Happy 50th, A Chorus Line!

Happy 50th, A Chorus Line

"The characters portrayed in A CHORUS LINE are, for the most part, based upon the lives of Broadway dancers. This show is dedicated to anyone who has ever danced in a chorus or marched in step...anywhere."

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It was the spring of 1981 when A Chorus Line came into my life for the first time. It had arrived in Baltimore for what was probably the third or fourth time, but for me it was brand new. My best high school friend, Katie, had invited me to go with her and her brother, Richard, when her mom couldn't go. I was fresh off my first experience being in a musical, and my life was consumed with devouring all things Broadway. So, of course I said, "Yes!" (Actually, I'm pretty sure I screamed it...) And off we went.

To say it changed my life is a vast understatement. Oh, growing up, I was taken to shows regularly, and I enjoyed it. But A Chorus Line was the first time I felt a show deep inside my heart and mind. I remember the lights going down and seeing the cast enter the stage in the darkness in lines, and holding hands, arms stretched. Simultaneously, they dropped hands with a soft pat sound. They were uniformly spaced. Those famous first notes played and a voice called out, "Again! A 5-6-7-8!" The lights came up; the music blasted. I was swept away. I may have felt like I was the only one in that theater, I don't know. Next thing I know, I am standing (along with several hundred other people), tears pouring down my face as the gold clad cast members kicked in unison until the lights slowly faded and they were gone.

I didn't know a show could move me to tears of absolute joy until that moment. I hastily wiped my face as I fumbled with my jacket, embarrassed that Katie's brother might see. I heard him behind me saying something to Katie, who promptly dashed up the aisle leaving us standing there together. He looked me in the eye and said, "I cry every time I see it, too." He chuckled as I must have looked so relieved, and spontaneously hugged him tightly. I didn't care who saw me. I was proud of my tear-stained cheeks now, and the friend that told me my feelings were valid. As we made our way out of the theater, I saw Katie waiting by the door with something in her hand, which she gave to me as soon as I was close enough. "This is from Ricky and me," she said, "to thank you for sharing our favorite show with us." It was a souvenir program. I still have it.

People often ask me - including some of you reading this - why is this my absolute favorite? Well, I could say I love the score. I mean I know every note and lyric by heart, and literally wore out two copies of the OBCR on vinyl. I could say that I love to watch dancers dance, and boy, do I! Or that it is funny, kinda bitchy, and really dramatic. All of that is true. But I guess it really comes down to two things: the universality of the piece, and seeing myself in the characters.

The marvel and artistry of James Kirkwood and Nicholas Dante's book, and Edward Kleban's lyrics is that they are so detailed and specific (and many notably taken word-for-word from Michael Bennett's now famous "Dancer Tapes") that they drive the plot and fill in characters so perfectly. And yet, that specificity reveals universal truths about all humans - hopes, dreams, disappointments, upbringing, passion for something bigger than yourself, love...identity. Today, we call on the phrase "representation matters." A Chorus Line embodied that ideal, and it was "woke" before "woke" was a thing, and certainly before the term was bastardized to what it means to some today.

I am nowhere near a dancer, let alone a professional one. But I know what it is to work so hard for something you really want, and to get it. And not get it. And I've never been a 4'10" Asian cheerleader, but I know what it feels like to be pigeon-holed into things because of how I look. I remember the abject terror of my first wet dream and not knowing what was happening, And unfortunately, I know what it is to feel absolutely nothing about a situation that everything and everyone around tells me I should be sad about.

A Chorus Line was also the very first time I ever saw gay men portrayed in any serious fashion, and in a variety of personalities. Here again, the specific details of those characters didn't directly correlate to my then-15 year old experience. I mean, I never broke into people's homes and rearranged their furniture, but I have my odd, gay quirks, and a desire to be noticed, not ignored by my father. I, too, went to the movies and secretly paid close attention to every detail of the attractive men in them.

Then there's Paul and his iconic monologue. By today's standards it has no shock value, and the idea of parents loving their kid enough to accept them is downright quaint and dated. Every time I see it performed, my mind flashes back to 15 year old me, deep in the closet, terrified I'll be found out and disowned. In 1975 - and 1981 - it was a huge deal. It was cathartic to watch him relive that trauma right in front of me, and feeling, with him, the relief of letting it out into the world. Today, being LGBTQ+ is ingrained in pop culture that that monologue probably barely registers as more than a breather between dance numbers. I suppose it's ultimately a good thing that it generally doesn't make an emotional dent like it used to. But I guarantee that in every single audience that ever sees it, there's at least one kid who lives deep inside his or her own private hell scared and waiting to be found out. Dated, maybe, but timeless, too.

It's funny how A Chorus Line pops up in my life regularly. These days it's celebrating this momentous occasion. Sometimes, I'll hear a song from it, or more often, someone in real life or on TV will say something almost directly from a lyric or a bit of dialogue. Lately, I smile when I read about the Hadestown "gasp," and not just because I gasped when I saw it, but because it always reminds me of the audience gasp when Zach selects the dancers he's hiring, calling out their names, then dismissing them to hire the names he didn't call. And then there's the pleasure I get from seeing various cast members in things. Over the years, I've gotten to see many original cast members, including Baayork Lee and Tony-winners Donna McKechnie and the late Sammy Williams play Connie, Cassie and Paul, respectively. And I've marveled at art imitating life, with Wayne Cilento (Mike) as both a dancer and choreographer - his work on the original The Who's Tommy, Wicked, and the revival of Bob Fosse's Dancin' was inspiring. Most recently, it was an honor to see Priscilla Lopez (Diana) in The Gardens of Anuncia. They are but a few. 

And, so, as the show looks forward to its next 50 years, one hopes it will continue to change lives. A new revival would be ideal, and I think with the right director and maybe a book writer to polish it up for more modern sensibilities could be very interesting. Or not. Broadway revival history is littered with revivals of shows so beloved in their original form that changes made them totally flop (West Side Story and Fiddler on the Roof come to mind.) Either way, I think we could use a new production in the Theatre District.

Over the years, I've seen dozens of A Chorus Line productions at all levels. I'm pretty sure I've seen it more times than any other show in the last four plus decades. And while I now have a long list of shows I adore, it is still the one that is my absolute favorite. One singular sensation, indeed.