On the Line

WCLO presents a spirited Chorus Line

by Steve Vineberg

A CHORUS LINE Book by James Kirkwood and Nicholas Dante. Music by Marvin Hamlisch. Lyrics by Edward Kleban. Directed by Barbara Weihrauch. Choreographed by Denise Day. Musical direction by Dennis Wrenn. Set designed by Dennis Metro. Lighting by Chris Gates. Costumes by Sue Spencer. With Victor Kruczynski, Christine Towle, Kerry Farrell, Matt Jones, Gregorio Malonte, Ramona Puchalski, Masiel Reyes, Eric Wefald, Billy Ayala, Femi Adeyinka, Erin Conley, Jonathan Lacouture, Kristin Buma, Sarah Murphy,Jessica Pollack, and Andrew Stangland. A Worcester County Light Opera production, at Anna Maria College, through April 26.

The Worcester County Light Opera production of A Chorus Line is, in almost every way, a dream of a community theater show. Barbara Weihrauch, the director, and Denise Day, the choreographer, have urged a large cast (many of whom I don't recall having seen before) into a true ensemble. All of the performances are ebullient and gracious; the evening is musically pleasing (the talented musical director is Dennis Wrenn), and the dancing is confident and spirited. The elegant simplicity of the staging is accentuated by Chris Gates's lighting design. The show, which runs for two and a half hours without intermission, has the requisite escalating intensity: the audience departs, as the piece demands, in a flush of excitement.

The problem with the entire experience isn't the fault of anyone at WCLO: the problem is A Chorus Line. Yes, it's the second or third longest-running Broadway show in history; opening in the 1975-'76 season, it won every award a musical could garner, beating out the two best musicals of its decade, Kander and Ebb's Chicago and Stephen Sondheim's Pacific Overtures, for the Tony and even taking home the goddamn Pulitzer Prize. But in two and a half hours, there isn't a single feeling in this world-famous play about the unstinting dedication and reckless emotional commitment of Broadway dancers that isn't manufactured, inflated and trite.

A couple of dozen theatrical gypsies of assorted sizes and ages gather on an empty stage to audition for a celebrated director/ choreographer named Zack (played at WCLO by Victor Kruczynski but created in the image of the show's original director/choreographer, the late Michael Bennett). For most of the show he's unseen, his voice booming out at the dancing hopefuls over a mic. The director as God is a joke in the Ziegfeld sequences in Funny Girl; here it's deadly serious, and somehow we're supposed to see his emotional manipulation of the auditioners, whom he forces to reveal private sides of themselves in the spotlight, as indicative of his love for them, not as megalomania and sadism, and to see their compliance as naked honesty and not as exhibitionism. (The whole premise of the James Kirkwood- Nicholas Dante script is queasy-making.)

So we're treated to the confessions of the talented but unsuccessful young woman who bought herself a career with an injection of silicone, the almost-star dancer returning to the chorus when her career falters, the girl who was humiliated in high-school acting class but now gets to lord it over her teacher: he's dead and she's on Broadway. (The triumphant tone of the final verse of her song, "Nothing," is especially rank; only a cheap writer dreams up hard-hearted monsters so the audience can cheer as their victims dance on their graves.) Most egregious is the scene where the earnest young Puerto Rican dancer recalls his parents' discovery that he was performing as a drag queen. (In this production, Gregorio Malonte does everything he can with this monologue, but it's written on a single masochistic note.) And as if that weren't enough soap opera for one character, just as Zack is -- we feel sure -- going to hire this kid, the poor bastard sprains his ankle, inspiring the others to sing their anthem: whatever the perils of their trade, they won't forget, can't regret what they did for love. (The Marvin Hamlisch- Edward Kleban songs reside in some netherworld of hackneyed sentimentality.)

Some shows that seem impossibly fake in professional productions can be refreshed, resurrected by the un-slick sincerity of nonprofessional ensembles. That was the case with Runaways at the Mount a couple of years ago and of City of Angels at Vokes last year. With A Chorus Line, though, the commitment of a terrific cast like WCLO's to the nickel-plated material just can't transform it. The performers deserve commendation, though, especially Ramona Puchalski as the abrasive, sour-spirited Sheila (the trio she sings with Sarah Murphy and Jessica Pollack, "At the Ballet," is one of the high points of the production); Masiel Reyes as the fireball Diana (who sings "Nothing" and leads the ensemble in "What I Did for Love"); Matt Jones as Mike (performing the tap number "I Can Do That"); and Femi Adeyinka as Richie, whose rich gospel voice ripples through his verse of "And . . . " like an electric current. The novelty duet, "Sing!," is performed with great charm by Kristin Buma (who doubles as the show's dance captain) and Jonathan Lacouture. Everyone on stage is open-hearted and likable. I wish I could say the same for the play.