‘A Chorus Line’ turns 50 — and Broadway is desperate for another hit like it

Watching a new Broadway musical early on, you can always tell when one is going to be really big.

The standing ovation is physically involuntary — not out of politeness or a ploy to be first in line to the bathroom.

The departing audience’s euphoric buzz drowns out the din in Times Square — where the air suddenly smells sweet.

And your last thought as you leave the theater is the first word of one of the greatest really big musicals of all time: “Again.”

That’s “A Chorus Line,” Marvin Hamlisch and Edward Kleban’s heart-stopper of a show about the inner lives of dancers that had its first performance on Broadway 50 years ago on Friday.

The supremely inventive piece — conceived, directed and choreographed by the genius Michael Bennett — revitalized Broadway and New York City in the 1970s with electricity, humanity and modernity during a fallow period.

“A Chorus Line” became a giant unlikely hit and gave us the songs “What I Did For Love,” “The Music and the Mirror” and “One.” Its unitard-clad actors step, kick, kick, leap, kick, touched at the Shubert Theater for 15 years.

From the start, everybody knew it was the “One.”

Post theater critic Martin Gottfried reviewed the experimental musical in its first risky days downtown at the Public Theater, well before the non-profit venue got a reputation as an incubator of Broadway musicals. By curtain, he realized he’d just experienced a singular sensation.

“As ‘A Chorus Line’ launched into its finale on opening night at the Newman Theater, the audience rose and cheered,” Gottfried wrote. “Its applause continued throughout the number. I can’t recall that happening ever before.”

Goosebumps. And a historic moment worth celebrating.

For me, however, the mood of “A Chorus Line”’s half-century fete is bittersweet.

Because the last time I walked out of a new Broadway musical feeling the thrill of having just watched a really big hit was a decade ago.

Not since exiting the doors of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s “Hamilton,” which will party for its own 10th anniversary on August 6th.

There have been wonderful, profitable shows post-“Ham,” of course, such as “Dear Evan Hansen” and “Come From Away.”

But not the sort of musicals your cousin Ann in Oshkosh texts you nonstop for tickets to.

Beg, borrow, steal shows. “Maybe we could sell our French Bulldog” shows.

Those flagships’ absence is glaring and alarming. During the 40 years from “A Chorus Line” to “Hamilton,” Broadway enjoyed a huge smash that got a ton of national press attention just about every five years, more or less.

Some of those titans: “Annie,” “Evita,” “Cats,” “Les Miserables,” “The Phantom of the Opera,” “Rent,” “The Lion King,” “The Producers,” “Wicked” and “The Book of Mormon.”

That all-important well has dried up.

I was wrecked by “The Outsiders” last year, but it’s not in the major league. I still find myself explaining to casual theater fans what last season’s deserving Best Musical Tony Award winner “Maybe Happy Ending” is.

Solving the problem of the big-hit rut is tricky. Because, like a person whose life has spiraled out of control after a small mistake, the causes have exploded beyond an easy fix.

Broadway’s 18-month Covid closure forever changed audience habits. Then, costs rose astronomically and investors grew skittish. Movie studios became too involved, and plopped Saltine songs on Hollywood IP. Original musicals turned tiny and niche.

I’m also convinced that the current class of producers has terrible taste and minimal skill. It rots from the head.

True, the past season came close to 2019 sales numbers. But that was thanks to lousy plays starring celebrities with disgusting ticket prices, a few new musicals performing admirably and Cole Escola’s comedy “Oh, Mary!”.

But A-List interventions and a bunch of quirky musicals flopping after a year will not save Broadway in the long run.

It’s the only-in-New-York, must-see, can’t-get-in musical that is Broadway’s lifeblood. The ones that, pardon the cliche, raise all boats. The ones that become tentpoles of American culture.

The a-five-six-seven-eights.

And, despite the odds, I’m holding out for another.

I’ll take the optimistic advice of 50-year-old “A Chorus Line.”

Kiss today goodbye, and point me toward tomorrow.