Observations from the Balcony
- Lauryn Johnson
- Jul 31
- 8 min read
Updated: Sep 27
I was grateful to be invited to the Sunday afternoon dress rehearsal before the 50th Anniversary Concert. Alone in the front row of the balcony, I sat watching the nuance of every interaction between performers on stage.
The theater was filled with a long list of legends and stars. Consummate professionals who were mounting a world-class performance in a single day.
Some actors performed their scene out of sequence—earlier in the show—so they could run down the block in time to perform their Broadway matinees, then return for the evening’s concert. Some drove in from summer stock gigs hours away. Others arrived straight from the airport. A few were nursing injuries. None of them ever considered letting those obstacles prevent them from being on the Shubert stage that night.
The posts that follow will reflect some of my observations of this rehearsal.
The theater was filled with a long list of legends and stars. Consummate professionals who were mounting a world-class performance in a single day.
Some actors performed their scene out of sequence—earlier in the show—so they could run down the block in time to perform their Broadway matinees, then return for the evening’s concert. Some drove in from summer stock gigs hours away. Others arrived straight from the airport. A few were nursing injuries. None of them ever considered letting those obstacles prevent them from being on the Shubert stage that night.
Matthew Kilgore, costume coordinator, invited me to visit the makeshift wardrobe rooms in the basement of the Shubert Theatre. Rooms normally cramped with the wigs, makeup and costumes of the currently running show Hell’s Kitchen were made even tighter with the addition of dozens of Chorus Line costumes and top hats. I toured the 3 racks of costumes: men’s, women’s, and Cassies’. The “Zach” costume to be worn by Tony Yazbeck was the original sweater that Robert LuPone wore 50 years ago. The costumes had been gathered from many sources, and all fittings and alternations had happened inside a week.
Assistant costume coordinator Deb greeted me, steamer in hand, smoothing the reflective finale costumes. She recounted to me, the years she spent in this basement caring for the costumes during the original Broadway run. Last-minute sneaker-sueding and seam ripping were happening in the crowded corridors.
After touring the main room of costumes, I was taken to see the Cassie costumes. How many red leotards have I worn in my lifetime as a dancer? Many. How many do I have in my drawer now? At least three. But was I still enamored by the 9 red leotards hanging on that rack? Absolutely. Because it wasn’t just cotton and spandex fibers I was looking at…It was the fabric that had absorbed some of the most talented sweat on Broadway. That fabric had been under the brightest spotlights on the most prestigious stages. Each leotard and skirt had a different origin story—they came from different regional and New York productions in different decades. The shades of red and the necklines varied slightly, giving each Cassie a distinct look. I examined them closely, as if the fabric would reveal the secrets of these great performers.
I took one last look at the rack of leotards knowing they would soon be animated to life by eight women, each entirely different performers, united by their dedication to dance. ❣️💃🏻❣️
“Please welcome, two-time Tony Award winner, Bebe Neuwirth,” came over the voice-of-god mic as she entered the stage to raucous applause. At the dress rehearsal earlier that afternoon she requested they remove from her introduction the reference to her two Emmy Awards. “I mean, look at where we are!” she said as she gestured grandly to The Theatre. The emotion behind the request was not that of a Diva, but of a true Ensemblist. A dancer who came into A Chorus Line at 19 as an understudy. By age 22 she had played the roles of Sheila and then Cassie on Broadway. And just like a true Cassie, she was nearly mortified at this dress rehearsal by the introduction’s insinuation that she somehow more important than any of the other dancers on the stage that night.
Later, when she was introduced a second time over the voice-of-god mic for a different entrance, she called out into the theater, “Can’t I just come on?” [meaning without a second introduction] “It’s embarrassing!” That night, she didn’t want to be a star. The show itself is, and always has been, the star. She was just a proud member of the chorus. As Cassie says to Zach, “Just treat me like everybody else. I’d be proud to be one of them. They’re wonderful.”
Donna: “Ed and Marvin came up with a new song, “The Music and the Mirror,” which was a powerful evocation of a dancer’s reality and dreams. I had been interviewed by Ed Kleban, and he wrote lyrics that reflected what I told him about my relationship to music and dancing. I had never verbalized my feelings about my desire to dance and the protective fantasy life that dancing gave me, allowing me to live in the music. I felt my efforts to explain this to Ed were clumsy, but hoped that I had given him something to work with. I had to hold back tears the first time I heard his lyrics. He captured me and my feelings perfectly in the most simple, beautiful, and poetic way.
—Time Steps: My Musical Comedy Life by Donna McKechnie
Wayne Cilento, seeming to go off script at the end of his speech said, “I need to do something, so give me a minute.”
He walked towards stage right and stood in his spot on the line as Mike Costa. A spot on the stage he had stood for hundreds of hours 50 years ago. He dropped his arms down and clasped his hands behind his back—Mike’s “logo pose.” He took two silent beats to look up and out to the audience, taking it in. Likely the last time he’ll stand in that exact spot in that exact theater, and most definitely the last time he’ll do it with an audience who knows what it means. Then, without moving, he projected out to the audience, paraphrasing his first lines of dialogue, “I’m Mike Costafalone, but you can call me Mike Costa.” He made a point to speak the lines the way he did 50 years ago in the show…without amplification. And with that, he turned the stage over to four new Mikes.
Near the end of the rehearsal I descended the stairs from the balcony, past the mezzanine into the orchestra, which was now filled with dancers and staff. The aisles were crowded with dancers chatting and stretching, but when Priscilla Lopez stepped onstage in a flannel shirt, every conversation stopped and every eye was glued to the stage. She sang her solo “Nothing,” which was written for her in 1975 about a dejecting experience she had in a high school drama class.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the house as everyone gave each other knowing glances. The silent looks communicated a multitude of emotions and thoughts: “Can you believe we’re here?” “Can you believe she’s right there?” “Doesn’t she look wonderful?” “Isn’t this all so wonderful?”
This song has come to mean everything to dancers trying to make it in a business which constantly tells them they are “Nothing.”
At the end of the audition scene, the cast walks backwards upstage as they sing, “I’ve got to get this…”, before charging down to the line, headshots in hand belting “showwww!” In a move that echoed Michael Bennett’s direction from the 1983 gala, the stage briefly went black, and as the current cast backed up, the original cast filed onto the stage from the wings. When the lights came up it revealed the ten remaining original cast members. A sight both thrilling and devastating. On a line that once stood 17 strong (26 including Zach, Larry and understudies), just 10 remained. The holes in the line were a painful reminder of how much time had passed.
The headshots they held in front of their faces trembled with excitement, nerves, and age. They had done this so many times before. Looking at each other behind the photos, counting the horn hits that marked time, measuring the size of the audience’s excitement. At the 1983 gala, they stood there for an astonishing 21 horn hits before the scene could continue on.
Now, in 2025, Nick Adams, playing Larry, came through to collect the headshots. As each original cast member laid their photo in his hands, their names were announced and projected on the screen. Michael Serrechia, an original understudy who played Frank (better known as Headband Boy), wore his original headband onstage with his tuxedo. Kelly Bishop wore a champaign-colored ensemble that alluded to her shiny nude Sheila leotard. Donna McKechnie whispered her gratitude to Nick as he passed by. Baayork’s smile simply beamed out to the audience, relishing the culmination of her 50 years of dedication to this show. Donna Drake, drew a deep breath and pressed her hands to her heart.
After their headshots were collected, Michael Serrechia took Kelly Bishop’s hand and kissed it. A sweet acknowledgment of all they had been through together as a group.
All weekend I felt that everyone’s hearts and eyes were wide open, ready to give and receive. No one seemed to want to blink and risk missing even a second of the action. I thought, somehow, if I could open my eyes a little wider, they might be able to catch a bit more detail and commit it all to memory more accurately.
Everywhere you looked, eyes brimmed with tears, hands clutched chests, and chins quivered beneath enormous smiles. Hearts overflowed with the full spectrum of emotion: the exhilaration of the dance, and the ecstasy of the music; the anxiety of a quickly assembled show; the pride of standing on the line and the humility of standing next to The Originals; the joy of many happy reunions and the sorrow of recognizing who was missing; the overwhelming love for everyone who was a part of this show, and the bittersweet realization that as quickly as it had begun, it was almost over.
I happened to capture one of these instances where you can see two hearts wide open, overflowing with love. At the dress rehearsal for”The Music and the Mirror”, in a gesture indicative of her generous spirit, Donna threw her arms wide open to Robyn, who was caught by surprise. The moment proved to be so saturated with meaning, that Robyn (in her own words) “exploded, briefly dropping her composure. She said she felt Donna was, “giving us the chance now.” In the beats that followed Robyn collected the pieces of herself to continue on and do Donna proud.
It was a unique feeling to have a bird's eye view of someone else’s core memory being made, and knowing it was going to take place a split second before it happened.
Having had the chance to interview Donna during this anniversary, I found that everything you hear about her is true in the most wonderful way. Her graciousness, her willingness to listen and collaborate. She is one of those people who makes you feel like a valued peer when she talks to you and looks at your with those big beautiful eyes. All weekend Donna gave everyone these special moments to treasure.
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