A documentary captures real life, but real life is altered when the subject is aware that he/or she is being filmed.
Not for nothing, "A Chorus Line" is a permanent fixture in the American musical theater. Every performer who ever dreamed about New York loves Michael Bennett's singular sensation unconditionally. It flatters them. The 1975 musical tells the story of their lives, their struggle. Words by Edward Kleban and music by Marvin Hamlisch, "A Chorus Line" epitomizes the performer's belief that singing and dancing constitute a religion, so when it comes to churches, the bigger the better. And it gets no bigger than Broadway. "Every Little Step" gives the moviegoer a privileged look at the rarefied world of showbiz people, the weirdos who unite in their love for the bright lights. On a snowy day outside the Schubert Theater, thousands of hopeful dancers line up for open call auditions, and almost miraculously, so are we. More so than any other revival, the 2006 version of "A Chorus Line" required men and women with humility; men and women with big feet, after all they had big shoes to fill. But big heads? No. Bob Avian won't tolerate any prima donna behavior from his dancers.
Competing for the part of Sheila, the sexy but aging dancer(played by Kelly Bishop in the original production), are Deidre Goodwyn and another woman, whose lack of humility takes her out of the running. Heading into final callbacks, it was the woman's part to lose, but due to an unfavorable last impression during her final audition, she opened up the competition. Out of generosity, Avian offers direction and advice to the chorus line candidate in private, giving her every opportunity to replicate the performance she gave four months prior. Instead of accepting this second chance with elegance and appreciation, this dancer goes into full diva mode and acts contentiously(in voiceovers) towards Avian, who was only trying to help her win the part. Tell it to the mountain, the moviegoer thinks, as she goes on about her broken relationship; this is "A Chorus Line", not "American Idol"; this is the choreographer from the original Broadway production, not Ryan Seacrest. "Every Little Step" is at its most immediate when a colleague tells Avian that the woman wants a decision on her fate right then and there, thus sealing her fate and losing her part to a less talented performer. With the cameras rolling, the woman loses what little leeway she had, since nobody wants to look weak when served an ultimatum. If Avian wasn't provoked and had time to mull things over, she might have gotten the part. Everybody in this business has huge egos, but for those without any clout, asserting that huge ego against those who do, amounts to suicide.
Baewok Lee, the original Connie, is one of those people, and she has an ego which easily transcends her petite frame. Because Lee lacks humility , she's the last person on the committee to realize that Yuka Takara was tailor-made for the part of the undersized Asian dancer with spunk and gumption. Her philosophy on casting seems antithetical towards the creative process in regard to the interpretation of old material, which is to make it new again, when the old pro insists that she doesn't see herself in Takara. She nitpicks over Takara's accent and non-American origins(Takara was born in Okinawa), qualities that make her perfect for the part, because it updates the musical by reflecting on a different era that's even more inclusive to a wider breadth of people. Electicism is the heart of "A Chorus Line", and Lee's isolationist stance goes against the spirit of this hallowed musical. With the cameras rolling, her comments work as exposition, which means she's playing for the cameras, since her colleagues already know what her part was in the original production. The moviegoer learns that Lee was Connie when she expresses a desire to cast the part herself.
Not for nothing, "A Chorus Line" is a permanent fixture in the American musical theater. Every performer who ever dreamed about New York loves Michael Bennett's singular sensation unconditionally. It flatters them. The 1975 musical tells the story of their lives, their struggle. Words by Edward Kleban and music by Marvin Hamlisch, "A Chorus Line" epitomizes the performer's belief that singing and dancing constitute a religion, so when it comes to churches, the bigger the better. And it gets no bigger than Broadway. "Every Little Step" gives the moviegoer a privileged look at the rarefied world of showbiz people, the weirdos who unite in their love for the bright lights. On a snowy day outside the Schubert Theater, thousands of hopeful dancers line up for open call auditions, and almost miraculously, so are we. More so than any other revival, the 2006 version of "A Chorus Line" required men and women with humility; men and women with big feet, after all they had big shoes to fill. But big heads? No. Bob Avian won't tolerate any prima donna behavior from his dancers.
Competing for the part of Sheila, the sexy but aging dancer(played by Kelly Bishop in the original production), are Deidre Goodwyn and another woman, whose lack of humility takes her out of the running. Heading into final callbacks, it was the woman's part to lose, but due to an unfavorable last impression during her final audition, she opened up the competition. Out of generosity, Avian offers direction and advice to the chorus line candidate in private, giving her every opportunity to replicate the performance she gave four months prior. Instead of accepting this second chance with elegance and appreciation, this dancer goes into full diva mode and acts contentiously(in voiceovers) towards Avian, who was only trying to help her win the part. Tell it to the mountain, the moviegoer thinks, as she goes on about her broken relationship; this is "A Chorus Line", not "American Idol"; this is the choreographer from the original Broadway production, not Ryan Seacrest. "Every Little Step" is at its most immediate when a colleague tells Avian that the woman wants a decision on her fate right then and there, thus sealing her fate and losing her part to a less talented performer. With the cameras rolling, the woman loses what little leeway she had, since nobody wants to look weak when served an ultimatum. If Avian wasn't provoked and had time to mull things over, she might have gotten the part. Everybody in this business has huge egos, but for those without any clout, asserting that huge ego against those who do, amounts to suicide.
Baewok Lee, the original Connie, is one of those people, and she has an ego which easily transcends her petite frame. Because Lee lacks humility , she's the last person on the committee to realize that Yuka Takara was tailor-made for the part of the undersized Asian dancer with spunk and gumption. Her philosophy on casting seems antithetical towards the creative process in regard to the interpretation of old material, which is to make it new again, when the old pro insists that she doesn't see herself in Takara. She nitpicks over Takara's accent and non-American origins(Takara was born in Okinawa), qualities that make her perfect for the part, because it updates the musical by reflecting on a different era that's even more inclusive to a wider breadth of people. Electicism is the heart of "A Chorus Line", and Lee's isolationist stance goes against the spirit of this hallowed musical. With the cameras rolling, her comments work as exposition, which means she's playing for the cameras, since her colleagues already know what her part was in the original production. The moviegoer learns that Lee was Connie when she expresses a desire to cast the part herself.