by Anthony Del Valle
Las Vegas City Life
November 4, 1999

When the chorus in Rent belts out in Act Oneā "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas," they ain't talking snow. And that may explain the scattering of empty seats during Act Two.

Jonathan Larson's 1996 modern adaptation of Puccini's La Boheme is a Tony-winning musical, but it's a freak Tony winner. It's the first non-mega-tech quality show in more than 30 years that doesn't sound as if Grandpa wrote it. It sings no hellos to Dolly, makes no attempt to bring the hills alive and has no interest in whether things would or wouldn't be loverly. Its characters are AIDS sufferers, the homeless, drug abusers, rock musicians and drag queens. Its love songs have lines like, "They say I have the best ass below 14th Street."

Some of the aging theatergoers who make a point of seeing whatever musical wins the Tony every year are saying of Rent, "It's too loud. It's too vague. You can't have a musical with that kind of sound." And some of the criticism is justified. Rent really is too vague. Its characters are sometimes not complete enough, too one-note. And the plot falls apart in the second act.

But the show captures a moment of American life. Its score and tone are uniquely 1990s. And unlike 1967's Hair-- a musical it is often compared to--Rent doesn't rely solely on its topicality for its appeal. Hair makes no sense without the Vietnam War. A hundred years from now, Rent will still make sense. It makes universal a specific time and place.

For all its "radical" characters, the show has a core of wholesomeness. It's about loyalty, priorities, friendship--and getting the girl. The late Larson (he died of an aortic aneurysm 10 days before his 36th birthday on the eve of the show's first New York preview) was a disciple of Stephen Sondheim, who was a disciple of Oscar Hammerstein II. The traditions show. The lyrics are clever in the best sense of the word: surprising, revealing, varied and human.

The first act has a Gilbert-and-Sullivan closing with all the characters singing their viewpoints. Larson's rhyming scheme is tongue-in-cheek and sophisticated. A list of things in life worth saluting include: "To fruits! To no absolutes! To Absolut! To choice! To the Village Voice!" Later, a nod "to curry vindaloo" is mated with one "to Maya Angelou." Larson may have the sort of new musical sound that disturbs theater traditionalists (and excites everyone else), but his songs are steeped in solid, traditionalist craftsmanship. Rent is considered radical only because it connects to modern audiences--something Broadway used to do all the time.

The plot update retains La Boheme's basic setting: a group of wannabes hanging out in and around an artist loft. This time it's Mark, a budding documentary East Village filmmaker, and Roger, an HIV-positive budding rock musician who hopes to die in "one blaze of glory" by writing a great song. Mimi's an HIV-positive exotic dancer whose drug use keeps getting in the way of her love for Roger. Popping in and out of their lives are Maureen, a self-absorbed performance artist who has left Mark for lawyer Joanne; a computer-age philosophy teacher who calls himself Tom Collins, who falls for Angel, a drag queen who comes into some money when he agrees to kill a yappy dog owned by Mark and Roger's evil, capitalistic landlord.

But the plot is just an excuse for Larson's songs. As good as they are, they might have been shown to better advantage if the composer had hired someone else to do the book. Characters like Angel give actors opportunities to dazzle, but they are one-stick figures that can't always carry the weight the script demands. You feel as if the narrative could be cut or expanded at will. And the big climax of the show--when Roger gets to sing his "one blaze of glory" song--is hoisted on a number so lame that the show goes limp just when it needs to be strongest.

We have to remember, though, that Larson never got to "fix" his show. And Broadway director Michael Greif's current touring production is solid enough to encourage an appreciation for the composer's raw talent. Scott Hunt is an amusing Mark, half-nerd, half-leading man. Christian Mena gets a little carried away in his oversinging of Roger, but he's got the stage presence and charisma to keep us interested. Understudy Dominique Roy--who went on as Mimi last Thursday--doesn't always connect with other cast members, but there's an intriguing softness about her that gives the show the ease and grace it needs when the score turns ballad-y. And Jacqueline Arnold as Joanne has high notes that threaten theater walls. When she sings, you listen.

The cast's vocal energy, however, isn't always at full throttle. There are a slew of dramatic moments not being taken advantage of; there's not enough listening and reacting going on. The performers are a mile above the average touring-show level--especially if you remember the days when "touring show" meant "basement quality." But they are in need of some fine-tuning by a demanding stage manager.

The music is made vibrant by a six-member band. The set--a maze of platforms, free-hanging metal, free-form lights framed by a paper-potpourri moon--gives us a proper psychological "in" to the story.

Rent is more a celebration of what might have been, rather than what is. It's a gem of an idea too immature in execution to yet work. It suggests Larson's death robbed us of a visionary. You can't help but think how great his 10th or 11th show might have been. And it confirms that Broadway has no excuses for being exclusively an old person's ballgame.

The Great White Way's music changed with the times until the mid-'60s when rock 'n' roll frightened composers and producers into stagnating. Rent proves song-and-story can still speak to any generation's soul. Larson's "one blaze of glory" may take the musical out of the museum back to where it belongs--in today's mainstream.