Chita Rivera

Chichicastenango's Pride: A Celebration from 1933 to 2024

In my inaugural attendance of a Broadway spectacle, "Bye, Bye Birdie" held me spellbound. It took a mere ten minutes for me to cultivate an enduring reverence for Dick Van Dyke. His towering and svelte figure, characterized by limbs and arms in elegant disarray, conjured the image of a jesting figure ensnared within the guise of a striking gentleman. I endeavored not solely to imitate him but to encompass his essence completely. For within that ambition lay the opportunity of partnering in dance with the enchanting and charismatic dynamo known as Chita Rivera. Though my fondness for cinematic musicals had been deeply rooted since childhood, observing individuals dance upon the silver screen paled in contrast to the live rendition. To witness such a seamless fusion of melody and movement, executed with unwavering fervor and devoid of interruption, etched an indelible impression upon my youthful psyche.



The spectacle of Rivera's controlled spins, executed with breathtaking precision at a staggering pace to match her unmatched grace, bordered on the realm of incomprehensibility for a young observer such as myself. Yet, despite the overwhelming nature of her performance, my gaze remained riveted upon her. It was akin to experiencing a sudden brain freeze induced by the rapid consumption of one's favorite flavored ices, only to persist in its consumption despite the discomfort. By the culmination of Rivera's authoritative rendition of "Spanish Rose," I found myself ensnared within a spell that endured for five decades henceforth. Never again did I forgo an opportunity to witness her presence upon the Broadway stage, nor did I miss her appearances in cabaret settings whenever circumstance allowed.



Rivera's unparalleled talent and effervescent charisma rendered her a magnetic force, yet it was not solely her extensions or precise footwork that elicited universal admiration. It was the luminosity in her gaze, the unbridled joy adorning her countenance, and the unwavering dedication with which she embraced choreography. For Rivera, dance was not a mere performance but a conduit through which she experienced vitality in its purest form. Had producers the means to encapsulate such exuberance, their wares would surely have sold out before the commencement of intermission.



Moreover, Rivera possessed a vocal prowess tailor-made for the theatrical realm, particularly in an era preceding ubiquitous amplification akin to serenading a grand stadium. Her vocals, while lacking the mellifluous tones of Kelli O'Hara or the crystalline clarity of Sutton Foster, bore a piercing quality intermingled with a subtle rasp that lent each note a lasting resonance. Even amidst productions marred by imperfections, Rivera left an indelible imprint upon the audience. One need only refer to her rendition of "Don't Ah Ma Me" from Kander & Ebb's rustic production "The Rink," wherein she effortlessly outshone her on-stage counterpart, portrayed by Liza Minelli, with a barrage of words delivered at a relentless pace that would challenge even the most erudite of Gilbert & Sullivan enthusiasts. Despite the production's shortcomings, Rivera's contribution warranted a Tony accolade.




Yet, beyond her artistic prowess, Rivera exuded an infectious buoyancy that endeared her to all fortunate enough to cross her path. During my tenure as a waiter at Joe Allen's, an esteemed theater establishment, Rivera frequented the premises owing to her association with Mr. Allen. Despite her diminutive stature of 5'3", she commanded attention akin to a spectral spotlight trained upon her entrance into the dining area. At that time, the staff at Joe's comprised individuals embodying the multifaceted roles of actor, singer, waiter, and dancer—termed "gypsies" in antiquity. Rivera seamlessly assimilated into our midst, engaging in conversations regarding recent auditions and offering insights ranging from headshot selection to audition repertoire. Her stoic companion, Mr. Allen, often found himself obliged to request privacy not due to our imposition but rather due to Rivera's inherent comfort amidst our company. She epitomized the quintessential 'gypsy.'



Her solidarity with those who had traversed the boards before her became manifest during the Actors' Equity strike preceding the premiere of "Chicago." Rivera, alongside her esteemed counterpart Gwen Verdon, spearheaded daily rallies within Shubert Alley until the strike's resolution. Neither of these luminaries lost sight of their humble beginnings amidst the chorus, wherein aspirations of center stage dominance took root.



Consequently, while the Broadway season of 1975 heralded the advent of the transformative "A Chorus Line," the inaugural production of "Chicago" remains etched within my memory as one of the most exhilarating nights ever spent within the theater. It was a testament not solely to the unparalleled talents of Rivera and Verdon but to the communal euphoria pervading the balcony, wherein 'gypsies' bore witness to their idols' mastery upon the stage.



Even at the age of 60, following a harrowing traffic accident prognosticated to curtail her career, Rivera continued to captivate audiences with her portrayal of Aurora in "Kiss of the Spider Woman," earning yet another Tony accolade amidst ten nominations. At 82, while her physical agility waned, she retained an unparalleled ability to enrapture audiences in Kander & Ebb's adaptation of "The Visit."



Her autobiography proved both entertaining and provocative, while her cabaret performances exuded a tantalizing allure. Thus, it comes as no surprise that tributes commemorating her passing inundate the internet. Search far and wide, from Boston to San Diego, and one shall find no bloom more resplendent than the Spanish Rose herself.

This report has been revised and updated with additional information gathered from various sources.