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On this day in New York City, the call is for a movie that many of the auditioners in line view as an anthem to their lives: A Chorus Line, a film version of the Pulitzer-prizewinning musical play that last year became the longest-running show in Broadway history. A sort of downbeat reworking of Busby Berkeley's 1933 movie 42nd Street, in which a member of the ensemble suddenly becomes a star, Chorus Line depicts the ruthless process of casting a Broadway musical; it evolved from the actual experiences of its first performers. Although even weeknight tickets to the show cost as much as $45, many of the people auditioning for the film version have seen it onstage as often as other people go to ball games: Suzette Breitbart, a Queens, N.Y., high school student who has studied dance for ten years, says she has been to Chorus Line 14 times. Yet some of these devotees seem not to have grasped its essentials. Among those waiting to audition are people who look much too old or too young to play dancers in their 20s and early 30s. Some look badly out of shape. Although the characters are specifically defined, even idiosyncratic, few of the aspirants seem to have a particular role in mind. When Lori Agid, 26, is asked what part she feels suited to, she answers simply, "Whatever."
Inside the theater, 15 performers stand onstage. These candidates have leaped the first hurdle: they have been permitted to learn a five-step dance routine, or "combination," and execute it for the four men huddled in orchestra seats a few yards away. Those sitting in judgment are the movie's producers, Cy Feuer and Ernest Martin, Broadway veterans whose movie version of Cabaret won eight Oscars; Director Sir Richard Attenborough, whose last film, Gandhi, also won eight Oscars; and Choreographer Jeffrey Hornaday, 27, a former dancer who staged the movement in Flashdance. Michael Bennett, who conceived Chorus Line and who was to transform it for the screen, now has no part in making the film.
The four men mutter pointedly about the performers' talent, poise and looks. "The guy in the tie-dyed shirt is technically fine," Hornaday says, "but his eyes are dead." Even the judgments that benefit auditioners could prove painful if spoken within their earshot. Says Feuer: "We need someone who looks foolish to play Greg." His colleagues nod, and one young man is in. But the triumph is temporary and perhaps hollow. At this stage, the auditioners are moving on to "call-backs," the first step in a process that will, the producers admit, stretch up to the start of production in September. Open calls are being held in Los Angeles. Individual auditions will be granted to Broadway and Hollywood actors, including, Martin says, "every person who has ever appeared in any of the stage companies of Chorus Line. We think they are entitled."