Profile

Closing Soon

In Bob Avian’s well-meaning revival, the director resists the temptation to punch things up for the American Idol era. This is a musical that looks its age. Some of the stories are a trifle musty, and the sound—from the horn fanfare that evokes cop shows in which everybody has facial hair to the drum breaks that are pure Action News—reeks of polyester. Many shows sport some cobwebs when revived (Eric Bogosian’s subUrbia just last week, for example), but with A Chorus Line, the sense of endurance over generations works a strange transformation. Even as it loses its innovative flash, its stature grows. Its images are so iconic, its legend so well known, that it seems a phenomenon all its own: a kind of para-musical, as much a part of the landscape as Shubert Alley. People certainly cherish it as if it’s one. Though this is about as unscientific as a study gets, more people volunteered to join me at this show than for any in recent years not involving a Meryl or Denzel. All the noisy support from the audience doesn’t conceal the fact that, beyond its fidelity to Bennett, this revival of a terrific musical isn’t especially terrific itself. Moments that ought to be explosive, like Cassie’s big dance break, are merely effective, and the only completely satisfying performance belongs to Michael Berresse. Unfortunately, he plays Zach, the stern choreographer, and it’s hard to steal the show when you spend most of it posing questions from the back of the house. No two ways about it, this revival confirms A Chorus Line’s exalted spot in the Broadway canon and pride of place in the annals of the backstage confessional. If only it had found a really exciting way of doing so. — Jeremy McCarter

Related Stories

New York Magazine Reviews

• Jeremy McCarter's Full Review (10/16/06)