NEW YORK-
As a teenager growing up in New York City in the 1970s, I was obsessed with the musical “A Chorus Line,” and so were my friends.
Our city was falling apart–literally on the verge of bankruptcy, with crime soaring, subways breaking down, and yes, terrorists planting bombs–only these terrorists were from the Puerto Rican independence group FALN, and not al-Qaida.
Just off Times Square–which in those days was so seedy that no self-respecting girl dared go there alone–“A Chorus Line” was playing. On a bare stage, a line of young dancers told stories about their adolescence, their families, their dreams and their humiliations. I wasn’t all that interested in dance, but the idea that I could survive the torments of high school and the dangers of the city, and emerge to pursue my dreams, was inspiring.
Balcony tickets were just $6 when “A Chorus Line” opened in 1975, and even though I earned only $1 an hour baby-sitting, at those prices even I could afford to see it no fewer than three times before I graduated from high school in 1977.
Well, “A Chorus Line” has just reopened on Broadway, and ever hopeful that you can go home again, I took my two boys to see it in previews a couple of weeks ago. Our tickets cost $110 each, which is our family theater allowance for the year, so I sure hoped it would live up to my memories.
A few minutes into the show, however, my 9-year-old whispered that he was bored, and crawled into my lap, where he sat quietly, snuggled against me for the rest of the performance. I wondered about my 13-year-old, but he gave me no hint of a reaction, and there is no intermission. “A Chorus Line” is the rare one-act musical where you can’t share your opinions mid-show.
I decided not to worry about him and instead concentrated on my own feelings, which were transcendent, to say the least. I didn’t realize that I still knew every word of every song, and every nuance in the melodies. I forced myself to merely mouth the lyrics rather than sing along at the top of my lungs as I so yearned to do.
I cried and laughed as the dancers told their tales, and I realized all over again why the show had meant so much to me. The actors are so young that looking back can only mean talking about life before age 20. I remembered how incredible it was to see and hear those stories on a Broadway stage for the first time, told with such emotion, realism and honesty, when I myself was going through the same awkward phases. Their stories of emerging sexuality, of trying to fit in, of worrying if you’re pretty enough or talented enough, seemed as real and empowering to me in 2006 as they had 30 years ago when I was younger than the cast instead of older.
The biggest difference: Subjects like wet dreams and breast size seemed so daring then, but are less shocking now thanks to MTV and what’s allowed in the average PG-13 movie.
I looked over at my son and tried to read his face in the dark, but I couldn’t tell. Was he being polite and pretending his interest, or was he as moved as I was? Sure, he clapped at the right spots, and smiled at the funny bits, but did it mean as much to him as it had to me?
Somehow I’d forgotten about the ending, and was shocked by it. The curtain goes down after the finale, “One,” where the individual dancers melt into one perfectly synchronized corps while singing “One singular sensation…” But the cast does not come out for a final bow after the curtain drops. I was ready to jump to my feet and cheer and applaud, but the new production remains true to the old in forcing the audience to recognize that the dancers triumph only if they sublimate their differences and morph into a unified machine. I had wondered if my 13-year-old would join me in a standing ovation, but now I would never know.
We poured into the street with the rest of the audience and got on the subway without speaking much. “So, did you like it?” I finally asked.
He nodded and smiled. “It was really good,” he said. But he seemed lost in his thoughts, and it was late on a school night, so I didn’t push him.
When we got home, he headed straight for his laptop. A few minutes later, I heard the familiar words from one of the show’s songs coming from his room: “Hello 12, hello 13, hello love…”
He was downloading it onto his iPod. There is no greater compliment than that in 2006.
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This week’s advice: Think back to the places and experiences that were important to you growing up and try to find ways to revisit them with your children. Consider renting a movie you loved when you were a kid, reading a book together that you enjoyed years ago, hiking a trail you hiked with your mom or dad, or vacationing in a place you loved.
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