‘A Chorus Line’ @ Theatre Arlington
Photos by Jacob Oderberg
—Ryan Maffei
A Chorus Line is about New York theatre, but auditions are hotbeds of communal anxiety and ambition in any theatre town: the arduous effort, the rigorous demands, the superhuman patience, the sting of rejection, the nagging sense of futility and self-doubt. This is the performer’s life writ large, a show that starts with approximately nine zillion people on stage, then thins out to only eight zillion, all of them trying out for the same handful (or two) of parts.
But the point, as you probably know (since you’re reading this review), is that any of those zillions could be you—and maybe has been, if you’ve ever come close to a stage. And if you’re a theatregoer, don’t bother denying that you’ve shared some of the burning dreams revealed by the company members of this musical…as they lower their collective guard and tell the truth of their experience.
I’ll say it up front—you’ll love everyone onstage in director Steven Morris’ production of A Chorus Line at Theatre Arlington. This chorus has no weak links; every performer finds something that sticks with you, and if anyone isn’t amazing, they’re at least affable. And the sense of community that builds during the show is palpable throughout the theatre, whether or not you have an audition in the morning.
That said, I admit to being surprised that the show—whose brilliantly timeless concept comes through as strongly as ever—felt at times like a period piece. There’s a sprinkle of antique racial language, some sex talk that, while hardly graphic, surely does not belong in a co-ed audition space, and of course, a hefty dash of sexism. I’m not referring to “Dance: 10, Looks: 3” (aka “Tits and Ass”), handled commendably and dare I say tastefully by the very talented Kynzi Gumm-Harris. I’m referring to the climactic argument between a featured performer and the borderline-abusive producer, a moment in the show that simply does not land well today.
The fraught encounter is sparked by Zach (Sinclair Freeman), the show’s ingenious “voice of God” element, who runs the room. (The eyes of the striving actors, turned upward to the disembodied speaker on high, drive home their hunger for the break only Zach can give them.) Freeman, who doesn’t need to croon for you to know his voice is a great asset, does an excellent job of walking the line between cruelty and compassion. But when it comes to his struggling former flame Cassie (Candice Proctor), who is trying for a comeback, Zach is vengeful and belittling—and their exchanges leave a bad taste.
Of course, Morris and TA couldn’t adapt the script—but perhaps it’s time for the estates of original writers James Kirkwood and Nicholas Dante to let someone take a crack at a modern refurbish. I simply can’t see how you could watch A Chorus Line and not notice the psychological carnage, still happening today, but less tolerated—though to speak truth, it certainly makes for a fascinating show!
I credit Hannah Bell’s costumes with bridging time to dispel a sense of anachronism, and perhaps to hint at “this is still what it’s like.” Iconic music director Mark Mullino ably leads his spirited, skillful band through Marvin Hamlisch’s trick-playing score (the delightfully colloquial lyrics are by Edward Kleban). Sound design is by Ryan Simón—you can hear everything beautifully—and the scenic and lighting design by Bryan Stevenson is spare and spectacular, respectively.
A conglomeration like Chorus Line needs a strong AD/director, stage manager and assistant stage manager who hang together—and Morris is well-aided by Garrett Caelan Weir, Maria Leon Hickox, and Michael Green. Leslie Jones shepherds the company through her interpretation of Michael Bennett and Bob Avian’s original choreography—which cultivates an enjoyably ragtag vibe, since not everyone trying out for a dance part will be able to dance well; some struggle, others excel. Special praise is owed to Jackson Wyatt Phillips, the dance captain, who with his limited stage “business” sells every moment.
A diversity of personalities and ways of taking the stage is natural and necessary from the actors in the cast. Not everyone in this Chorus Line seems entirely part of the same theatrical reality—but the show’s concept smooths rough spots and holds things together. And there’s talent up and down the line: We lament (and tip a hat to) the performers who show up in the opening moments only to disappear before things really get going: Addisen Bairrington, Andrew Cave, Caiden Garcia, Mia Jacob, Dave Mar, Kate Portele, and Simon Kowalski. I imagine that any of them would kill it if called upon to step into the show one night.
In program order, then, here are the featured performers: Alli Betsill, the girl without a number, is one of the most vibrant presences on stage from the show’s top. The comic glaze over her acting has a captivating sheen, and she’s one of the strongest singers and dancers in the group. Kayla Starr Bryan, conversely, is all nightshade and moonlight, and her dark energy as the lightly ruthless Sheila earned a slew of well-deserved laughs. Mattie Lillian Davis occupies a canny space in the middle as the agreeable, vaguely unsettled Bebe, and while I admit I turned to and whispered to my companion “fifth from left—remind me what her deal is,” Sydney Dotson (Maggie) is easily in the top three for vocal honors. I’ve praised Freeman and Gumm-Harris already, and will do it again for anyone who asks, while Sam Illum won us over in a role (Bobby) designed to alienate.
Justin Konopka brings a smart, light touch to one of the more overtly comic parts (Mike), and pulls out some showstopping stuff as a dancer; you root for him from the start. As the 4’10” Connie, Lindsay Longacre nails every silly beat, and pulls it all off on a sturdy foundation of pathos. Jonah Moon was (I’m the critic, so I can say this) plain and simple, my favorite member of the company, his voice like a drizzle of hot honey, his charisma so solid he breaks out of the line without taking a step forward. Chrisopher Nguyen brings a solid sweetie-pie energy to Mark, another actor whose corner you’re in from the jump. Ally Kay Ramsey is entirely winning in a difficult role, the girl who “could never really sing.” There are different ways to approach that role; Ramsey’s choices work, and her expressions sell the rest.
Abriela Rodriguez has a marvelous voice that stands out in the crowd, and is quite amusing and moving doing my favorite bit, the one about the acting class. Sean Sicard has a swagger and comic energy he renders totally lovable. He’s outstanding working with Ramsey as the other half of the newlyweds (RIP that relationship, in the near future), but I want to raise a small quibble. As the other guy in the “can’t sing” song, Sicard needs to hit all of those notes, and he didn’t on the night I saw. If this was meant to be a bit, it doesn’t work; if it wasn’t, you’re doing a great job, Mr. Sicard, and keep at it. Evan Taiclet, who was terrific in the Godspell I saw recently, is just as fabulous here. And you’ve gotta love Joseph Tully, from megawatt smile to fleet feet.
I’ve left behind the only two performers who get to just stand on stage and act for long stretches of the second half. While the finale (with its gold suits, glam hats, and dazzling everything) is a showstopper, these two non-singing performances are the strongest in the whole show. They’re a testament to something director Morris has brought to the table here, as well as the performers in question. I know Danny Vanegas, and since he absolutely slays Paul’s monologue—burns it down and extinguishes it with our tears—I feel comfortable telling him to check his sincerity and be sure not to milk it as he feels himself nailing it show after show. Great work, sir. And while Cassie’s (Proctor) long dance cried out for a greater sense of abandon, her acting chops could book her any role she went after.
So I’ll say it once more—you’ll love everyone onstage. Their efforts and the hard work of the creative teams cut through any flaws time has revealed—and A Chorus Line remains one of Broadway’s great democratic statements, an ode to the little guy/doll/talent just waiting for the right pair of eyes and set of lights to spot their gifts…and give them a chance at the work they love. Every Chorus Line is as different as it is the same, and the sensations from this one are singular indeed.
WHEN: June 6-22, 2025
WHERE: Theatre Arlington, 316 W. Main Street, Arlington TX
WEB: theatrearlington.org
