by Ed Siegel
Boston Globe
June 18, 1999

Now that the New York hype surrounding "Rent'' and the more muted reaction when it came to Boston have faded into the past, perhaps the late Jonathan Larson's musical can be seen more objectively. Is it a musical to change the course of Broadway history? Or is it simply a way for the rock and show-music crowds to rub shoulders and come away with a little of each other's cachet? In other words, to paraphrase the catchy title song: How we gonna review-ew, how we gonna review-ew, this year's "Rent''?

And the answer is, pretty much the way we reviewed last year's "Rent,'' although this is a better production. The show's highest achievement is still considerable - a tremendous energy level that translates into a unique, youthful exuberance in the audience as well as on the stage. And its low point is, not surprisingly, just as low - a shallowness of vision that makes bohemianism a Madison Avenue attitude instead of a Greenwich Village rage against the machine. As Larson's Tony and Pulitzer winner ping-pongs between those extremes, one is left with an assortment of hot bodies, cool poses, and lukewarm songs.

There was a certain hope that "Rent'' would bring a vitality to the musical, filtering in a more youthful audience by showing the way to merge rock and show music. That didn't really happen. Rock musicals like "Hair,'' "Tommy,'' and, heaven help us, "Jesus Christ, Superstar'' are bound to come along once a decade or so but aren't likely to have much of an impact on the direction of the Broadway musical itself. Whether they introduce rock fans to a lifetime love of musical theater or are one-night stands, they represent more of a crossover weakening of both rock music and show music than a merging of their strengths.

The latest road version of "Rent'' certainly makes a case that there's more here than meets the ear. The ensemble work, along with the sound mix, are strong and the young audience's enthusiasm is refreshing, at least it was at last night's press opening. Scott Hunt is the perfect documentarian of the group, Mark Cohen, with his grunge clothes and nerdy glasses framing his intellectual impishness. Christian Mena brings a fine voice to Roger, the soulful rock guitarist, even if he looks and sounds as if he stepped off the stagecoach from "Oklahoma.'' The women are not as strong, although Cristina Fadale is a nicely irreverent Maureen. Julia Santana, unfortunately, doesn't bring much more than physical beauty to the AIDS-infected drug addict, Mimi.

In case you didn't know it, "Rent'' is based on Puccini's "La Boheme.'' A group of poor artists and other social outsiders are huddled together in a loft, where they struggle to find the wherewithal for food, heat, and rent. But, as they name-drop their way through the bohemians of previous generations, like Lenny Bruce and Jack Kerouac in the show's strongest song (the ensemble "La Vie Boheme''), you start to wonder why "Rent'' is not putting you in touch with your inner Ginsberg.

And the answer is that there is nothing but mythic pose to their bohemianism, either in Larson's music or in the characters' personalities. They are devoted to their racial and sexual diversity, but with diversity a corporate byword and even Disney paying same-sex health benefits, that hardly seems revolutionary. And with every woman younger and slimmer than Madeleine Albright baring her bellybutton these days, the sexy clothes place these women closer to the Northshore Mall than Desolation Row.

In fact, if George Will were to write a satire of bohemian self-absorption, he couldn't do much better than "Rent.'' When you think of it, these people are incredibly untalented - a third-rate Laurie Anderson knockoff performance artist, a rock musician who finds his muse with a song so saccharine that John Denver wouldn't have touched it; and a filmmaker whose work makes Andy Warhol look like Stanley Kubrick, all thinking they have the right to live rent-free.

So why do college-age audiences, like many at last night's show, love this musical? Perhaps because it validates both their music and their own limited rebellion. And perhaps because they, too, are rebels without a cause. Personally, I hope it's more than merely an increase in years that leads to feeling not particularly moved by their plight. When these artistically challenged slackers - the characters, not the actors - start singing "How we gonna pay-ay, how we gonna pay-ay, this year's "Rent,'' I'm shocked to find myself thinking, "Like, you know, get a job?''