Invisible Theatre's Latest Production Transforms Cliché Into Hooray. By Margaret Regan STEPPING OUT HAS all the familiar trappings of your basic old-fashioned, life-affirming stage musical. A collection of near-misfits meets every week in a grungy church basement to try to tap dance their sorrows away. Taught by a brittle ex-showgirl (Catherine Hearn) with faded Broadway dreams, the seven students are by no means a talented bunch, and they all schlep to class each week for different reasons. But in grand showbiz tradition the magic of dance works a small miracle on each and every klutz in the group. The transformation begins when the teacher shouts out, in so many words, the classic Broadway call to arms, "Hey, kids, let's put on a show!" Sure it's a cliché--think of A Chorus Line wackily put on by amateurs--but somehow the Clichés all build up into something that works. In fact, the play, now on the boards at Invisible Theatre, could generate a few of those classic critical clichés advertisers like to string in banners across theatre ads: "Heartwarming!" "Hilarious!" and, yes, "Life-affirming!" Because Stepping Out, performed by a mostly excellent cast, eventually beguiles even the most resistant critic. Written by British playwright Richard Harris, the play once had a Broadway run of its own--it won a prize after opening in London in 1986 and then went on to New York in 1987. At its most basic, it operates as a slapstick comedy, loaded with tap-dancing disasters, gracefully orchestrated by choreographer Stuart Moulton and director James Blair: canes that fly relentlessly into the wings, turns that end in crumples on the floor, high kicks catapulted into fellow dancers' thighs. The characters are funny too: Suzi List as Vera, the prim matron who takes care to bring a toilet brush to every class, the better to clean out the bathroom, Bobby Joyce Smith as the temperamental pianist who reads The National Enquirer between sets. The clever dialogue is salted with laugh-out-loud one liners. When the wisecracking Maxine (Susan Claassen), the reluctant stepmom of an incipient juvenile delinquent, learns the show they're doing will be a benefit to "Save the Children," she balks, arguing instead that they ought to dance to "Save the Parents." The chatter is entertaining, but it's also the medium by which Harris reveals the talkers' hearts. Their small talk is about what we'd expect in real life among people who come together only once a week. But Harris slowly constructs more complex portraits in between the lines. Two characters engage our attention the most, in part because of quietly compelling performances by the actors. Choreographer Moulton also plays Geoffrey, the lone male in the class, a nerdy, classic lonely guy (he's an insurance agent) who's lost his wife too young. Moulton, who possesses in real life a lithe, dancer's body, has to "dance down" to do Geoffrey, who regularly twists up his long limbs into pratfalls in front of the whole giggling class. The quiet Geoffrey is attracted to Andy, a sad and self-effacing married woman. Played hauntingly by ballet dancer Elizabeth Heichelbech, Andy is the worst dancer in the class (Heichelbech also has to "act" her bad dancing). The timid steps Andy takes toward Geoffrey make up some of the play's most moving moments. Harris does skirt dangerously close to cliché in his characters, each of whom could be reduced to a single concept. Besides the lonely guy and the sad wife, there's the brittle matron, the naughty working-class girl (Vanessa Garland), the nurse who'd rather be an artiste (Sara Lawall). But they nearly all turn out to be more complex that their one-line descriptions: the matron works hard to cover up her poor background, the working-class girl's lively bawdiness covers up serious money worries. Even Mavis, the cynical teacher, breaks out into a moment of true artistry when she thinks no one is watching. The play's one real flaw is that all these stories are ultimately left hanging. Harris has worked hard through the play to develop the audience's sympathy for the wannabe dancers, who are trying to bring a little toe-tapping art into otherwise drab lives. We feel let down when their personal tales are abruptly dropped, in favor of a grand tap dance finale. But that's showbiz. Life might be life, but the show has to go on. Stepping Out continues through Sunday, June 9, at Invisible Theatre, 1400 N. First Ave. Shows are at 8 p.m. Tuesdays through Saturdays, 2 p.m. Sundays. Tickets are $15 for most shows. For reservations and information call 882-9721.

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