‘Chicago’ Review: An Intricate Emotional Dance

In the dark days of 1920s Chicago, murder was more than fashionable. It was glitzy, glamorous, and gorgeous. Broadway In Boston’s production of “Chicago” portrays this setting as all of the above, with its choreography and compelling characters shining the brightest.

In the opulent Emerson Colonial Theatre, the gilded floral reliefs adorning the marble columns suit the extravagance of “Chicago,” a musical originally directed by Bob Fosse, with recreated direction by David Hyslop. The musical’s flamboyance proves tasteful and elegant, and the actors’ faithful rendition of this character-driven story captivates audiences. The rich jazz soundscape also shines through: The orchestra resides in a tiered on-stage pit, allowing actors to interact with the conductor and foregrounding the riotously joyous musical performances.

The world of “Chicago” is an unforgiving one: When aspiring singer Roxie Hart (Katie Frieden)’s extramarital affair culminates in murder, she must scheme her way to freedom. Like Roxie, accused vaudeville performer Velma Kelly (Kailin Brown) enters the media circus of lawyer Billy Flynn (Connor Sullivan), who manufactures and manipulates narratives to heighten the emotional appeal of each woman’s case. As Roxie fights to get acquitted and desperately grasps at the dredges of ephemeral fame, she must renegotiate her relationships and personal expectations of popularity. The musical opens with a show within a show: Velma Kelly delivers an extravagant vaudeville performance, interspersed with Roxie Hart’s personal conflict with lover Fred Casely. This moving, convoluted tension between publicity and privacy is made legible, foreshadowing Roxie’s need to perform personal drama for the public in a desperate bid for acquittal.

Katie Frieden’s nuanced performance of Roxie, especially in her first song “Funny Honey,” immediately does justice to her character’s complex emotional cadences. Frieden carefully controls Roxie’s thinly veiled condescension and frustration towards her husband which burst forth at the end of the song, creating an intricate introduction to Roxie’s character. Though Frieden’s acting is overall emotionally compelling, her exaggerated body language during “Roxie” draws out the pace of the dialogue to the point of awkwardness. Before she transitions into the song, Frieden stands alone, dancing giddily, swaying seductively, and sighing wistfully as she fantasizes about impending fame and endless fans. The insistent drum beat and stripped-down background melody which preview the instrumental of “Roxie” lend an unresolved urgency to the slow-paced performance. Despite its deliberateness, the long moments of silence in Frieden’s acting fall flat, stalling the narrative.

Kailin Brown’s demanding physical performance is similarly emotionally evocative, particularly in their rendition of Velma’s dance numbers. Dance is Brown’s primary medium of emotional storytelling: Losing favor with lawyer Billy Flynn, Brown twirls frantically and swoons dramatically as they preview their courtroom performance, desperation apparent in every move. With remarkably stable vocals and consistent stage presence throughout both acts, Brown nearly steals the show.

“Chicago” is also a meticulously choreographed manifestation of violent female agency: The well-known “Cell Block Tango,” performed by the six convicts, highlights the sensuality and allure of women’s rights and women’s wrongs. The shrill, insistent repetition of “he had it coming” underscores each woman’s belief in her innocence, or at least her justification for the murder; their fatalistic confidence in their rationale is as comedic as it is discomforting. The women lean into — and hyperbolize — stereotypes of emotionally volatile women while raising genuine questions about their mistreatment at the hands of flippant, dismissive men. One woman mimes shooting her husband for popping his gum, while Velma brutally murders her husband and sister after she catches them having sex. Though the musical is ostensibly uninterested in culpability, the spectre of the murdered men’s wrongdoings haunts the show, lending emotional weight to the women’s stories.

From a technical perspective, the exquisite conversation between lighting design by Ken Billington and costume design by William Ivey Long allows each performance to shine. During “Cell Block Tango,” strong top lighting casts Brown’s and the Company’s faces in dramatic shadow, enhancing the musical’s noir aesthetic and monochrome yet individualized outfits. Sequins shimmer in the deceptively simple black costumes amidst lush blue and pink side lighting of Billy Flynn’s “Razzle Dazzle,” creating a vision of hedonistic opulence.

“Chicago”’s choreography by Fosse and Ann Reinking, recreated by Gregory Butler, most powerfully depicts and demonstrates the limitations of attention and the double-edged sword of spectacle, two key concepts in the musical. The simultaneously snazzy and elegant choreography of “Chicago” dazzles audiences and distracts from the sordid nature of the characters’ crimes. Ensemble members often compete for the viewer’s attention with individualized dances or poses, underscoring the impossibility — in our economy of attention — of devoting space to everything and everyone. Even the execution of the accused Hungarian woman is transformed into a tragic spectacle: In a perversion of the production’s previous use of vertical blocking to set Roxie apart, the spotlit Hungarian woman tearfully climbs a ladder which is then wheeled offstage into darkness, powerfully implying her demise.

Performance, visual, and technical aspects of “Chicago” dazzle the audience for better or worse, leaving viewers to reflect on this moving emotional exploration of the consequences of performance long after the curtain falls. Ultimately, “Chicago” begins to meditate powerfully on who we are — and who we should be — when the cameras are no longer rolling and the defense of our materialistic excess is stripped away.

—Staff writer Emma E. Chan can be reached at emma.chan@thecrimson.com.