins to see through her first husband, a boring, bigoted industrialist. Her sad and puzzled awakening to this is touching. I also liked Susie McKenna's feminist radical, Emma Goldman. Stout, motherly and affectionate, yetruthless, this was the woman who in real life said: "If I can't dance, I don't want to be part of your revolution."

And then there is the ever-present music of the title. Delivered by an orchestra on a raised tier on the stage, it shows off rag to great effect. Those whose chief encounter with the genre has been with the Scott Joplin soundtrack to the film of The Sting heard music that was, naturally enough, in tune with that movie's jauntiness. Here, the score shows how rag can also illuminate moments of pain and sadness. A quartet between Friedman, Bickley and their two children has a genuine operatic quality. And when Emma addresses a group of factory workers, the choral song "The Night That Goldman Spoke At Union Square" sees the music driving the rhetoric.

The show is a mixed bag. With the writing leaving the characters bereft of much individuality, and the production too stripped down for any traditional set-piece musical show-stoppers, the actors have their work cut out to keep the audience gripped. That they often succeed is a tribute to a first-class cast in a far too spartan production.

To 6 Sept (020-7369 1734)