Chapter 17 'A Chorus Line': Summary, Themes, and Analysis

⚠️ Spoiler Warning: This guide contains detailed spoilers for the entire novel. Proceed only if you've finished reading or are comfortable knowing the plot.

Summary

The chapter opens with the author recalling how the television commercial for A Chorus Line saturated New York airwaves throughout the 1970s and 1980s. As a nine-year-old, he was captivated by the imagery of actors lined up with headshots covering their faces and the famous gold-costumed finale. He also notes the coincidence that the show starred Robert LuPone as Zach, and that Robert's sister Patti LuPone starred in Evita—a fact that amazed him when he learned of their sibling relationship years later.

At thirteen, the author finally saw A Chorus Line for the first time with his sister Maria at a Wednesday matinee, purchasing half-price tickets from the TKTS booth in Times Square. The show ran without an intermission, which disappointed him at the time because he wanted the experience to last as long as possible. Watching the performers auditioning onstage, he found their lives glamorous and envied the idea of auditioning for a Broadway show. To him, these chorus dancers represented the pinnacle of success.

He continued to see the show throughout its run. At twenty-four, he attended the final performance with his roommate Steve, another aspiring actor. They sat in the balcony, spellbound, and the audience received commemorative key chains shaped like tickets—a memento the author still keeps.

The chapter then shifts to the author's high school years. He avoided auditioning for school shows out of fear of drawing attention to himself, until his senior year, when a growing sense of urgency pushed him to try out for the school musical South Pacific. He auditioned for the lead role of Emile de Becque, singing Pilate's Dream from Jesus Christ Superstar and, at callbacks, the standard Some Enchanted Evening. Despite his admitted inability to sing, he made it to callbacks, noting that his school's talent pool was shallow enough to make him competitive.

Once the lead role was dangled before him, he wanted nothing else. When the cast list was posted, he was offered a sailor role instead of Emile de Becque. His first reaction was outrage, and he declined the part with condescension, walking out of the auditorium. By the time he got home, he already regretted the decision, wondering if it might have been fun to participate. He reflects that this was the only time he stayed past the final bell in four years at St. Francis Prep, and his yearbook entry was blank because he had done no activities. He wonders whether singing Bloody Mary as a sailor with his classmates might have been a better memory than his spiteful exit.

In college at Hofstra, the author did audition for shows and got parts. He describes becoming fearless in the way young people can be, with his true self finally emerging. In his senior year, he played Fabian in Twelfth Night at the school's Shakespeare Festival. The director, Dr. Madden, decided Fabian should have a Scottish accent and walk hunched over like a question mark—choices with no basis in Shakespeare's text. The author delivered his lines in a thick accent, covered in baby powder to suggest gray hair, and got laughs on every line. He describes this as pulling focus, a practice not admired by other actors, but he loved the attention. He felt euphoric on opening night and was thrilled when a critic for the Hofstra Chronicle singled out his performance.

The chapter concludes with the author's later viewings of A Chorus Line. At forty, he saw the Broadway revival and was floored by how different the show felt. He now saw the dancers not as successful performers but as struggling, desperate people giving up everything for a small part in the chorus. Every musical number made him cry because he could now see what he couldn't at thirteen. But in his fifties, he saw the show again and reversed his interpretation once more: the dancers were artists, fearless, doing what they loved—and to him, they were the most successful people in the world. He concludes that he was right the first time.

Key Events

The author's childhood obsession with the A Chorus Line television commercial
First seeing the show at thirteen with his sister Maria at a Wednesday matinee
Attending the final performance at twenty-four with his roommate Steve
Auditioning for South Pacific in his senior year of high school
Being offered a sailor role instead of the lead and declining it
Regretting the decision immediately after
Auditioning for shows at Hofstra and playing Fabian in Twelfth Night
Receiving a mention from a critic for the Hofstra Chronicle
Seeing the A Chorus Line revival at forty and reinterpreting the show
Seeing it again in his fifties and returning to his original interpretation

Character Development

The chapter traces the author's evolution from a fearful teenager who avoided auditions to a college performer who craved the spotlight. In high school, he was too afraid of drawing attention to himself to audition at all, until his senior year when an internal force pushed him forward. His decision to decline the sailor role reveals his pride and ego at that age—he wanted the lead or nothing. But his immediate regret shows a growing awareness that participation might have had its own value.

In college, the author describes becoming fearless, no longer worrying about what others thought. His performance as Fabian represents a breakthrough: he was seen for the first time and wanted more. The chapter also shows his changing relationship with A Chorus Line across decades, reflecting his evolving understanding of success, struggle, and what it means to pursue a career in the arts.

Themes, Symbols, or Motifs

The transformative power of theater. The author credits A Chorus Line and the Evita commercial with changing his life, and his experiences in school productions shape his understanding of performance and identity.

Desire for recognition and being seen. The author's longing to audition, his craving for the lead role, and his euphoria at being singled out by a critic all point to a deep need for visibility and validation.

Youthful idealism vs. adult realism. At thirteen, the author saw the chorus dancers as glamorous successes. At forty, he saw them as struggling and desperate. In his fifties, he returned to seeing them as fearless artists. This shifting interpretation mirrors his own changing relationship with ambition and success.

Pride and ego. The author's refusal to accept the sailor role—Emile de Becque or nothing—demonstrates how pride can lead to missed opportunities. His immediate regret suggests he understood this even then.

The chorus line as a symbol. The dancers in A Chorus Line represent both the striving and desperation of performers and the beauty of pursuing one's passion regardless of outcome.

The ephemeral nature of performance. The author's keepsake key chain from the final performance, and his memories of opening night, highlight how fleeting theatrical moments can be preserved only through mementos and memory.

Why This Chapter Matters

This chapter is central to the book's exploration of identity and self-acceptance. It shows the author's journey from a fearful high school student who declined a role out of pride to a college performer who embraced the spotlight. The A Chorus Line motif provides a through-line that connects his childhood dreams, his college triumphs, and his adult reflections on success and struggle. His changing interpretation of the show across decades—from glamour to desperation and back to admiration—reveals how personal experience shapes our understanding of art. The chapter also illustrates a key theme of the memoir: the tension between wanting to be seen and the fear of being seen, and how the author eventually overcame that fear.

Study Questions and Answers

1. How does the author's interpretation of A Chorus Line change at different ages, and what does this reveal about his personal growth?

At thirteen, the author saw the chorus dancers as glamorous, successful people—the most successful in the world—because he envied the idea of auditioning for Broadway. At forty, seeing the revival, he reinterpreted the show as depicting struggling, desperate performers giving up everything for a small part in the chorus. In his fifties, he reversed again, seeing the dancers as fearless artists doing what they loved, and concluded he was right the first time. This shifting interpretation reflects his own changing relationship with ambition: as a young person he idealized success, in midlife he understood the costs of pursuing it, and with age he came to admire the courage of those who pursue their passion regardless of outcome.

2. Why does the author decline the sailor role in South Pacific, and what does this decision reveal about his character at that age?

The author declined the sailor role because he wanted the lead role of Emile de Becque or nothing. His pride and ego, newly awakened after years of avoiding auditions, made him feel that playing a supporting role was beneath him. He walked out with condescension, but by the time he got home he already regretted the decision. This reveals a young man who had just begun to emerge from fear and was overcorrecting with arrogance. His immediate regret, and his later reflection that singing Bloody Mary with his classmates might have been a better memory, shows a growing awareness that participation and connection might matter more than the lead role.

3. How does the Fabian experience in Twelfth Night contrast with the South Pacific audition?

In South Pacific, the author declined a supporting role out of pride and missed the experience entirely. In Twelfth Night, he embraced a supporting role—Fabian, a servant—and turned it into a triumph through his Scottish accent and comedic timing. He stole the show, received laughs on every line, and was singled out by a critic. The contrast shows his growth: in high school, he couldn't accept anything less than the lead; in college, he discovered that even a small role could be a vehicle for being seen and celebrated. The Fabian experience also gave him the validation he craved, which the South Pacific experience denied him through his own choice.