Pictured Dorian Blues.
First off, if you don't like musicals—and I don't mean those tarted up, stuffed-to-the-gills operettas ( Phantom of the Opera, Evita ) , or the dizzying, stylized ones like Chicago and Moulin Rouge—Rent is NOT for you. Characters stand stock still and sing to each other, they dance around the sets; musical numbers have clearly defined beginnings and endings—just like in movie musicals of yore. There are no split-second cross cuts, no battery of close-ups, exotic lighting, claustrophobic sets or costumes to disguise the fact that this is a plain old-fashioned song-and-dance extravaganza ( albeit, one short on dance ) . And there aren't any big-name stars like Catherine Zeta-Jones, Nicole Kidman, or Ewan McGregor to sell it either.
All of which makes Rent one of the most daring movies of the year. Its insistence on sticking to the basics of the all-but-forgotten genre is a decided breath of fresh air. This alone makes it a must see for any fan of the musical.
But its story, such as it is—well, that's another matter.
The scenario: a group of young artists living in the Alphabet City section of Manhattan meet, intermingle, fall in and out of love, make art, find their dreams fulfilled, crushed, or temporarily put on hold. This all takes place between the '525,600 minutes' of Christmas Eve 1989 and 1990. The focal point is the tragic off-again/on-again romance of Roger ( Adam Pascal ) , the blond Jon Bon Jovi look-a-like, and the dark-haired Latino beauty Mimi ( Rosario Dawson ) . This being a liberal's spruced-up dream of a variation on La Boheme, a gay couple, Angel and Tom ( Wilson Jermaine Heredia and Jesse L. Martin ) , and a lesbian couple, Maureen and Joanne ( Idina Menzel and Tracie Thomas ) , just happen to be close friends of Roger and Mimi. Mark ( Anthony Rapp ) , a documentary filmmaker with artistic principals who was dumped by Maureen for Joanne and Benny ( Taye Diggs ) , a former artist who has 'sold out' and once had a thing with Maureen, are also intertwined in the many subplots.
Rent is a reality-based musical similar in mode to Hair ( to which it bears more than a passing resemblance ) . But unlike the benign hippies in the latter, protesting against the Vietnam war, pushing their message of free love ( lots of it ) , and tripping on purple sunshine in Central Park all the while singing those endlessly melodic songs, the gang from Rent are much more Intense. They're squatting in those lofts, looking to somehow get something 'artistic' going while trying to keep the lights on. They're much too self-involved to deal with larger issues. That's understandable when you have characters that include a junkie who works in a strip club, a former junkie, a drag queen with AIDS, a spoiled, bisexual with commitment issues, and a guy whose closest relationship seems to be with the scarf around his neck ( how else to explain its omnipresence? ) , but it makes all the dancing and singing—an inherently 'happy' act—hard to buy into.
Like their hippie forefathers in Hair, the Rent gang also break into song at the drop of a cliché—there are big crowd numbers, showstoppers, heartbreaking ballads, pastiche 'cute' songs and lots more. Also like the timeless score for Hair, however, the music for Rent soars while the lyrics falter. It's one thing to see Treat Williams dance down a fancy banquet table while exhorting, 'I've got life mother' and quite another to watch Rosario Dawson sing while stripping in a gentlemen's club and shooting up, or witness a couple recognizing they've found their soul mate when their AZT medication bracelets simultaneously go off ( and I hated this 'cute' prettying up of the ravages of AIDS—it can magically be handled with a magical pill! ) . It's also hard to suspend belief when the subject matter is so gritty while the singers and their singing are so eerily beautiful.
Chris Columbus, the director, has never helmed a musical and he wisely dispenses with the camera flourishes and keeps things focused on those beautiful faces ( the majority holdovers from the original cast ) . After opening with the show's hit song, 'Seasons of Love' ( an indirect homage to A Chorus Line ) , Columbus stages an exciting title number that quickly draws us in and gives us an immediate ( though patently fake ) sense of the bohemian milieu the characters inhabit. But it's the only 'crowd' number that lands. What worked for me were the smaller numbers and the ballads. The deeply moving song performed by Jesse L. Martin at the funeral ( when one of the principal characters died ) was the film's highlight for me. Suddenly, everyone seemed to drop the narcissism and pay genuine attention to one another.
Rent is to be applauded and seen for bringing back to the screen a much-loved and much-maligned form, and I'm happy for the fanatics who have waited nine years to see their baby make the transition from stage to screen. But I'm also glad that my showtune queen days were informed by the aforementioned A Chorus Line, Company and Pippin. A musical—even a reality-based one—should transport you away. 'My' shows did. Rent—based on the evidence here—does not.
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High school senior 'Dore' Lagatos is having a tough time coming out. On the list: his jock brother who will be the most understanding ( and give him 'straight' lessons ala Tea & Sympathy ) , his 'don't ask, don't tell' mother and his stern, autocratic father who's fixated on the hunk brother's athletic promise. This is the set up for Dorian Blues, which made the rounds of the gay and lesbian film festival circuit last year and opens for a one-week run this Friday at the Landmark Century Centre Cinema.
It's a small film with small objectives and though the coming-out story has quickly become a cliché, writer/director Tennyson Bardwell invests his film with some quirky offbeat details that help it along. Like when Dorian's brother fixes him up with a female stripper intending for Dorian to lose his virginity and the two end up creating a fantasy musical number and swing dancing instead, or Dorian's brief flirtation with a Napoleon Dynamite-type nerd. The charming lead performance of Michael McMillian, Lea Coco as Dorian's hunk brother and Steven C. Fletcher as their emotionally stilted father bring complexity to a script that could have used another draft or two before shooting commenced. See www.landmarktheatres.com .
