#1
Posted: 8/24/06 at 4:05am
Whew! Had a whirlwind trip today in and out of San Francisco to see the new revival of A CHORUS LINE at the Curran Theatre. After the months of debate and theory and discussion on this board, it was with some measure of excitement and dread that I actually approached this new production and my reaction was, in many ways, just what I anticipated: though often in some unexpected ways…
The good news is that this Broadway bound A CHORUS LINE has been given a terrific recreation. The bad news is that this Broadway bound A CHORUS LINE is little more than a terrific recreation.
It is the show’s blessing and its curse; often working in frustrating, intertwining tandem; a show that sparkles with the brilliance of its original production while somehow delving into self conscious awareness of that genius in the span of a single “5, 6, 7, 8!”
The great ode of gratitude and blame of course, and at once, belong at the firm feet of Baayork Lee and Bob Avian who treat the details of the original staging with fascinating, reverence; the way a curator might handle a pair of Marilyn Miller’s bronzed toe shoes in a mausoleum exhibition of Broadway history. The spinning mirrors, the shiny satin hats – all make their triumphant appearances and if squint your eyes, or perhaps are sitting far enough back enough in the theatre, its as if A CHORUS LINE never went away and that kick line has been stretching unaltered since 1990 when the original production closed.
And perhaps that brief suspension of belief is precisely what Lee and Avian are going for. But, what is lost in the triumph of memory, is the satisfaction of theatrical “experience,” which must always reflect the “now” to be germane.
To be blunt: in handling those gold plated toe shoes, they’ve forgotten the blood and sweat that soaked the sole underneath. And without that sense of communal shared blood (the great success of ACL has always been attributed to its ability to speak to the core being of all of us. The chorine is to the Broadway factory, after all, what the button pusher is to the assembly line) what we are left with, is remnants of a landmark, spectacular staging by Michael Bennett: another simultaneous blessing and curse: for Bennett’s own Broadway innovations have been so copied and emulated that they are almost standard practice in the shows we see today
The pictures have been recreated but without the inspiration, and Michael Bennett was anything, but uninspired. Moments of A CHORUS LINE, of course still thrill: the sweeping of mirrors revealing the cast as figurative children at a dance bar at the end of “At the Ballet,” The chorus line as greek chorus behind the fight of a dancer and his former lover and failed protégé, and the finale: one of the most brilliantly conceived in Broadway history.
But seeing them now, we are too often left, not with the breathless exhilaration of those first audiences at seeing a new invention, but a collective sigh of “Oh, so that’s where that came from.”
Without some new motivation, the brilliant setpieces become simply set pieces. Big and glistening and totally aware of their influence. A revival somehow designed to comment on the original.
The faithful preservation at hand, of course, extends to the players, but thankfully the damage is minimal. The cast is mostly terrific, and in the instances when they are allowed to deviate from original interpretations, more than terrific.
Chryssie Whitehead finds new and unexpected hilarity as tone deaf Kristine, There is real pain masked under the steely smile of Deidre Goodwin’s Shelia. Jason Tam is totally unsentimental (and all the more moving because of it) as Paul.
And then, there is Charlotte D’Amboise: well on her way to being a superb Cassie and completely unlike anyone we’ve seen in the role before. Could Cassie be right; could she be “only” a Broadway chorine? Could the idea that she is a “star” be Zach’s delusion and her emotional baggage? Ms. D’Amboise made me a believer. Riddled with insecurity, her Cassie need only feel the burning scrutiny of her former lover’s gaze to fall out of a pirouette during the opening combination or to reluctantly move to “center” stage during his questioning: a spot she “of course” should know to move to instinctively.
Throbbing with vulnerability, Ms. D’Amboise is really on to something, and if Mr. Avian and Ms. Lee, hopefully content with their loyal recreation work, would bring in a new pair of directorial eyes to actually make the casts’ scene work alive and fresh, she could be on to something big.
But saddled by that burden of recreation, it is Ms. D’Amboise who, despite her bravado acting and singing [She, for the record made a complete fool of me and other early naysayers who hypothesized she wouldn’t be able to handle the vocals, by turning in a totally self assured, thrillingly belted rendition of “Music and the Mirror”] is done the greatest disservice by Lee and Avain’s commitment to the original.
The choreography originally devised for Donna McKechnie simply does not work on Ms. D’Amboise’s form. (Please. If any revision is done for New York, let this dance be re-choreographed to suit Ms. D’Amboise’s talents. Get rid of the shuffles and diagonal whips and bring in the layouts, leaps and kicks.)
Miss D’Amboise’s performance might in fact be an analogy for this entire production: when its allowed to breath a new: it works brilliantly. When its saddled with thirty years of theatrical memory – it falters.
Avian and Lee have given us the spectacular groundwork of the original, now they just need to let it go and allow this production to find its own voice. The voice of THESE dancers. That should be motivation enough.
The good news is that this Broadway bound A CHORUS LINE has been given a terrific recreation. The bad news is that this Broadway bound A CHORUS LINE is little more than a terrific recreation.
It is the show’s blessing and its curse; often working in frustrating, intertwining tandem; a show that sparkles with the brilliance of its original production while somehow delving into self conscious awareness of that genius in the span of a single “5, 6, 7, 8!”
The great ode of gratitude and blame of course, and at once, belong at the firm feet of Baayork Lee and Bob Avian who treat the details of the original staging with fascinating, reverence; the way a curator might handle a pair of Marilyn Miller’s bronzed toe shoes in a mausoleum exhibition of Broadway history. The spinning mirrors, the shiny satin hats – all make their triumphant appearances and if squint your eyes, or perhaps are sitting far enough back enough in the theatre, its as if A CHORUS LINE never went away and that kick line has been stretching unaltered since 1990 when the original production closed.
And perhaps that brief suspension of belief is precisely what Lee and Avian are going for. But, what is lost in the triumph of memory, is the satisfaction of theatrical “experience,” which must always reflect the “now” to be germane.
To be blunt: in handling those gold plated toe shoes, they’ve forgotten the blood and sweat that soaked the sole underneath. And without that sense of communal shared blood (the great success of ACL has always been attributed to its ability to speak to the core being of all of us. The chorine is to the Broadway factory, after all, what the button pusher is to the assembly line) what we are left with, is remnants of a landmark, spectacular staging by Michael Bennett: another simultaneous blessing and curse: for Bennett’s own Broadway innovations have been so copied and emulated that they are almost standard practice in the shows we see today
The pictures have been recreated but without the inspiration, and Michael Bennett was anything, but uninspired. Moments of A CHORUS LINE, of course still thrill: the sweeping of mirrors revealing the cast as figurative children at a dance bar at the end of “At the Ballet,” The chorus line as greek chorus behind the fight of a dancer and his former lover and failed protégé, and the finale: one of the most brilliantly conceived in Broadway history.
But seeing them now, we are too often left, not with the breathless exhilaration of those first audiences at seeing a new invention, but a collective sigh of “Oh, so that’s where that came from.”
Without some new motivation, the brilliant setpieces become simply set pieces. Big and glistening and totally aware of their influence. A revival somehow designed to comment on the original.
The faithful preservation at hand, of course, extends to the players, but thankfully the damage is minimal. The cast is mostly terrific, and in the instances when they are allowed to deviate from original interpretations, more than terrific.
Chryssie Whitehead finds new and unexpected hilarity as tone deaf Kristine, There is real pain masked under the steely smile of Deidre Goodwin’s Shelia. Jason Tam is totally unsentimental (and all the more moving because of it) as Paul.
And then, there is Charlotte D’Amboise: well on her way to being a superb Cassie and completely unlike anyone we’ve seen in the role before. Could Cassie be right; could she be “only” a Broadway chorine? Could the idea that she is a “star” be Zach’s delusion and her emotional baggage? Ms. D’Amboise made me a believer. Riddled with insecurity, her Cassie need only feel the burning scrutiny of her former lover’s gaze to fall out of a pirouette during the opening combination or to reluctantly move to “center” stage during his questioning: a spot she “of course” should know to move to instinctively.
Throbbing with vulnerability, Ms. D’Amboise is really on to something, and if Mr. Avian and Ms. Lee, hopefully content with their loyal recreation work, would bring in a new pair of directorial eyes to actually make the casts’ scene work alive and fresh, she could be on to something big.
But saddled by that burden of recreation, it is Ms. D’Amboise who, despite her bravado acting and singing [She, for the record made a complete fool of me and other early naysayers who hypothesized she wouldn’t be able to handle the vocals, by turning in a totally self assured, thrillingly belted rendition of “Music and the Mirror”] is done the greatest disservice by Lee and Avain’s commitment to the original.
The choreography originally devised for Donna McKechnie simply does not work on Ms. D’Amboise’s form. (Please. If any revision is done for New York, let this dance be re-choreographed to suit Ms. D’Amboise’s talents. Get rid of the shuffles and diagonal whips and bring in the layouts, leaps and kicks.)
Miss D’Amboise’s performance might in fact be an analogy for this entire production: when its allowed to breath a new: it works brilliantly. When its saddled with thirty years of theatrical memory – it falters.
Avian and Lee have given us the spectacular groundwork of the original, now they just need to let it go and allow this production to find its own voice. The voice of THESE dancers. That should be motivation enough.
Updated On: 8/24/06 at 04:05 AM
I enjoyed reading it. I am anticipating my trip to NYC to see even more after hearing from you 
.jpg?format=auto&width=365)
