Bearing Witness: The Unyielding Power of Parade - Kathryn Anderson

Through the jokes and teases often aimed at people like myself who cherish musical theater, one question has always lingered in my heart: Can musical theater truly provide a meaningful dialogue on our current society? On January 21st, as I left the Orpheum Theatre after a life-changing performance of the national revival tour of Parade, I found my answer resounding all around me: “I didn’t know about that.” “I can’t believe it.” “But who did it?”. Yet what struck me most was the bitter taste of my own lack of surprise—a reflection of how desensitized I, like so many others, have become to stories of injustice and prejudice. And that discomfort is precisely the point, making Parade not just a performance to witness, but one to let sink in.

Parade tells the true story of Leo Frank, a Jewish factory superintendent in 1913 Georgia, falsely accused of murdering a young girl, Mary Phagan. The musical exposes systemic injustice and prejudice against the backdrop of a post-Civil War South entrenched in bigotry, and revealing the unsettling fragility of truth, where Confederate pride and rising antisemitism ignite a firestorm of hatred, laying bare the devastating human cost of a society unwilling to confront its darkest impulses.

 Max Chernin brings a quiet, understated dignity to Leo Frank, capturing his vulnerability and resilience, while Talia Suskauer delivers a powerhouse performance as Lucille Frank, balancing strength and heartbreak with every note. And then there is Ramone Nelson, who utterly commands the stage as Jim Conley. His electrifying rendition of "Blues: Feel the Rain Fall" is a masterclass in vocal power and emotional depth, leaving the audience stunned and heartbroken as he embodies the complexity of a character caught in a web of injustice.

The stage, transformed by scenic designer Dane Laffrey, itself mirrors this rawness. Open and unhidden by a curtain from start to finish, it features a large wooden platform adorned with simple chairs and lamps, arranged around a smaller elevated center. Yet, through the heralding vocals of the cast, the innovative lighting design by Heather Gilbert, and the haunting orchestral accompaniment in full view, these ordinary objects are transformed into vessels of immense storytelling power. The semi-translucent projection screen, displaying historical photos and scenery, serves as a constant, profound reminder of the tragedy's reality—not mere decoration. While some critics, like The New York Times, have called the projections distracting, I strongly disagree. In one of the most harrowing scenes, the characters freeze, the lighting dims, and monochromatic images of the real people they portray fill the screen. Far from a distraction, these projections intensify the story’s gravity, ensuring the audience confronts its chilling truths.

Admittedly, some of the scenic projections, like the forest or banquet hall backdrops, could benefit from increased realism and better scaling, as their cartoonish appearance occasionally undercuts the production's overall tone. However, this minor flaw pales in comparison to the weight and impact of the story itself.

Above all else, understand this; we do not go to see Parade for dazzling sets, catchy tunes, or the typical glitz and glamor of the theater. We go to see Parade because we are human; and now more than ever, it is our solemn duty to learn from and bear witness to the mistakes of our past.

Like a small, leaden stone, you will leave carrying a piece of Parade; in your pocket, in your heart, and in your mind. It is a burden we must bear, a story we must tell, and a truth we cannot afford to forget.