‘Chorus Line’ in Anaheim a gritty look at musical theater’s nuts and bolts
by ERIC MARCHESE
Contrary to first impressions, you don’t have to be a theater insider to appreciate “A Chorus Line.”
In fact, for outside observers, the landmark musical actually delivers a behind-the-scenes look at the nuts and bolts of an audition for the ensemble (chorus) of a major Broadway musical.
Chance Theater’s revival of the hit 1975 show enhances the sense of being in the here-and-now of an actual audition at a generic Broadway house, where director Zach (Ben Green) seeks the best eight singer-dancers – four women, four men – from among 17 hopefuls.
In the mix are everything from jittery newbies like Judy (Dannielle Green) to jaded vets like Sheila (Camryn Zelinger).
The rigors they’re subjected to aren’t just physical. Zach’s determined to bore into their psyches, convinced that exposing their inner selves will help him select those best suited for the job of providing a uniform “frame” around the show’s stars.
Despite the studied artifice of James Kirkwood, Jr. and Nicholas Dante’s book, director Oanh Nguyen achieves the off-the-cuff authenticity needed, lending grit to a show that at worst is unbearably touchy-feely, making it as bitter as it is sweet.
Though the show boasted just one bona fide hit song, “What I Did For Love,” it’s clear that its dialogue and Edward Kleban’s lyrics outweigh Marvin Hamlisch’s music in supporting the characters Zach mercilessly bores into.
What emerges are the inner thoughts and self-doubts plus the small triumphs of the workaday performers who put their bodies “on the line” to support their passion for musical theater. Their back-stories are personal, caustic, funny, dramatic, painful, self-deprecating, mundane and traumatic.
In the show’s only non-singing, non-dancing role, Green creates a multi-facted Zach, a cool, stern taskmaster bent on steadying frayed nerves; a direct, almost annoyingly candid inquisitor; and a non-judgmental guide who nurtures empathy.
While every cast member is sturdy and often heart-tugging, most affecting is Tatiana Alvarez’s Cassie, who jilted Zach in a failed bid for Hollywood stardom and is now desperate to jump-start her stalled career.
Alvarez showcases a feverish need to simply dance; that it’s in Cassie’s marrow is unleashed, along with her sensual joy and freedom when dancing, in the wordless number “The Music and the Mirror.”
As affecting and compelling is Xavier Castaneda’s Paul, who suppressed but finally faced up to being gay. Castaneda allows the character’s back-story to come through gradually, painting an ingenuous, goodhearted kid with a sweet, self-conscious smile.
On the comical side is Val’s bravado, born of plastic surgery. Victoria Rafael shows her as utterly comfortable within her own skin (natural or not), her whimsical song “Dance: Ten; Looks: Three” a cynical commentary on the superficiality of show biz.
Zelinger shows that Sheila’s tough exterior isn’t no act – it’s used to gird her resolve and battle the self-admitted realities of aging. Angeline Mirenda’s Diana is likewise a survivor, albeit less hardened, and Ben Heustess’s Bobby uses calm smiles and sardonic quips as his armor.
Much of Hazel Clarke’s choreography communicates the joyous self-expression of the show’s characters. Her steps and the cast’s solid work create the needed illusion that the dancers are pulling off routines new to them by the seats of their pants.
Musical director Ryan O’Connell superbly walks a similar tightrope: His onstage playing casts him as the audition’s ever-game rehearsal pianist, even while he and four top musicians spin Hamlisch’s score for Chance’s show. Nguyen boosts the vocal power and volume by using six ensemble members as singers, three along each side of the stage.
Fred Kinney’s bare-bones set design and the cast’s vaguely ’70s look complete the needed effect, and Bradley Lock’s glittering gold costumes help the socko climactic song “One” shine.
A durable paean to live theater, “A Chorus Line” is a fascinating look into the technical side of dance-oriented shows. At Chance, the show doubles as a textbook examination into the psyches of those whose drive to dance on stage outweighs nearly everything else in life.
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