Let’s Talk About Steel Pier: The Kander & Ebb Musical That Deserves So Much More

by Chris Peterson, OnStage Blog Founder

There are shows you respect, and then there are shows you love. Steel Pier is both.

I’m not here to tell you it’s perfect. I’m not here to say it should have beaten Titanic at the Tonys in 1997 (although… let’s at least have that conversation). But I am here to make a case for a musical that too many people missed, too many people forgot, and too few people ever even knew existed.

Steel Pier is one of those haunting, big-hearted shows that lives in the overlap between spectacle and soul. It’s brassy and dreamlike, grounded in a very specific time and place—Depression-era Atlantic City—and yet it pulses with timeless longing. Kander and Ebb gave us so many iconic shows, but this one? This one feels like their most fragile. Their most aching. Their most human.

And I want more people to know about it.

If you’ve never heard of Steel Pier, here’s the gist: It’s set during a marathon dance competition, the kind that goes on for days with exhausted couples stumbling across the floor just to keep their shot at winning prize money—and maybe a future. Our leading lady is Rita Racine (played on Broadway by the incredible Karen Ziemba), a washed-up dance star with secrets in her eyes and nowhere left to go. And then—because this is musical theatre—a mysterious stunt pilot named Bill Kelly (the dreamy Daniel McDonald) drops from the sky to be her partner. Literally. He parachutes in. It's both surreal and symbolic, and it works better than you think it should.

But what makes Steel Pier sing (besides the gorgeous score) is its heart. Rita is a woman clawing for agency in a world that wants to use her up. Bill is a man (well, spoiler alert—sort of) who wants her to remember what it’s like to believe in herself again. And around them: a chorus of dreamers, schemers, and dancers all trying to keep moving—literally—so they don’t disappear.

The score is Kander & Ebb doing what they do best: jazzy, tight, emotionally loaded melodies with lyrics that cut you when you least expect it. “Everybody’s Girl” is a knockout showcase. “Willing to Ride” is this driving anthem of personal revival. “First You Dream”? That’s a wedding song, a graduation song, a bury-it-in-your-soul kind of song. It’s as good as anything they ever wrote—and it deserves to be sung on more stages, in more cabarets, in more contexts than just, “Oh yeah, wasn’t that from Steel Pier?”

I’ll admit, I didn’t see the original production. I was too young. But I’ve watched the grainy footage. I’ve read the script. I’ve obsessed over the cast recording. And I’ve talked to enough theatre friends to know that I’m not the only one who fell for this show. It lingers. It sticks. It deserves a second shot.

And let’s talk about that original cast: Karen Ziemba. Debra Monk. Kristin Chenoweth’s Broadway debut. Gregory Harrison giving sleaze and charm in equal measure. There was something electric in that ensemble, something that could be even more fully realized in a revival that leans into the grit and the ghostliness of the setting. Imagine a new production that isn’t afraid of the show’s more surreal moments. That lets the fantasy breathe a little. That takes the shimmer of the 1930s and rubs it just raw enough to let the desperation underneath shine through.

I think we’re overdue for that. We’re overdue for a Steel Pier that gets a second life.

Look—I know there are flashier titles. I know Broadway’s full of jukeboxes and reboots and crowd-pleasers right now. But maybe there’s still space for a gem like this. Maybe there’s still room for a musical that asks big questions with a gentle touch. That dances its way toward redemption. That gives women like Rita a second chance.

So here’s my ask: If you’ve never listened to Steel Pier, give it a shot. Start with “First You Dream.” Let that wash over you. Then go to “Dance with Me.” Then “Running in Place.” Then find yourself completely under its spell.

And if you have loved this show—join me in saying it louder. Let’s get it back in the conversation. Let’s dream about a revival. Let’s say, with full sincerity, that this show mattered. That it matters still.

There’s magic on that pier. Let’s not let it fade.