This Time It's Personal A Chorus Line steps high at TM. by CHRIS DAVIS Quick Story From My Days in the Biz: After a solid week of auditioning for (what seemed to be) a tiny role on (what was certainly) a nothing of a television series, an exhausted casting director cracked open the last bottle of Evian in the cooler and said "Thank you, Chris, for all your hard work. The director wanted to be sure that he had just 'the right' actor." She then assured me I that I was that actor. Early the next morning, however, I got a phone call asking if I would like to be the stand-in for the actor who, as it turns out, was the real "right actor." For $125 a day who can say no? The ringer they flew in from L.A. was 6 inches taller than I was with black curly hair, big bedroom eyes, and a dimple in his stubbled chin that you could stick your finger into -- all the way up to the first knuckle. The ringer was also dumb as a brick and had to be told repeatedly when to move, who he was talking to, and what his lines meant -- a fact that yielded little comfort for the stand-in, who wasn't good enough to play that danged old part in the first place. That night I got a message from an agency wanting to know if I would dress up like a superhero and walk around at a gun show for $80 -- no audition necessary. Well, what do you say? But there comes a point when you have to ask, "For this, I studied Shakespeare? For this, I have struggled so hard? So I could lose work to a chin-hole and take jobs that any respectable department-store Santa would turn down?" And you look in the mirror and every defect becomes magnified. You become convinced that your breath stinks, that your nose is too pointy to be taken seriously as an actor, you are aging badly, you can pinch an inch (and change), and that you are generally not fit to lick the rubber boot of a Nashville shit-shoveler. And the next morning the alarm goes off and you do it all over again. Because you love it. Because you have no choice. Anyone who has ever been a working actor can tell a dozen stories like that, and most would agree that theirs would be a humiliating existence were it not such an absurd one. When A Chorus Line, a musical based on the audition process, made its debut in the '70s, it struck a chord not only with the performance community but also with anyone who ever gave something their all only to be found wanting. The voice of authority was represented in the piece by a cruel faceless voice booming from the darkness. Words to the effect of "Show me the hot-stuff. Spill your guts out. Thank you, next " are repeated ad nauseam, until at last only that joyful few, the select are left standing. With rehearsal clothes for costumes and a set that consists of nothing but a bare stage and a mirror, A Chorus Line depends entirely on the strength of its performers to keep it moving, a quality you don't see in too many musicals these days. The script is pretty lean (which, to my surprise kept A Chorus Line from seeming too awfully dated) and confessional. The Hamlisch & Kleban songs, especially "At The Ballet," "Tits and Ass," and "Nothing," are just about as good as anything that ever dripped out of Sondheim's pen. And then there is all that dancing -- good, glorious, and often (intentionally) awful. Each member of the large cast has to be a "triple threat," an accomplished actor, dancer, and singer, and in a nonprofessional town like Memphis, there are naturally going to be some weak links. Theatre Memphis has done an excellent job, however, of highlighting its company's strengths. As the bitchy Sheila, Misty Garner Clark has all the right stuff, as does an ultra-perky Christi Gray Hall in the role of Judy. As Paul, Jeremie Magpayo delivers a pitch-perfect monologue about dancing in drag that is genuinely touching. Still, something is missing. Director Mitzi Hamilton, who was the inspiration for Val (T&A) and who performed in the original London and Broadway productions of A Chorus Line, has set out to replicate Michael Bennett's original direction and choreography. This, I suspect, is why the show ultimately seems hollow. When the focus shifts from creation to replication, something is always lost, and this is most evident in the performance of Randall Hartzog. As Zach, the director, Hartzog a committed actor known for doing fine, richly detailed work has only two modes: talking at you or yelling at you.