When asked what musical has influenced me the most, it opens up a host of supporting questions. My Fair Lady is my favorite, but I can’t say that it has informed my career in significant ways. There are shows that have greater songbooks or have moments that I reference as shorthand in my daily life. However, to name a show that has influenced me is a bit difficult because, in a lot of respects, the theater is escapism. It’s supposed to give you a form of entertainment that makes you feel better about your life, finding meaning in abstract ideas that you apply to your life. To be influential, it has to be seen, even in broad strokes, in my greater career.
That is why I personally say that A Chorus Line is the most influential musical that I have ever seen. Second to none, it is a show that personally taps into a mentality that is often present in my fiction. It’s the story of underdogs pushing themselves to be seen, to have moments that matter, and feel like their dreams are validated. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it had a major impact on how I wrote “Apples & Chainsaws,” looking at first from a distance before pulling in closely on these characters, letting them make their case for why they matter. In the grand scheme, every one of them deserves a spot in the chorus line, but you can’t do it because, well, that’s show business as they say.
On July 25, 1975, the musical penned by Marvin Hamlisch made its debut on Broadway and began an incredible run. At one point it was even the longest-running musical in Broadway history. There’s no denying that it spoke to a generation, becoming one of the standout stories that pushed everyday issues to the forefront (see also: Company and In Trousers). Everyone in the audience at these theaters likely had those aspirations in whatever career they were facing.
This one just happened to be symbolic of the artist: an individual who put their vulnerable souls on the line just to get a job. Over the course of the story, in some ways the greatest anti-narrative show in history, every facet of the artist is explored. It’s the ideas of gender, race, beauty, personal beliefs, aging, economics, and most importantly passion. It may be the simplest way to paint The American Dream, and it’s a deeply emotional one. For as many crass details are packed into the story (including a song literally about “tits and ass”), the contemporary spin isn’t a gimmick. It’s genuine concern that you need to adapt to get anywhere, and sometimes it comes at a cost.
Why do these themes matter to me? In the big picture, I am somebody who has grown up as a writer. I have spent my life trying to find ways to convey themes and personal experience in the most satisfying ways imaginable. I’ve also had those highs and lows that writers experience as they go about their lives. There are moments where you want to quit, give it up for a boring, soulless existence that adds nothing to this world. It’s the feeling that judgment is at times too much, and you have to continue smiling, hoping that there is that shred of doubt that will pull you through. I personally admire theater performers because they’re committed to their craft in ways that must be even more soul-crushing when a rejection comes their way. It’s not just a few bad moves, it could be their appearance or their physical limitations. I don’t know what that’s like, and yet I get the personal and endless sense that we’re never enough.
I think what put A Chorus Line into perspective came when I finally saw it onstage in July 2016. I saw it on a whim and found myself impressed. Even before the show began, I understood why A Chorus Line distinctly works in a theater but not necessarily on film. The backdrop, a series of body mirrors, reflects onto the audience. This piece of symbolism to me perfectly shows that this isn’t just a story about fictional characters. This is about every one of us out in the audience, wanting to aspire to something reflective (no pun intended) of our goals in life. What keeps us going? Some may win and some may lose by the end, but do we keep going to the next project?
The experience is a bit loaded, honestly. My love comes as much from watching the show as it was the Q&A that followed. Never have I experienced a Q&A as hands-on as this one, where the cast came out and took questions. Because they were a local group, they were allowed to be candid in ways that reflected who they were. Some of them were parents, others having to work odd jobs just to support their habits. To them, A Chorus Line was as much a project of passion as it was a job. Of course, they hope to further their careers, but the conversations about their various lives felt in its own way like an extension of A Chorus Line, serving as this fourth-wall breaking piece of entertainment.
Which is something because the show opens with one of the greatest opening numbers in history. It’s not lyrically dense (though I still haven’t memorized the dance steps), but what happens is the most ambitious accomplishment I’ve seen. “I Hope I Get It” is a refrain that states the motives as surface level, but is necessary. Everyone in the room enters judged equally.
As an audience member, I personally love the experience of seeing the massive ensembles dance across the stage. Every minute I’m looking at them, wondering who will make the cut. For a show that becomes minimal, it’s overwhelming to find yourself interacting with its uncertainty. As someone sings to you “I really need this job,” you may find yourself doubting it. Are they really deserving over the girl next to her? People who have seen the show a half-dozen times have told me that there are context clues to look for, but I get wrapped up in the judgment. In some ways, it makes me sad to realize “Oh, I’m just as bad as the theater director not casting them.” In that way, it makes the show click much quicker than it could’ve. You arguably don’t even need to see the show to know its plot. It’s all summarized in the first few minutes.
Also, I would argue that it’s one of the most groundbreaking dance numbers of theater, advancing the plot, not as a spectacle but some grand deconstruction of these characters and ourselves.
Everything else isn’t worth diving into. If theater ever opens back up, I would recommend tracking this show down and enjoying it for yourself. As the 17 dancers look out into the crowd, they’re as much trying to win us over as they are the theater director that’s casting them. It’s as much an audition piece as it is letting down the guard of these individuals, allowing us to understand their different backgrounds, hoping to find that one piece of sympathy that puts them above the rest.
What are we looking for in our artists? The chorus line is a very visual thing, and sometimes a matter of differing heights can play against you. It’s the tragedy of A Chorus Line, and you begin to see yourself in the various characters, knowing that at one point you’ve been judged for something out of your control. It pits us against each other, sometimes accidentally, and we just have to make the most of it.
It would be wrong to not also admit that the songs are some of the sharpest ever written. There is a reason that Hamlisch became an EGOT with help from this show. With lyrics by Edward Kleban, these songs manage to feel contemporary, so full of these personal details that have emotional weight. Nothing necessarily happens, only that everyone is at this crossroads that will make a difference in their future.
I think of songs like “At the Ballet” talking about what inspired them to dance, and it becomes powerful. I don’t know Sheila, Bebe, or Maggie all that well, and yet there is something to the writing that makes them feel all too familiar. I also personally love “Nothing,” which finds Diana having trouble acting. It’s also one of Hamlisch’s finest moments, managing to play against his peppy stride with a very sad song about not being able to act:
And I dug right down to the bottom of my soul
To see how an ice cream felt...
Yes, I dug right down to the bottom of my soul
And I tried to melt!
The kids yelled, "Nothing!"
They called me "Nothing"
And Karp allowed it, which really makes me burn
It’s that brilliant mix of bittersweet that gives the show its appeal. It doesn’t praise these characters, never putting one above the rest. Instead, everyone gets to reflect their different insecurities in a manner that few musicals before or since have captured as clearly. Everything else is trapped in a period piece while A Chorus Line is stuck in the now, asking what draws us to the theater even as we watch it. Where it could settle for metacommentary, it finds the heart and becomes beautiful by the end. Anyone who’s seen the show will be quick to recognize how powerful “What I Did For Love” is in a proper context.
I don’t honestly know what would've happened if A Chorus Line became the standard-bearer for the decade ahead. While there would be personal musicals like March of the Falsettos, it feels like right as the medium became personal, Andrew Lloyd Webber brought his Cats and Phantoms. I’m not saying that they’re worse, but they capture a melodrama that’s not always as satisfying for audiences wanting to dive deeper into the heart of art, understanding it on a more personal level. Even in 2020, we’re coming off of a decade that’s become more emotionally mature and yet doesn’t feel like it goes nearly as far in a contemporary setting. For that, you need to go to shows like Dear Evan Hansen and Be More Chill. Even then, they’re lapsed into something more derived of fantasy.
A Chorus Line always feels like its minimalism was intentional. It’s so real and honest that no show has come close. Part of me fears that modern generations don’t love the show as much, ignored in favor of modern shows. I think that’s fair, especially given since each generation deserves its own string of hits. It’s just that Hamlisch distilled something pure with this show and I think its subversive core is an underrated tool. Even if you can argue that aspects of the show haven’t dated well, the big picture has never gone out of style.
More than any other show, I am personally annoyed that there isn’t a good version available to watch right now. It’s true that there is A Chorus Line (1985), but I don’t believe that director Richard Attenborough knows where the heart is of the story. Not only does he add a terrible and unnecessary song (“Surprise!”), but by taking the story outside of the theater, he even if unintentionally finds a way to take away the intimacy of this story. It’s admirable, but I promise you that you’ll think this show is overrated garbage if this is your entry point. It does enough to capture the show’s story, but the intent is kind of missing. Even in the world of professionally shot stage versions, it is somehow missing. Most major shows have versions archived for posterity, and yet A Chorus Line (one of the most successful shows in Broadway history at the time) doesn’t. It makes me disappointed sometimes.
So while I love plenty of shows more and would be more willing to put on their soundtracks as entertainment, there is something about the whole package of A Chorus Line that continues to influence me. Every second of it has this affecting quality that makes me strive to write stories with characters as empathetic, as real even if we only know them for a few seconds. I’ll be honest that I’d probably love the show more if there was a professionally shot version for me to watch on a loop. For now, I pull from what little stage time I’ve had with it and hope that I get to see it again soon. The show continues to speak to me and, at the ripe old age of 45, is more vital than most shows I’ve seen released after. Few mean as much to me as this one does. You could say, in all sincerity, that it’s the one.
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