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A new "Chorus Line"

“A Chorus Line”
Directed by Bob Avian
Choreography re-staged by Baayork Lee
Conceived and originally choreographed and directed by Michael Bennett
Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre
New York, NY
September 30, 2006

By Susan Reiter
Copyright 2006 by Susan Reiter


When it opened 31 years ago, Michael Bennett’s groundbreaking “A Chorus Line” set a new standard for dance-oriented musicals and put the spotlight on the individual Broadway chorus dancer in a completely new way. Not long before, he has contributed brilliantly innovative choreography for two Stephen Sondheim musicals that each broke new ground in the field — “Company” (1970) “Follies”(1971), but “A Chorus Line” was his conception and project from start to finish. It was based on the lives of Broadway dancers he knew — some of them dancers alongside whom he had worked — and brimmed with the heartfelt admiration and respect he had for these under-appreciated, generally anonymous performers.

It was not only a great showcase for top-flight Broadway dance talent, but also unique and influential in its concept and seamless execution. The audience was brought into the audition process for a musical, as the dancers exposed their neuroses and idiosyncracies for a brusque director who wants to know who they are, not just how high they can kick. Audiences connected deeply with the process on display, as the dancers first seen vigorously step-kick-turning in mass unison literally put themselves on the line and revealed what had brought them to where they were.

Now it has returned to Broadway, 16 years after its long-running original production closed, in a production lovingly staged and designed by members of Bennett’s original team. Without apology, they have reproduced the original in almost every way, down to the style of tank top or leotard worn by each of the 17 auditioners and the now-iconic stance each assumes when they line up for the director’s, and our, inspection.

For someone who has seen the original, the inevitable points to address are how does this production compare to that of 1975, and — given that everything has been frozen in time, rather than updated in any way – how does it come across in today’s world. It would be fascinating to know the reaction of someone who is coming across it for the first time, with no earlier reference point. There will certainly be people like that coming to the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre during the run of this revival (although hardly anyone reviewing the show for New York publications is likely to be in that category), but even those too young to have seen it before are likely to be aware of the show’s legendary status, its iconography, perhaps even some of its songs.

Speaking as one who saw the original (in its initial Public Theater production and then several times on Broadway) and found it both exhilarating and moving, I found this revival still packs a visceral punch in its staging and choreography. The sheer power of the opening audition scene — the 24 dancers’ desperation, their sweat, their attempts to mask their weaknesses — grabs the audience from the moment the curtain rises. The fluid way in which smaller groups are brought forward, individual dancers introduced, builds tension, along with the incessant, almost angry pulse of the music.

This scene has a timeless perfection that could not be improved upon, and certainly needs no updating. Keeping the show itself frozen in 1975 seems a wise decision. These characters were based on actual people of that time, and the show’s book (by Nicholas Dante and James Kirkwood) was built on their personal histories. So certain pop-culture references that pepper the dancers’ life stories and personal reflections (Ed Sullivan, Troy Donohue, Steve McQueen) may strike some as quaint, but they need to be there because they shaped who these people are.

Whenever the dancers are in action as an ensemble – always with telltale individual touches included — the stage picture is riveting. Even though the extended sequence about adolescent angst (framed by the song “Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love”) has some squirm-inducing monologues that haven’t aged well, the magical way Bennett segues from individual moment to group action — the way one performer takes a cue from one word another has said and launches into a few lines of song — is brilliantly efficient.

The sleek panels of Robin Wagner’s seemingly simple set glide around to create the now-famous mirrored backdrop for big, explosive, extroverted sequences and swiftly become dark for more intensely personal moments. Everything flows effortlessly, with nothing to clutter or force out attention. It is just naturally directed to what is significant and consequential.

The score includes a few gems — “Nothing” tells a very complete story with warmth and humor, inserting a sudden poignant, knowing twist at the end. “Dance:Ten Looks: Three” featured lyricist Ed Kleban’s savviest work, plus a snappily propulsive melody. And “One,” the ode to the unseen star of the show being cast, is brilliantly generic in its sentiments while having the ability to lodge itself permanently in one’s consciousness. But a number of the songs feel generic and don’t fare well with repeated hearings. But Marvin Hamlisch’s cleverly generic rehearsal music, such as when the tap combination is being taught, and deftly subliminal underscoring, are key ingredients to the show’s momentum.

The level of dancing in the revival’s cast is extremely high, and the ensemble sections blaze with crackling intensity. As actors, you can sense these performers trying earnestly not just to fill their roles but to live up to the lore attached to them. The women come across more strongly individual than the men, with Deirdre Goodwin’s knowing yet insecure Sheila and Natalie Cortez’s fervent Diana particularly persuasive. Jessica Lee Goldyn treads close to excessive pushiness as Val, and Chryssie Whitehead is too hyperkinetically hysterical as Kristine, the one who sings about how she can’t sing.

The show’s big moment belongs to Charlotte D’Amboise, in the pivotal role of Cassie, originated by Donna McKechnie. She delivers a glorious dance of desperation, pride and defiance in “The Music and The Mirror” and acts believably, if a bit stridently, in her confrontation with Zach, the director with whom she share a personal history. She find touching nuances during the audition and rehearsal sequences, as her character tried to downplay her innate flair and dance in the manner expected of an ensemble dancer. It’s a fine line – Cassie needs to be good enough to make the cut, but not so distinctive that she would draw attention away from the intended group effects. D’Amboise makes her somewhat more of a tough cookie, hardened but determined after her would-be brush with stardom led to disillusionment, than the moister, perky character McKechnie created. But she’s very well cast and delivers at all the right moments.

Michael Berresse, one of the best male dancers on Broadway, delivers a dynamic performance as the demanding and incessantly probing Zach. At times, he seems to be making the character extra-tough, perhaps to counteract his amiably boyish good looks.

The 2006 edition of “A Chorus Line” is a loving facsimile, not a reinterpretation, but the original it re-creates is so foolproof that it is worth bringing back before an audience. Right now there is so little dancing of any interest or quality on Broadway — yes, there is the still-thriving, now ten-year-old revival of “Chicago” (a show that originally shortly before “Chorus Line,” making 1975 a banner year for Broadway choreography), but “Movin’ Out” is no longer around, and Chita Rivera’s retrospective compilation of her many dance roles only lasted a few months. “A Chorus Line” is a welcome reminder of how dance can provide the motor, the heart and the soul of a musical.

Photos, from top, both by Paul Kolnik:
The cast in the Finale.
Charlotte D'Amboise.

Volume 4, No. 36
October 9, 2006

copyright ©2006 Susan Reiter
www.danceviewtimes.com

 

 

©2006 DanceView