On our recent date night, the beloved and I managed yet again to defy innovation, walking to the exact same downtown beer garden as we did the last date night, ordering the exact same thing we had the last time, and going to see a movie. Pretty much just like the last time. Only this time, fortunately, we saw a different movie.
It was the documentary about the Broadway revival ofÂ A Chorus Line: Every Little Step, and the beloved ate it up like pudding. She’s been in the theater since she was a child actor (spawn of a stage actor/composer and a director/ playwright). Â She has auditioned hundreds upon hundreds of times in her life, numerous of which in New York City, where she studied and worked for years.
For every one tear of nervousness and disappointment that was shed on the screen in the documentary, at least two sympathetic tears were shed in the theater by her. On top of which, she’s directing A Chorus Line for her youth musical theater company this fall and had just done a sing-through of the score earlier in the week. So I’m quite amazed she didn’t mutter “a-five six seven eight,” then thrust the bag of popcorn in my lap, clamber over me and bust into a combination, replete with pirouettes and high kicks in the aisle. Â