Gotta Dance

The longest-running Broadway musical in history, A Chorus Line still has a few kicks left in its routine. Dated though it is, a bit slow of wit and just a tad sentimental, the show nevertheless gets at some tough truths and ends with a bang, not a whimper. The Broadway road-show production now at the Buell Theatre has its problems, but it does the one thing it must do to work: deliver that last thrill.

The story centers on an audition for a Broadway chorus line. The stage is bare except for revolving mirrors at the back. The actors wear dance-rehearsal clothes–nothing elegant or even attractive–and it all looks very professional and spare.

The director needs only eight dancers for his show–four males and four females. After the first cut, the remaining dancers are roughly equally skilled. But the director needs something more than dance proficiency from these performers: A few of them will be given lines in upcoming shows. And even more important than the ability to dance well and spew out a few words is the ability to mesh well with the others as a troupe. So the director asks them to tell him about themselves–real things about their childhoods and how they got into dance.

Gad, what a series of sad tales. Sheila (Michelle Bruckner is a siren in the role) moves like silk on glass and talks like a tough tramp from a Forties film noir. Her cold, nasty father treated her mother like dirt and kept her at arm’s length. But the world of ballet was different, beautiful–thus the poignant song “At the Ballet.” And several other women in the chorus who have had similar experiences join in the song as if thinking to themselves; they are isolated in their own psychological space by spotlights, and we are meant to understand that they are not speaking aloud.

An unhappy childhood lines the history of every dancer in this show. Two men speak of discovering their homosexuality in early youth and their consequent experiences of alienation. Alcoholic or absent fathers poison a few lives, and others were brutalized in high school by bigots or bullies. Still others had trouble with less-than-perfect physiques–a short Chinese woman calls herself a “peanut on point,” while Val (Kimberly Dawn Neumann gives one of the liveliest performances of the evening) recounts her discovery of plastic surgery’s benefits in “Dance: Ten; Looks: Three.”

Diana, a petite Latina with a big voice and a dynamic dancing style, went to the High School of the Performing Arts, where a teacher tried to get her to make herself into a table or an ice cream cone and “really feel the part.” Cindy Marchionda plays Diana with scrappy, street-urchin chutzpah, and it is a polished, smart performance.

But then, they are all polished performances. The sad little subplot about one of the dancers never making it as a star and returning to the chorus line after two years’ absence is a bit of a bore. It’s not Jill Slyter’s fault, though–as Cassie, she does a stylish dance number meant to remind you that all these dancers are capable of more than we will ever be allowed to see. Cassie herself points out that every one of the dancers is special.

And that is the real point of A Chorus Line. Remember watching all those old Hollywood musicals in which hundreds of beautiful girls danced rings around the stars but only a tiny fraction ever went on to become stars themselves? They were all talented and lovely, but they remained background figures. This show is an homage to them and everyone like them who struggled to do the work they loved, no matter what it cost, and who ended in obscurity in a business that prizes only fame.

And when the dancers re-emerge in bright matching top hats and tails to dance the curtain-call number in perfect synch, it makes the previous two hours of angst-ridden histrionics worth it. That last routine, “One,” says it all: To achieve that special moment on stage when all the dancers move as a single organic whole, “the singular sensation,” is a marvelous accomplishment. They are special. They do matter–especially as a chorus.

–Mason

A Chorus Line, through April 6 at the Temple Buell Theatre, 14th and Curtis in the Plex, 893-4100.