The Canceled ‘A Chorus Line’ Revival Says More About Gatekeeping Than Celebration

by Chris Peterson

Well, that was fast.

One day, we’re reading about an exciting, site-specific, non-union revival of A Chorus Line in a real New York dance studio, an anniversary tribute with raw, amateur talent and a bold, immersive concept. The next? Gone. Vanished. Rights revoked. Website wiped. The entire production shut down faster than a chorus girl missing a five-six-seven-eight.

Let’s be clear about what happened here. This wasn’t a fly by night knockoff in a gymnasium with a curtain and a karaoke track. This was a licensed production helmed by director Alex Kopnick, who envisioned the show unfolding in the very kind of rehearsal space it was written to depict. The heart. The mirror. The grind. It was everything A Chorus Line stands for, except, apparently, equity sanctioned.

The team had the rights. They had a vision. They had passion. What they didn’t have was the approval of Concord Theatricals once the licensing company apparently realized this production wasn’t part of their “official” 50th anniversary plans. And so, just like that, the rug was pulled and the revival was canceled.

Kopnick’s public statement speaks volumes about what this project was trying to be:

“A Chorus Line is the ultimate look into the sacrifices that dancers make in pursuit of their dreams. In celebration of the musical’s legacy, my dream was to stage this beloved musical inside a dance studio in Chinatown using an amateur, all non-union cast in the same manner as my previous production, [title of show] in September 2024, which was licensed through Concord Theatricals in the same fashion. The goal was to showcase new voices and talents from across the theater community and to allow audiences to experience the vulnerability of this iconic musical in refreshing new ways. I’m heartbroken that Concord Theatrical and or the original rights holders have determined that our amateur production would compromise other celebrations that are official anniversary productions.”

Let’s pause there.

Because what he’s describing, new voices, real spaces, raw vulnerability, is not only a beautiful tribute to A Chorus Line, it’s the very spirit of the show itself.

That’s the sting here. This wasn’t a misstep. It wasn’t a careless reboot. It was a deeply considered, emotionally grounded, grassroots effort that aligned perfectly with the show’s soul. And it got erased because someone in a boardroom decided it didn’t fit the brand.

Let’s talk about what that actually means. When a non-union cast gets shut out of telling a story about the people who don’t get the job, we’ve lost the plot entirely. When a group of artists wants to honor A Chorus Line with the kind of passion that made it legendary in the first place but gets told their contribution isn’t part of the narrative, it stops being about theatre and starts being about control.

And let’s talk about the words “non-union.” Because I’ve seen some of the online discourse already—the tired “well it wasn’t union, so how good could it have been” remarks from people who assume union status is the only mark of excellence. Spoiler: it’s not.

Non-union does not mean non-professional. It does not mean untrained. It does not mean unworthy. It simply means that these artists haven’t yet had the opportunity—or in some cases, haven’t chosen—to join the union. That’s it. Some of the most talented performers I’ve ever seen are non-union because they’re just starting out. Or they’re in school. Or they work in regions where union contracts are scarce. Or because union membership simply doesn’t fit the trajectory of their lives right now.

We cannot dismiss an entire sector of artists based on whether or not they’ve signed paperwork. A Chorus Line is literally about people trying to break in. Trying to get the job. And to shame them for not being union yet? That’s not just hypocritical. It’s cruel.

Licensing is important. Copyright matters. But so does intent. So does access. And so does honoring the spirit of the story you are trying to protect.

We all know A Chorus Line is about dancers lining up to say, “Here I am. This is what I’ve been through. Please see me.” And yet, when this team did exactly that, Concord and the original rights holders looked the other way.

Was it messy? Maybe. Was it nontraditional? Sure. Was it authentic? Absolutely.

There’s something deeply unsettling about the idea that celebrating a show’s legacy must be confined to “official” channels, especially when those channels exclude the very people the story is about. In my opinion, A Chorus Line was never meant to live in glass cases or commemorative galas. It was made for studios, scrappy voices, and the aching need to perform even when no one’s watching.

That’s the kind of celebration we lost here.

And frankly, I don’t care how many polished, union-sanctioned concerts are “in the works.” Because you can’t recreate the fire of a revival that would’ve lived inside a real studio with performers who knew the ache of that final callback.

This cancellation doesn’t just rob us of a unique production. It reveals how quickly celebration turns to gatekeeping when art gets boxed up and brand-managed.

The line is long. The dream is hard. And for some of the dancers who almost had the chance to tell this story, this time, the answer was “Thank you. That’ll be all.” And that should make us all a little heartbroken.