A Chorus Line at the Paper Mill Playhouse
It takes great talent to perform the late Marvin Hamlisch’s
masterpiece, A Chorus Line, with
sincerity. There are as many poignant
soliloquies as there are overzealous attempts at humor, and in the Paper Mill
Playhouse’s production, running through October 28th, some are more
talented than others. But is that not
what the chorus is about? A Chorus Line was penned to tell the
story of a grossly underrepresented group of artists in musical theater, and
the numerous yet somehow vastly generous cast members embody them
perfectly. When a star takes his place
in front of the chorus, it’s difficult to tell what the latter is thinking, but
when they are given center stage, one can discern their life stories simply
from the way they dance.
This show,
and this well-defined production along with it, dramatizes the audition process
beautifully, bringing the audience to a human connection with the
performers. There are so many, never in
the same formation, never one taking preference over another, yet each is
unique and relatable, a testament of course to the show’s creators (Hamlisch,
Michael Bennett, James Kirkwood, Nicholas Dante, Edward Kleban), but also to
the actors who play the parts in this edition of a long-running cash cow (and
rightfully so) for the Public Theater.
Some take the spotlight better than others—Jessica Lee Goldyn as Cassie
turned the character’s impassioned dance number into a sleepy, ineffectual
bore—but all in all the cast was as impressive as they should be, given the
material they had to work with.
The set, as
always with A Chorus Line, was
simple—an empty stage, a mirror covering the back wall, room for the dancers to
do their work. The costumes were
leotards and dance shoes. Some musicals
can go bare-bones and seem like they’re desperately trying to do so (*cough* Once *cough*), but not A Chorus
Line. The stage seems so much fuller
with the presence of the auditioning chorus, and though some sudden light changes
may confuse, James Dardenne’s scenic design quite agrees with the production.
And then, unavoidably, there are the
songs. One can’t quite help but mourn
Hamlisch’s passing at every spiking, perfectly tonal note in the instrumental
portion of “I Hope I Get It,” and this is just beginning. Why name songs when the score is so evenly
paced in its brilliance?—But I shall.
Mike Cannon and Amanda Rose as married couple Kristine and Al are
abundantly talented, and their collective aura is not wasted on one of
Hamlisch’s best-timed duets, “Sing!”
Gabrielle Ruiz as Diana (or “Morales!”) is merely noticeable until her
first solo, “Nothing,” which she performs fantastically. However, no solo can compare to the perfect
mesh of the company in their ensemble numbers, “Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen,
Hello Love,” “What I Did For Love” (led by Ruiz) and, of course, “One.”
There are three separate occasions
in which “One,” the chosen audition number, is performed. In the first, when Cassie is having it out
with her former lover, director Zach (Martin Harvey), and he professes that she
cannot possibly want to be in the chorus, they turn to the rest of the cast,
going into the song’s first chorus.
Their smiles are equally wide, their steps exact, and for the first
time, we realize, though the characters seemed so unique, they are exactly the
same. They are merely part of a
whole—struggling artists, wannabes, a chorus—one colony, one mass. In the first instance, this is what the “One”
spoken of in the song truly means. It is
beautiful in a way, but also deeply disturbing.
The second time, shortly afterward,
Cassie has rejoined the rest, and the group is celebrating their—pardon the pun—“oneness.” Maybe, after all, they are not the same, but
the idea that they can function as a singularity is impressive and beyond mere
mortals’ comprehension. In this case,
the “One” is celebratory—look at what those dancers can do, when they work
together!
The third performance of “One” is
the finale. In this utterly identifiable
number, the stage lights come on (beautifully, thanks to lighting designer
Julie Duro), the mirror folds over (for reasons the choreography makes obvious),
and the cast members come back on to do their ubiquitous number—this time
dressed in golden tuxedos and top hats.
This time, even, ironically, in their matching outfits, we can recognize
that they are unique entities who have joined together to create something bigger
than they are. This time the “One” is
each and every one of them, and they are larger than life, to be revered. There is something godlike about this
number. Let us worship at the feet of A Chorus Line, that we may one day learn
the secret, the deeply emotional epicenter, of what makes this show such a
glittering example of perfect musical theater.
No comments:
Post a Comment