Went back to CHORUS LINE on Saturday night. In what would seem to be an unofficial confession that its lotto was rigged, the lottery has been removed, replaced with $35 student rush. Using that option, I gained two seats on the extreme side of the front orchestra. Not bad at all, but annoying that I was unable to see Al the entire show. (i.e. Partial viewing of the chorus line.)
Anyhow, I am currently in the midst of undergoing interviews to be a law firm summer associate in summer 2008 (ironically, I was rejected recently by the law firm handling CHORUS LINE, but that's another matter...) Anyhow, the show's plot took on new significance to me as I tried to relate the desires of these mid-1970s dancers yearning to be in a Broadway musical to my own desire to be an associate at a big law firm, competing against thousands of other students like myself.
For just like the dancers, we are put on a chorus line (the law student line, if you will).
In the first scene of CHORUS LINE, the dancers are cut in half. In terms of law school, the law firm recruiters will cut the potential applicants in half, weed out those from inferior schools or without good grades.
Then, the remaining 17 or so dancers are systematically explored and dissected the god-like director, who will decide which 4 boys and 4 girls will be in the chorus of his musical. Or, in terms of law school, there would be a law recruiter who can decide which males and females will be in his summer associate class.
Zach, who rules the Chorus Line world, runs his audition like an interview process, attempting to learn as much as possible about his dancers. In other words, he knows that they all can dance. Any of them can do the steps. What really concerns him is whether he wants to work with these people. As the saying goes, could he wait at the airport with them for twelve hours? That's why he picks the people with great personality (Mike, Bobby, Richie), with confidence (Val) or with total enthusiasm (Cassie, Diana, Judy). Why is Sheila rejected? She's too negative. And the boring people (Maggie, Bebe, Don, Al, Connie) and the nervous one (Kristine). And why did Zach love Paul so much? It wasn't his dancing. It was his honesty.
The same logic goes with the law firm interview. They've screened out those without the grades. The ones getting interviewed are all smart. They want to see whether we're enthusiastic, positive, hard-working, and will fit into their work culture - whether the firm's lawyers will like us.
In "What I Did For Love," the dancers express how in spite of all the emotional and financial struggles, they've chosen this route for love of dance. We, law students, are the total opposite. We're in it for the money. We gave up stuff we like to do for law. So, instead of singing "What I Did for Love," we ponder whether it was worth giving up what we love to do law, seeing how pursuing being a lawyer is full of its own torments and troubles in terms of gaining employment.
In the end of "Chorus Line," the dancers are hand-picked, and in the finale, we watch as the people we've gotten to know for two hours, learning their individualities and personalities, are turned into a bland, cardboard chorus line of anonymity. In terms of law school, the lucky few picked to go to the big firm become summer or first-year associates, the lowest of the caste order. They will not be seen by clients. They will slave away, day and night, at their desks researching and drafting for the partners, who are the stars of the show.
And that's my law school analysis of A CHORUS LINE.