It’s not a meme, it’s not a TikTok, it’s not an SNL sketch. Slam Frank is a real-life off-Broadway show that turns The Diary of Anne Frank on its proverbial ear, and transforms it into—quoting the show’s website, because I can’t say it any better—“an intersectional, multi-ethnic, genderqueer, decolonized, anti-capitalist, hyper-empowering, Afro-Latin hip-hop musical.”
Possibly even stranger than the show’s premise is its origin: a 2022 viral tweet that asked the shockingly sincere and inevitably incendiary question “Did Anne Frank ever acknowledge her white privilege?” Again, this is real. (Well, as real as anything on social media can be.)
Clearly, composer Andrew Fox and librettist Joel Sinensky think that query is as ridiculous as you and I do, because Slam Frank doesn’t even attempt to answer it; rather, they reframe the story as a show within a show—the brainchild of an overambitious regional theater whose artistic director (John Anker Bow), despite being a “white cis male” among a “diverse company of marginalized bodies,” is “taking this opportunity to listen and to learn”—that squarely takes aim at identity politics.
Our heroine, Anne, here is presented as Anita Franco (Olivia Bernábe), a smart, driven LatinX teenager. Her mom, Edith (Austen Horne), is a Black woman. Dad Otto (Rocky Paterra) is neurodivergent. Mr. Van Daan (Bow, doubling up) is rendered as your stereotypical man-spreading straight white dude. His wife, Mrs. Van Daan (Jaz Zepatos), has perfect hair, perfect makeup, and a tightly corseted outfit that’s not very conducive to hiding in an attic. Their son, Peter (Alex Lewis), doesn’t really know who he is, though he’s dressed like Evan Hansen. And Anne’s sister, Margot (Amelia Louise Barr), barely speaks a word; interestingly, in the script, Margot is the only one explicitly described as Jewish.
Essentially, Slam Frank takes aim at pretty much everyone and everything, and about 50 percent of the shots hit their targets. That’s a respectable success rate if you’re playing darts in the pub, but in the intimate confines of the Orpheum Theatre, it feels slapdash—like the creators are trying to pack too many digs, side-eyes, and quips into a 110-minute show.
There are some genuine moments of brilliance, such as Edith’s slam poem, “Yeast of Edith.” An excerpt: “Whatchoo gon’ do?/ Mighty girl, you can’t panic/ ’Cause every woman is a Jew/ Hiding in her own attic!” It’s visceral, it’s emotional, and Horne is so captivating that we feel like we’re in a smoke-filled coffee house on a college campus, pounding espressos and vibing to her rhymes.
The music is a little Hamilton (Slam Frank’s “New Year, 1944” owes a debt to Lin-Manuel Miranda’s date-checking lyrics), a little more In the Heights (“An Immigrant Girl” might remind you of ITH’s ingenue anthem “Breathe”), and a lot Book of Mormon (Slam Frank clearly shares DNA with South Park). Plus one moment that’s very Cabaret: When Margot finally decides to speak and describes her “Safe Space,” the song takes a very sinister “Tomorrow Belongs to Me”–style turn. (That’s all we’ll say about what’s sure to be the evening’s most discussed, most divisive, and probably most offensive moment.) As for the mini-musical performed by the extremely socially conscious regional theater, it wants to be Springtime for Hitler, but it’s hard to top pretzel-trimmed showgirls, precision-tapping SS guards, and Adolf re-creating Judy at Carnegie Hall—especially on an off-Broadway budget.
All throughout, Slam Frank was earning a healthy mix of laughs, gasps, and oh-no-they-didn’t mouth-drops. Will you find it funny? Distasteful? Shocking? Absolutely. A few months ago, crack political commentator Lara Trump, after watching a clip of an earlier production, delivered her critique: “That was grotesque.” So it looks like the show is offending the right people.
Slam Frank opened Oct. 4, 2026, at the Orpheum Theatre and runs through Nov. 30. Tickets and information: slamfrankmusical.com
