HALF A CHORUS LINE WASN’T BETTER THAN A FULL ONE
Both friends and readers have asked me, “How did July 26 come and go without you commenting on A CHORUS LINE’s 50th anniversary?”
Actually, I was saving it for this week, because August 9 was my 50th anniversary of seeing the show.
I was living in Boston, so my Manhattan friend Richard Norton was asked to get me Broadway’s white-hottest ticket.
Make that tickets.
And not just a pair for me and my then-wife, but another pair for a couple of friends who wanted to see it, too.
Not only was I asking for four, but four for a Saturday night.
And while you’re at it, four for the matinee of CHICAGO.
I gave Richard the line that people who want multiple tickets to a smash always give:” “They don’t have to be together.”
But soon after, eight tickets arrived in the mail: Row S in the house-left orchestra for CHORUS LINE and Row O house left for CHICAGO.
Close enough! And all four together!
(I still think that Richard went to a scalper but never told me. Richard, come clean! You’re entitled to a big dinner. If you even want a pig with an apple in its mouth, you got it.)
Although I’ve seen 80%-90% of the Broadway musicals that have been produced in my lifetime, I had an experience with A CHORUS LINE that I’ve never had with any other show.
It started on July 26, when I bought the original cast album, played Side One of the vinyl, and was entranced by it.
“I Hope I Get It” reminded me, as it would millions of others, of all the job interviews I’d suffered through and sweated.
I didn’t have a sister who inspired me to go to dance class, but “I Can Do That” took me back to what had what changed my life for the (much) better: Edith and Phil LaGrassa, friends of the family, let me hear GIGI and SOUTH PACIFIC’s soundtracks as well as MY FAIR LADY, THE SOUND OF MUSIC, THE MUSIC MAN and PAINT YOUR WAGON’s cast albums.
(Guess the LaGrassas liked Lerner and Loewe, for their PAINT YOUR WAGON wasn’t the household name hit that GIGI and FAIR LADY were. But I loved it the moment the needle dropped on “I Am on My Way,” still one of my all-time favorite opening numbers.)
As for “At the Ballet,” what beautiful music Marvin Hamlisch had provided. I had to admit that lyricist Edward Kleban was wise to avoid self-referential aggrandizement by not making it “At the Musical.” After all, PROMISES, PROMISES – the musical version of The Apartment – hadn’t replicated Chuck Baxter’s offering Fran Kubelik a seat to THE MUSIC MAN. Neil Simon had him holding an extra ticket to a Knicks’ game.
(Aren’t we glad he did, for that inspired Burt Bacharach and Hal David to write what may be the most swinging waltz in Broadway musical history: “She Likes Basketball.”)
As for “Sing!”, I picked up the needle before the song was over, because I doubted that I’d correctly heard one lyric. What had Kristine sung so quickly? What were those guys she’d referenced actually doing?
A return to the song and my ear to the speaker revealed that, yes, I had heard it right the first time.
And, oh, that “Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello, Love,” in which Kleban had included more than 12 or 13 examples of adolescent highs and lows. Bebe’s celebrity crushes and Val’s frustration with her body were situations to which I – and everyone else – could relate. Hearing that Sheila’s father went through life with an open fly also made me check my zipper right then and there.
Next, Morales’ feeling “Nothing” at her teacher’s death was really something. Who among us hasn’t been frustrated by a teacher for whom we could do nothing right?
This first side was so great that I just had to hear it again.
And again.
And again.
And that’s when I made a decision to not play Side Two until after I saw the show. For the next two weeks, Side One was repeated endlessly, resulting in my knowing it word-for-word.
Finally, after two weeks of waiting, the big night arrived.
(Oh – hours earlier, CHICAGO with Liza Minnelli had been something, too. But that’s literally another story.)
So much for my knowing everything word-for-word; there were plenty of words that weren’t on the vinyl record, which could only accommodate so much. The song “And …” wasn’t included – in which the auditioners wondered “What shall I say? What can I tell him?” meaning director-choreographer Zach.
In addition, what I’d been hearing of “Hello Twelve” turned out to be just a fraction of this dramatic musical scene. At the Shubert, I heard Connie’s lament on being a mere four-foot-ten, Paul’s admission that his “whole life was a secret,” Judy’s unapologetic delight at having shaved her sister’s head, and Mark’s anguish over his wet dreams that he assumed meant gonorrhea.
However, Greg’s recollection turned out to be the most potent. As he told of adolescent erections, men in the audience identified with him and guffawed in recognition and remembrance.
And then Greg said that making out with a girl made him realize that he was gay.
Some men stopped laughing – until they realized it was too late for them to turn against Greg. They’d already come to like him, and now they couldn’t go back on that just because of his sexuality, could they?
Another surprise: Morales’ “Nothing” was not a stand-alone song; it was situated midway through “Hello Twelve.”
(Not until the 2006 Broadway revival cast album was the entire, unexpurgated “Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello, Love” including “Nothing” was put on disc – all 18:47 of it.)
And as soon as this sequence ended – I’m serious – I felt myself instinctively getting out of my seat to yell, “Wait! I have to go home and listen to the other side!”
But I knew they wouldn’t stop for me.
And besides, I didn’t want to leave.
Val’s earlier complaints about her upper body nicely set up “Dance: Ten; Looks, Three.” When she revealed what plastic surgery awarded her got a laugh, but not as strong as Kleban’s couplet “Keep the best of you! Do the rest of you!”
Then came “The Music and the Mirror,” Donna McKechnie let-me-show-what-I-can-do dance. Hamlisch’s music, dynamically orchestrated by both Bill Byers and Harold Wheeler, matched the excitement of what she could indeed do.
“What I Did for Love” has been much written about and discussed. Was Hamlisch just hungry for another hit, or did it fit the show? I’d say the latter. Even discounting the superb melody, Kleban’s lyric made a strong point when stating, “We did what we had to do.” Which of us hasn’t felt the same about some aspect of our life?
From that Saturday performance, I would have never guessed that the album would offer “One” twice, first in rehearsal, then in triumphant performance. Goddard Lieberson, forgive me, but I would have preferred one “One” and “And …” in its place.
I’ve since seen A CHORUS LINE ten times on Broadway, twice in Ohio, and once in New Jersey, Oklahoma and Pennsylvania, as well as the famous 3,383rd performance at the Shubert, when everyone associated with the show who cared to return indeed did.
Because I’ve since memorized every lyric, at none of those performances did I feel the need to jump up after “Hello, Twelve…” and ask them to stop. I knew I’d be jumping up at the end of each performance.
Peter Filichia can be heard most weeks of the year on www.broadwayradio.com. His calendar – A SHOW TUNE FOR TODAY: 366 Songs to Brighten Your Year – is now available on Amazon.
