This review contains spoilers.

It wasn’t until after seeing A Chorus Line and doing some research for this review that I discovered exactly what an institution the show is, and its incredible level of success. Despite initial doubt that a minimalist show without a lead performer featuring the varied stories of an ensemble would attract audiences, the original 1975 Broadway production was the longest-running in its history until it was surpassed by Cats in 1997, winning nine Tony Awards and the 1976 Pulitzer Prize for Drama. The 1976 West End production won the Laurence Olivier Award for Best New Musical, but while it’s been a mainstay of Broadway and national tours in the US, the same can’t be said for the UK – it was last on in the West End in 2013. After a run at The Curve Theatre Leicester earlier in the year, this production has moved into Sadler’s Wells Theatre for a run of several months.

The show begins with a classic, ‘I Hope I Get It,’ as a troupe of dancers are put through their paces in an audition for an unnamed Broadway show. Initially facing the mirror, the director Zach (Adam Cooper) counts them in as the music starts and they flip towards the audience. I’ve been fortunate enough to see a lot of musicals, and the excitement of seeing a full ensemble dancing full pelt in synch never gets old; we can see their dynamism and talent immediately. The song is a classic, flipping between showcasing the characters’ internal desperation and self-doubt and – to the audience’s eyes – their incredible dancing. Several don’t make the cut however, and the remaining auditionees then line up downstage to give more information to Zach. The audition becomes an unorthodox group therapy session as he encourages them to share their journeys as performers and motivations. It feels a little forced, but allows us to learn about each of them.

The director’s assistant, Larry (Taylor Walker) goes along the line with a video camera, the footage from which is transmitted onto a large rectangular screen on the back left of the stage. It’s a bold, modernising move by director Nikolai Foster, and is intended to  reflect the invasive, analytical perspective of the director, but initially feels a little unnecessary – it also has the unintentional effect of breaking the fourth wall distractingly as we can see the heavy stage make-up of the actors, which is not intended to look good on a huge high-definition screen. However, it comes into its own as a device later. We then move onto numbers giving us more insight to the characters; firstly, ‘I Can Do That,’ as Mike gives us insight into how he fell in love with dance, flipping and spinning along the line.  ‘At The Ballet,’ follows, in which Sheila, Bebe and Maggie sing about the transportive power of ballet – although Maggie’s fantasy of an ‘Indian Chief’ as a father who has visible pride in her hasn’t aged particularly well. For the first time since the beginning of the show, the ensemble spread back out onto the whole stage and support the three singers beautifully as the stage floor is covered by dry ice.

There is no interval, and we don’t especially need it; there isn’t an obvious narrative point, given that the events take place over the course of an unbroken audition, and it helps drive home the intensity of the auditionees’ experience. It does however lose a little steam towards the middle where there are several montages; the number about hitting puberty (‘Hello Twelve, Hello Thirteen, Hello Love’) feels a little unnecessary and would perhaps have more power if it took into account how this changed their bodies and capabilities as dancers, or how they felt they stood out in having to focus on their art to achieve their dreams rather than just have fun like their peers. It also feels like a missed opportunity that only ‘At the Ballet,’ pays tribute to the power of a particular style of dance, although ‘I Can Do That,’ heavily features tap; but it would be nice to have one that perhaps speaks to other ways they encountered professional dance as young people, such as watching Fred Astaire films or West Side Story, and give the performers even more opportunity to show off their range. Following several montages, ‘Dance: Ten, Looks: Three,’ finishes the journey through to adulthood, as Val (Chloe Saunders) tells of how her surgical enhancements enhanced her professional prospects; it’s vigorous and great fun. It’s odd having both solo stories picking out parts of the characters’ lives and more general numbers; it does mark out their individuality as well as their common experiences, and reflects the workshop devising of the show in which many performers talked about their lives and careers. However, the combination – without a true central character – means the show tries to have its cake and eat it, but in fact feels slightly hollow at times.

We pick up emotional momentum when the dancers are given a break by the director and we learn more about another ensemble member, Cassie, who is trying to return to the chorus after an unsuccessful career as a soloist, complicated by her previous romantic relationship with Zach. The following song ‘The Music and The Mirror’ shows off Cassie’s (Carly Mercedes Dyer) raw dance ability as she attempts to prove her desire to perform. It was the most transcendent moment of the show for me; Dyer commands the stage utterly, breathing spectacular life into Ellen Kane’s choreography. It’s also one of the moments the camcorder comes into its own, as its placement behind her shows her alone onstage in the face of a darkened audience – us. It’s a very meta moment, as we watch the talented soloist in the real-life cast proving her mettle onstage.

We continue with another two-person scene, as Paul San Marco (Manuel Pacific) speaks to Zach about his life, including his sexual abuse, career on the nightclub scene and sexuality. If the previous scene is a testament to the power of dance, this one is a testament to that of the monologue, and Pacific hits every emotional note perfectly. It doesn’t however develop into a song or dance, which seems like a confusing choice, especially given that we’ve just seen how potent a musical number can be. Much like Cassie’s previous scene, Zach functions as a blank slate for her and Paul to tell their stories to the audience. During a tap scene, Paul injures his knee and has to leave the audition, confronting the other ensemble members with the brevity of their careers. Online, it is suggested in synopsises of the show that this injury is intended to be very severe and impact, if not end, his career; if that’s the case, it didn’t quite come across here. I was left with the impression that it was only enough to end his audition. Either way, it seemed like an overly sad ending for his character and one that does the audience dirty, given his monologue means we’re emotionally invested in him and the difficulties he has already endured. A Chorus Line was ground-breaking in its LGBTQ+ representation in the 1970s – something that was muted in the film version – and unfortunately the era of tragic stage and screen stories for gay characters was only just beginning.

(When writing reviews, it somewhat defeats the point to take the reader through the story blow by blow, but this show has been around so long, it seems unnecessary to worry about spoilers. In some ways, it’s almost like an anthology of stories and as such feels odd to discuss in shorter, more sweeping terms.)

Paul’s injury prompts the iconic number ‘What I Did For Love,’ in which Diana (Jocasta Almgill) leads the ensemble in a song reflecting on the energy and time they’ve all put into achieving their dreams. It’s a classic theatre kid anthem but sounds surprisingly modern given its age, and Almgill nails the soaring notes. The band, hidden in a staging block, sound amazing – as they do throughout.

The show concludes with the final cast members being selected by Zach. They leave the stage and he performs a short routine in which we finally learn, via an audio played as he dances, of his career as a performer. It’s interesting and rounds him out as a little as a character, but he is still left as an ever-present enigma, both an instigator and a vehicle for his charges’ vulnerabilities. There’s a great moment when he draws a line at his feet which then appears along the stage – the line the auditionees all collected along at the start. In the final song, ‘One,’ the ensemble perform a classically styled musical number in matching gold outfits; it features all the performers, which seemed slightly confusing, given that the narrative suggests it is a preview of the show that they had been auditioning for, and many of them had not made the grade. As such, it lends a dream-like feel to the number, and I wondered if it was instead intended as a kind of fantasy epilogue. The opulence of the clothing, showy and high-kicking choreography, and traditional chorus style contrasts with the previously unglamourous and anonymous staging of the rest of the show, and makes it feel earned as a finale.

Overall, it’s easy to see why this show is so loved and won so many awards on Broadway and the West End. It’s a feast of classic songs and pure talent. It is, however, structurally quite strange. For all its innovation, the narrative choices and pacing are still somewhat odd, and it doesn’t quite achieve what it aims for. But what I took away from it, more than anything, was how incredibly talented and highly trained all the performers were. There’s never a show where the ensemble are less able than the leads, but often they have to bear the brunt of the choreography and set movement for less recognition. It was refreshing to see a performance where they were all given moments in the spotlight, even if necessarily some were given more than others in order to create a sense of story; the excitement of seeing such skill mostly papered over the cracks in the premise and structure. The cast rightfully received a rapturous standing ovation at the end.