by D.L. Groover
Houston Voice
August 18, 2000

While the last joyous chord of RENT still reverberated through Jones Hall, the audience was already on its feet, cheering and stomping, whistling and clapping.

There had been applause from the moment the musicians gathered on the stage as this show began. There were appreciative whistles and hoots at the beginnings of songs, and great big bursts during particular bits of glossy staging.

The audience, heavily weighed with Rent-heads, needed no coaxing from Maureen to moo along with her protest performance piece, "Over the Moon." And when Angel made her flamboyant star turn in full drag, the roof could have blown off.

It was an electric rush felt very rarely these days in the musical theater. It must have been like this to hear Ethel Merman belt Gershwin or having the curtain rise without an overture and hearing Curly sing about that Beautiful Mornin'. In "Rent" you're seeing Broadway history.

Jonathan Larson's exuberant rock paean to life has become a pop culture phenomenon, tinged with ineffable sadness from his horribly ironic death on the eve of this work's premiere in New York City. Posthumously, Larson has been heaped with Tonys, Drama Desks, Obies and a Pulitzer. In a decade or so of really egregious musical theater, "Rent" deserves all its awards.

Taking its inspiration from Puccini's verismo opera "La Boheme" that dealt with poverty and sickness among the unconventional bohemians of Paris, which in turn was derived from the more shocking serial novel by Henri Murger, "Rent" spins its tale in contemporary hues of AIDS, sexual nonconformity, drug addiction, multi-culturalism and the horrors of selling out to those emotionless mega-conglomerates.

The verities of poverty, the homeless and gut-wrenching illness, still with us, run thick and deep, infusing this story of community with gravity and seriousness.

"Rent" strikes something deep within us, I think, because it plays so tellingly with the theme that those disenfranchised from their families—the outcasts and bohemians, if you will—make successful new families out of their friends.

That's certainly been one of the tenets of the gay movement, and why the devastation from AIDS has brought us all closer, even while destroying our new families. The shared grief, the lose, the anger to fight back, have bonded us into a community that, at times, can seem as dysfunctional as any family, but, more often than not, is stronger than blood.

Larson's heartfelt empathy for his band of outsiders can be as sappy as a Hallmark card (a chorus line of homeless junkies seems just as unreal as a convent of singing nuns) but his passion packs a mighty wallop, and we respond in kind. His pop and rock score, a melange of styles ranging from tangos to blues, gospel to reggae, funk to MTV, is none the less rooted on good ol' Broadway stock.

The love ballads are haunting, and the up-tempo pieces, feisty and energetic, are filled with sophisticated rhythms that keep us off balance. His dramatic lyrics, agile and propulsive, shift in off-kilter ways, too; sometimes comic, sometimes heartbreaking, yet always right.

Bar none, I do believe this is the finest touring production of a Broadway musical I have ever seen. It is an amazingly theatrical show, directed with a panther's sleekness by the show's original director Michael Greif, using all the high-tech smoke and mirrors that money can buy. Grunge never looked so high gloss.

The young cast, singing their lungs out while scampering all over the functional erector set that represents NY's East Village, is well-nigh superb. Shaun Earl's Angel, the drag queen, is the heart of the show and justifiably steals every scene. He never plays down to his character and invests this real beauty with grace and pride. His gymnastic song and dance, "Today 4 U," purred while costumed in Santa Claus coat, zebra stockings, and patent leather platforms, is a knockout.

Matt Caplan as Mark, the edgy filmmaker who's our narrator and keeps his emotional distance by never letting go of his ubiquitous camera, shines in this nebbish role with trumpet voice blessed with the pizzazz of a true Broadway trooper. His comic "Tango Maureen" danced with his former girlfriend's lesbian lover is one of many high points in this show of ultra altitude.

Cary Shields as Roger, the AIDS-infected musician whose turbulent relationship with Mimi keeps the plot spinning, has the sexy presence of a rock star and a powerful reedy voice that aches with emotion. His dynamic rendition of "One Song Glory," accompanied by his giant shadow thrown onto the backstage brick wall, would melt anyone's heart.

"Rent" is a milestone in musical theater. Although its theme that love conquers all is descended right from the flower-pressed pages of '60s Haight-Ashbury, there's no better time to embrace such a dream and keep it alive. It's a potent message for any age. Obviously, the audience agrees. What a positive sign that is.

Don't miss this one.