by Jonathan Larson
Directed by Michael Greif
A Mirvish Production
at the Canon Theatre
January 12-24, 2010

   If you care about the new American musical as an art form, hurry to the Canon where a superior version of Rent is proving how art can be combined with commerce in a musical satire about love, disease, and community. Only a Yuppie reviewer, with a blind eye to the myriad of mediocre Dora-laden Canadian plays, let alone worse than mediocre Canadian musicals, would protest that the plot is thin or that the articulation of social issues intellectually dishonest. Let such a reviewer brush up on his Sondheim to appreciate the musical innovations of young Jonathan Larson (who died much too early). It is easy and intellectually lazy to write off Rent as a transplantation of Puccini’s La Boheme to the AIDs era. Of course, there is a debt to Puccini—if in nothing more than in Larson’s evocation of Mimi, junkie and HIV-positive girlfriend of Roger, a struggling songwriter with AIDS, and in Larson’s bohemian protest against Establishment values, which are usually those of greed and selfishness. But Larson is not merely re-writing Puccini’s opera; he is focusing on several things; the issue of what it means to be an artist in a materialistic society; the permutations of desire under the shadow of disease and death; and the problem of finding the appropriate tone and style of music—not just hit parade tunes—for a contemporary satire.  

   Where Puccini romanticized ardour and death, Larson confronts both themes with defiant modern cynicism. There is more than one set of lovers in Rent: Roger and Mimi, Maureen (Mark’s ex) and Joanne; and Angel (the transvestite) and Tom Collins (good joke of a name for the activist anarchist and ex-roommate of Roger and Mark). Another difference from Puccini is that Larson’s fable has a humanistic point of view. It attacks Establishment society (especially incarnated in the figure of Benny, budding real-estate tycoon) in order to promote its own values: dignity, charity, and fellow feeling. In any case, Rent is closer in spirit and tone to Hair than to La Boheme, not only for its loose plot and counter-culture music, but for its sparkling vitality and musical innovation as well. Of course, Puccini’s Rodolfo (a poet) becomes Roger (a struggling songwriter with AIDS); the painter Marcello is now Mark (an aspiring filmmaker, who also functions as a chorus); and Musetta has morphed into Mimi, the S&M bar dancer. Larson also uses a bar of “Musetta’s Waltz” as a reference or sting at times, but then transforms it into “Tango: Maureen”—a clear sign that he is not merely an imitator but a clever inventor. His score is ravishing in its eclecticism and parody, combining electric rock, salsa, Motown, reggae, be-bop, and homages to Sondheim. And only someone without knowledge or experience of songwriting would think that Larson’s greatest asset was a rhyming dictionary rather than brilliant wit in lyrics that rhyme “curry vindaloo” with “Maya Angelou.” Larson rivals Sondheim in this regard, for his lyrics are playfully post-modernist rather than arbitrarily hit or miss.

  Michael Greif’s production is superbly cast and performed in an open concept setting devised by Paul Clay. It helps having Adam Pascal as Roger and Anthony Rapp as Mark, for these performed in the original company and have easy stage authority. It also helps considerably to have another original company member, Gwen Stewart, playing Mrs. Jefferson, for she brings real vocal heft and colour to her solo sequence in “Seasons of Love,” a great song that transcends its sentimentality. Lexi Lawson does well as Mimi Marquez, though the most colourful and affecting performance comes from Justin Johnston as Angel in a Santa suit, stockings, and high heels. His performance speaks to the special merit in Larson’s libretto: the emotional power that soars and breaks. This is a power that transcends the plot or character clichés. Yes, of course, Rent is contaminated by plot imperfections, but these hardly affect its motor energy, depth of feeling, and musical brilliance.

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