Did you know? Of the many Broadway theatres that once lined 42nd Street, only the New Amsterdam still stands. Yet in the 1930s, this street was the symbolic heart of show business, lined with movie palaces, vaudeville houses, and dazzling neon signs. It was less about geography and more about mythology: 42nd Street stood for the dream of making it big, the chorus girl’s rise from obscurity to stardom. That mythology is what the musical 42nd Street captures and celebrates — not a literal corner of New York, but the spirit of Broadway ambition, where tap shoes, comic timing, and sheer spectacle combine to promise that anyone might step out of the chorus line and into the spotlight.

This production was not a replica staging. Having seen a full West End performance recording online, I could tell the structure and numbers were essentially the same, but here the staging was less flashy — understandable for a two-month limited run. The costumes, too, leaned more conservative, softening some of the showgirl dazzle in favor of neat lines and period modesty. These adjustments didn’t lessen the impact of the choreography; in fact, they made the dancing itself stand out more clearly, placing the emphasis back on precision and energy rather than spectacle.

It was clear that the production wanted to push for spectacle within the limits of its resources. With a large company of dancers — more than the usual number of ensemble members — and a fixed ticket price for only a two-month run, the staging leaned on clever solutions. The LED backdrop carried most of the scene changes, while four layers of lighted arches framed the stage like repeated prosceniums stretching into the distance. The result suggested depth and grandeur, amplifying the dancers’ precision without the need for massive moving sets.

The backdrop shimmered with a collage of lighted marquees and advertisements — names like the Majestic and Orpheum alongside the Hotel Astor, Coco Lounge, and even neon whisky ads. These were not LED projections but physical signage drops, lowered from above in the style of West End productions. Rather than mapping Times Square literally, the design blended theatres, hotels, and commercial signage into a dreamlike montage of 1930s Broadway. This patchwork of lights captured the world 42nd Street celebrates: a place where show business, nightlife, and consumer spectacle all converged in the glow of the Great White Way.

The Philadelphia scene evoked the original 1930s grandeur of 30th Street Station, which had only just opened in 1933. The wide concourse rose like a cathedral, but the boarding areas themselves were narrow stairways leading down to the tracks — a bottleneck where travelers crowded shoulder to shoulder. The staging, with its high clock and steep staircases, echoed that early design more than today’s experience. Modern renovations have added escalators, elevators, and expanded passages, softening the contrast between concourse and platform. On stage, however, the compressed boarding zone highlighted the bustle of old-time travel, preserving the texture of a bygone era.

Peggy Sawyer was played by Choi Yoo-jung, best known as a member of the girl group I.O.I, formed through the TV audition show Produce 101. Her reputation has always leaned toward dance, and it showed: when she tapped, her whole upper body seemed to join in, with refined movements of the hands and joints that gave her steps extra life. I had not realized during Produce 101 that she could also sing with such clarity, since the program emphasized her dancing more than her vocal skills. But Peggy is not a role that demands a wide vocal range, and her clean, steady voice fit the part naturally. "You're going out there a youngster, but you've got to come back a star." “나갈 땐 신출내기지만 들어올 땐 스타로 들어와야 한다.” This was Choi Yoo-jung’s first starring role. She came back a star. I wish her all the luck in the world.

Jang Ji-hoo took on Billy Lawlor, shamelessly proclaiming himself the star of the show even as he fell headlong for Peggy. His casting must have been driven by his tap ability, which gave the role its essential buoyancy. Vocally, he was steady throughout, and he knew how to stretch notes for maximum effect — sustaining them with controlled volume shifts that invited the audience to cheer. In a sense, his performance embodied the bridge between vaudeville and Broadway: the brash comic who dances, sings, and woos the crowd all at once. Billy may be a supporting character in the plot, but Jang played him as the kind of performer who could have thrived in the 1930s, when sheer showmanship was a ticket to stardom.

Julian Marsh was played by Kolleen Park, a female actor who stepped fully into the role as a man. Wearing a suit and deepening her voice, she carried herself with the posture of a gentleman, commanding the stage with authority. When I first saw the cast list, I wondered whether they might present Marsh as a gender-free reinterpretation, but the production clearly directed Park toward embodying a male character. With only two songs and a carefully measured emotional distance toward Peggy, her Julian came across less as a romantic lead than as a career-driven impresario, all focus and control. It was a choice that stripped away sentiment and left him as the embodiment of Broadway discipline.

I was especially amused by Jeon Soo-kyeong as Maggie Jones, who took an already comic role and made it even funnier — but always just enough, never overplayed. Her timing was impeccable, and she backed it with a strong singing voice that gave the humor extra punch. It made me curious how the dual casting might play the part. The Korean musical scene often gives actors considerable freedom in character analysis, and it would be interesting to see how another performer might shade Maggie’s comedy differently.

The real stars of 42nd Street are the chorus — the dancers. I was hesitant to attend at first, but after seeing two clips I changed my mind. One was the flash mob of A Chorus Line’s 50th anniversary, which reminded me how thrilling synchronized dance can be. That led me to search for the Korean version of 42nd Street on YouTube, and the tapping impressed me enough to buy a ticket. On stage, it did not disappoint: nearly forty dancers beyond the principal cast, delivering enough spectacle to fill the eye and ear. The ensemble sound was tightly synchronized, blending beautifully with a grand, big-band style orchestra. The audio balance was excellent, and Charlotte’s acoustics carried it all with warmth and clarity, letting the mass tap numbers truly resonate.

Lullaby of Broadway was heart-warming. I couldn’t follow the lyrics, but perhaps that was for the better — it didn’t matter. The melody, rhythm, dance, and set worked together to create a glow that needed no translation. The numbers blurred into waves of tapping that made the show unique and memorable. For a moment I felt transported into the sparkle of yesteryear — the grand Broadway, Hollywood, and showbiz of another era. The finale’s thunderous unison tap recalled the mass spectacles of Busby Berkeley’s 1930s films, when Broadway chorus lines first turned precision into pure spectacle.

Musical theatres have declined to non-theatrical uses on 42nd Street today, but it remains the most crowded spot in New York. For Korean visitors, it is easy to spot familiar sights — BTS, Blackpink, and Stray Kids flashing across billboards, K-Food advertisements sharing space with the giant screens of Samsung and LG. The marquees may have changed, but in 42nd Street, its myth still glitters with the sound of tapping shoes and the dream of stardom.