The inaugural Broadway performance that captivated my senses was “Bye, Bye Birdie,” an experience that swiftly cultivated an enduring admiration for Dick Van Dyke. His towering stature and ungainly yet captivating movements, reminiscent of a clown ensnared in an attractive physique, spurred a profound desire within me.
It wasn’t merely a wish to emulate him; it was an aspiration to become him. The allure of this transference was not only the prospect of dancing with the enchanting dynamo beside him—Chita Rivera, an enthralling force emitting sparks of brilliance.
As a devoted enthusiast of movie musicals from a tender age, I had witnessed various dance performances on the grand screen. However, witnessing live, the seamless fusion of dance and song, executed effortlessly without the need for a respite, was nothing short of stupefying. Rivera’s ability to spin with meticulous control at an astonishing speed, harmonizing with her astounding grace, left me in awe.
It was akin to experiencing a brain freeze induced by rapidly savoring a favorite flavor of ices from the Lemon Ice King of Corona, yet the compulsion to keep savoring persisted. By the conclusion of Rivera’s captivating rendition of “Spanish Rose,” I found myself ensnared by a spell that endured for the subsequent five decades. Every Broadway production starring her became a must-see, and I seized every opportunity to witness her cabaret performances.
Rivera’s preeminent talent and electrifying charisma rendered her a magnetic presence. However, it wasn’t merely the extensions or precision of her footwork that elicited universal admiration. It was the gleam in her eyes, the delight on her countenance, and the wholehearted dedication of her body to interpret choreography not as a life-threatening endeavor but as an expression of what made her feel truly alive. If it were possible to distill that exuberance into a potion, the intermission sales would undoubtedly have sold out.
Moreover, Rivera possessed a voice tailor-made for the live theatrical setting, a rarity in an era preceding the ubiquity of microphones in venues akin to Allegiant Stadium. It lacked the mellifluous quality of Kelli O’Hara or the crystalline clarity of Sutton Foster, yet it resonated with piercing tones, each note leaving an indelible mark. Even in productions marred by imperfections, she left an indelible imprint.
A quick search for “Don’t Ah Ma Me” from Kander & Ebb’s somewhat haphazard musical “The Rink” showcases her ability to dismantle her daughter, portrayed by Liza Minelli, with a rapid-fire diatribe that would give pause to even the most erudite Gilbert & Sullivan enthusiasts. Despite the production’s shortcomings, Rivera clinched a Tony Award.