Opening
Nights

PA Chorus Line

5th Avenue Theatre, 308 Fifth Ave., 
625-1900. $29 and up. Runs Tues.–Sun.; 
See 5thavenue.org for schedule. 
Ends Sept. 28.

The opening number of A Chorus Line ripples with imperfection. This is how it is supposed to be, of course. The legendary musical, which opened on Broadway in 1975, offers a view of the unrefined side of musical theater. Framed in a day of auditions, aspiring stage performers desperately vie for a spot in the chorus line.

So it goes in “I Hope I Get It” (one of the famous numbers from Marvin Hamlisch’s score), as we see the performers on a bare stage missing their steps, falling out of rhythm, fading into the background, and comically overacting to move to the fore. It’s all expertly plotted, of course, since the 5th’s mostly native production relies on the original Michael Bennett choreography. Still, you feel real empathy for these artists struggling under the critical eye of director Zach (the very commanding, stentorian Andrew Palermo).

A Chorus Line is and was a radical departure from traditionally polished Broadway fare, since it concentrates on backstage drama. Director David Bennett manages that messy process with aplomb, though some flaws show here. Almost all 17 performers are treated as equals, pretty much requiring that each be a triple threat: able to sing, dance, and act. It’s a nearly impossible standard, but A Chorus Line reminds you, over and over again, that these performers are fallible human beings.

The large ensemble cast keeps the show moving, swinging effortlessly from the comic to the tragic. As Mike, Gabriel Corey, saddled with the unenviable task of the first solo number, performs “I Can Do That” with an expert light-comic touch. Richard Peacock as Richie dazzles with fluid dance moves that, more than any other performer’s, recall the musical’s era—though his voice was often lost in the large room. Sarah Rose Davis is fittingly unremarkable as modest Maggie until she opens her mouth and delivers the show’s most striking vocal performance (“At the Ballet”). And at the production’s heart is Stephen Diaz as the gay Puerto Rican Paul, who in a devastating monologue reveals his most closely held secrets.

The leads—pulled from national talent—are good but not great. Katrina Asmar, as Morales, proves flexible enough to provide moments both serious and comic, though the latter are at times too hammy. Both Palermo and Chryssie Whitehead, as the fallen starlet Cassie, were brought in to help carry the romantic heft of the play, and they do sound work at that. You believe it. Whitehead’s solo, “The Music and the Mirror,” is a bit of a manic mess. But it’s a fitting portrayal of an actress desperate to return to a stage that has shunned her. How much of it was the choreography, the acting, or Whitehead’s own humanity? Who cares? This Chor

us Line works just fine as it is. Mark Baumgarten

The Invisible Hand

ACT Theatre, 700 Union St., 292-7676. 
$55 and up. Runs Tues.–Sun.; see act
theatre.org for schedule. Ends Sept. 28.

There are many reasons to go to the theater, but to see something that feels like a film or a TV episode usually isn’t one. That’s the main problem with Ayad Akhtar’s new play about a bright young money guy, Nick (Connor Toms), who has been kidnapped in Karachi by Islamic terrorists. Because his employer doesn’t negotiate with terrorists, Nick offers to earn his ransom by trading on the volatile Pakistani financial markets. Tense setup? Check. Dense background details about the worlds of finance and Pakistani politics (albeit clunkily exposited)? Check. A sense of emotional investment and caring about the outcome? Strangely, not much in Akhtar’s follow-up to his Pulitzer-winning Disgraced.

Nick’s captors include Dar (the boyish Erwin Galan), Dar’s ambitious supervisor Bashir (the apt Elijah Alexander), and their commander Imam Saleem (William Ontiveros), an older cleric. Though Akhtar’s given each one an affable side as well as a ruthless one, they still come off as cartoonish, probably because they spend so much time in well-coached accents explaining things you would learn in The Economist. Because the script chops the action into dozens of tiny scenes spaced over many months (identified by wall monitors, e.g., “Ten weeks later”), director Allen Nause usually hasn’t got more than a few beats per scene to work with. For example, the subplot of Nick’s progressive efforts to file the mortar out of a chunk of Matthew Smucker’s cinderblock cell set is neither plausible nor interesting, especially since there’s no plot payoff for these efforts. To compensate for a lack of momentum, the production leans on Brendan Patrick Hogan’s Bollywood-style musical blasts in the interscene breaks, as boisterous as a one-day sale at the bazaar.

Akhtar’s topical engagement with the world is important enough that audiences can probably forgive some theatrical shortcomings. For fans of shows like Homeland, this didactic, issue-exposing play may hit the spot; others may groan at the exposition. And Michael Lewis devotees may enjoy the bits in which Nick explains to Bashir how to game the market. But for those seeking a deeper psychological exploration of the characters themselves in crisis, The Invisible Hand misses the target. Margaret Friedman

E

stage@seattleweekly.com