'Chorus' still kicking, but not quite so high

BY LINDA WINER | Newsday Staff Writer

October 6, 2006

Charlotte d'Amboise in "A Chorus Line" (Newsday/ Ari Mintz)

For the gazillions who loved "A Chorus Line" on Broadway from 1975 until 1990, who adored it on the road and around the world, who laughed and cried and felt they had come of age with every confession that Michael Bennett culled from the lives of Broadway chorus dancers, this is the chance to hug one another all over again.

But those of us who admired the show more for its brains than its manipulative soaper heart: Prepare to be accused again of kicking puppies.

Is 16 years too soon to justify a full-blown nostalgia-fest for the Pulitzer Prize-winning phenomenon? Ask someone else, please. Bob Avian, protege of Bennett and co-choreographer of the original, has put together a tracing-paper revival that plays as if the long-running show had never stopped running.

This is good and not so good. We're delighted that no one decided to update references to Troy Donahue and Ed Sullivan to improve comprehension by desirable young demographics. On the other hand, the treatment of every step-kick as holy scripture brings the faint whiff of mothballs to memory lane.

To Avian's credit, he did not try to replicate the look of every member of the original gang of two dozen gypsies auditioning for just eight jobs in the chorus of a new Broadway show. But to our surprise, neither did he always match them in quality.

It is impossible to overemphasize the importance of "A Chorus Line" to the commercial theater of the 1970s. Rock music had run off with the brightest songwriters and audiences. Except for Bob Fosse's dazzling "Chicago," which opened the same year, empty playhouses were filled with desperation. This smash, which began life downtown at the Public Theater, did not merely shoot big bucks into the theater economy, the euphoria actually galvanized creativity.

Coinciding with a dance boom, the triumph also proved the modern appeal of the dance-driven concept musical. In two nonstop hours, songs and dances grew dramatically from the story. Designer Robin Wagner's sets of revolving panels and rear-view mirrors, a cliche today, were a revelation at the time. Theoni V. Aldredge's costumes created their own rehearsal-chic style. No longer modern, those fabrics cling in unflattering places.

Bennett, who died at 44 of AIDS in 1987, was a tough, subtle master at moving bodies, but shameless at playing on easy emotions. "A Chorus Line," with its book by James Kirkwood and Nicholas Dante, brilliantly puts together the backstage drama and the "I-really-need-this-job" seductions of our talent show of a culture. Marvin Hamlisch's music is middle-of-the-road but always useful. Edward Kleban's wildly smart lyrics may be the most underrated explanation for the show's success.

But the banality of the plot's psychodramas, especially in the two big scenes, have always left us wanting to rub Bennett's fingerprints off our sleeves. The gay confessional and abrupt punishment of Paul (played with deep sweetness by Jason Tam) suggests that mawkish works if you can dance it. The confrontation between director Zach (the appealing Michael Berresse) and his ex-lover, Cassie, would be laughed off a stage if this were a play instead of a dancing musical. ("Why did you leave me?" "You already left me!") But we get to watch the marvelous Charlotte d'Amboise and those beautiful little bones in her back go from floppy rag doll to jazz queen, then pull herself through a hole in her gut in "The Music and the Mirror." Won't someone please create a new musical for her?

Deidre Goodwin brings a fresh and flirty black-diva attitude to Sheila, the sophisticate who doesn't want to be called a "girl" but opens up to share "Everything Was Beautiful at the Ballet." Natalie Cortez amuses with "Nothing," the anthem against arty drama teachers. Most others are fine; a few are bland, even miscast.

It was recently reported that the original players, many of whose autobiographical stories became part the show, are not getting a cent for this revival. In a bonanza that purports to care so much about poor, true-hearted dancers, the news adds an unpleasant poignancy to "What I Did for Love."

A CHORUS LINE. Re-created by Bob Avian after the Michael Bennett original. Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre, 236 W. 45th St. Tickets $85 to $110. Call 212-239-6200. Seen at Sunday afternoon preview.