The late Jonathan Larson's 1996 musical about the bohemian life of filmmakers, political activists, musicians and lost souls in New York's contemporary East Village roughly parallels the story and characters of Giacomo Puccini's opera "La Boheme," which deals with a very different set of artsy types in 19th-century Paris.

Instead of being tubercular, Larson's Mimi, played with exuberant precision by Montreal native Dominique Roy, is addicted to drugs. Her lover here isn't Rudolpho, but rather Roger (Cary Shields), a frustrated guitarist/songwriter, with bleached hair and an angry edge. His best friend, and the most fleshed-out figure in the show, is Mark (Matt Caplan), a documentary filmmaker who narrates the play.

This is a great cast. Caplan and Shields shine as pals sharing a bleak Manhattan tenement owned by their former roommate Benny, portrayed in a strong yet controlled performance by Brian Love. Several key players were flattened by the flu, so understudies took over. Justin Johnston, regularly an ensemble member, played Angel on opening night, offering a crystalline, dynamic performance of the HIV-positive transvestite, who is possibly the most interesting character Larson created. And Fred Jones stepped out of his regular chorus part to play Angel's supportive lover Tom Collins, a cheerful, steadying presence amid the angst-ridden plot. Their love relationship is a ray of hope amid the turmoil of young lives on the edge.

And as a feisty lesbian attorney who loves Maureen (played opening night by another understudy, Stefanie Roth), Jacqueline Arnold brings a great voice and quirky humor to the stage, especially in an archly funny tango she performs with Mark, who once dated her lover as well.

But "Rent" itself is rife with rents and holes. Characterizations that at first promise to be complex flatten into cardboard cutouts. Ideas don't build out of one another; rather, they materialize suddenly, as if from thin air. In spite of the excellent choreography by Marlies Yearby, there is scant character development through the songs, and the music, performed onstage with wonderful flair under Shelley Hanson's direction, is stronger than the lyrics, which exude more bathos than pathos.

The one tune of real merit is "Seasons of Love," which opens the second act with arresting poignancy as the entire cast, in full voice, stands in a line at the edge of the stage. It acknowledges the ticking away of time, how precious each minute is in the face of AIDS, in the face of creativity and the drive to fill one's life with meaning, with love.

At the heart of "Rent," love is the answer, but the questions got lost on the way.