Say what you want about the film adaptation of “Rent.” Pick it apart. Question the characters’ motives. Pithily call the movie awkward and forced.
But unless you’ve seen the musical at least 10 times – a modest number by serious devotees’ standards – then your argument carries only so much weight with “Rent” rats.
The beauty of the “Rent” rat is the unconditional love they – er, we – have for the musical. Like a Deadhead, a Parrothead or a Claymate (the latter being a member of the odd group of mostly middle-aged women obsessed with Clay Aiken), “Rent” rats travel with the show, wait in painfully long lines for prime seats, and are willing to forgive the musical for its cheesy indulgences, its overdramatic tendencies, its lackluster, unfinished second act.
The musical is a precious untouchable, so anyone who makes an alteration had better be prepared for the wrath. Of critics, yes, and they’ve had their say with the new film, which was released Wednesday. But of the hard-core fans, too, selfishly presenting their biased and shrouded analysis without regard to anybody or anything.
And that’s what this is: A rat with 10 “Rents” under his belt having his say about a movie he’s been awaiting for 10 years. That’s a lot of anticipation – so much so that disappointment is almost inevitable. And while the movie does fall short in multiple capacities, including the key realm of making the theatrical cinematic, it’s not an overall failure.
For the non-rats, “Rent” is a modern retelling of Puccini’s “La Boheme,” where it’s New York City’s East Village battling AIDS in 1989 instead of Paris’ Left Bank fighting tuberculosis in the early 19th century. Mark and Roger are roommates on the verge of eviction, and together with their friends, they’re fighting for health, love and artistic integrity.
This “Rent” starts in the theater, with its star actors standing on apron’s edge belting out “Seasons of Love.” Easy enough, and it works. But it quickly moves to Alphabet City where Mark (Anthony Rapp) and Roger (Adam Pascal) find an eviction notice on the door of their “borrowed” loft. They’re not alone in eviction, as we soon find out in the film’s first obligatory fire-escape scene, which features the choreographed mass burning and dropping of eviction notices, which float like CGI feathers to the depraved streets below – to the tune of the musical’s raging title track, of course.
It’s like Disney’s version of a nuclear winter – “All together on 3 now, OK? … No no no, balcony No. 13, you dropped the flaming paper too early. Let’s do over” – and the scene is far more condescending than it is visually stimulating.
The movie is all about extremes: the good and the bad. At one point it’s really yanking the tears out. And then it’s terrifyingly close-your-eyes goofy.
For example: One of the best songs of the show, the heartfelt ’80s throwback rock ballad “One Song Glory,” is used as a flashback vehicle by director Christopher Columbus, who introduces Roger’s ex, April (who infected him with HIV), and his former life as a rocker with the subtlety of Mimi’s blistering candle wax.
But a few scenes later, when Mark first meets Joanne (Tracie Thoms) – his ex-girlfriend’s new girlfriend – and they mingle via the toying “Tango: Maureen,” the filmmakers succeed in transforming the play to the screen, giving Mark a dream sequence that is delightful and insightful and works in a way the musical never could under its obvious limitations.
The moment is crisp and lush and loudly proclaims Thoms as an incredibly competent Joanne – notable because she and Rosario Dawson, who plays Mimi, were the only leads in the film who weren’t among the Broadway originals.
Excising Joanne’s one-way phone conversation “We’re Okay” from the first act was a smart move, as was taking out “Contact.” But they got carried away with their trimming when they cut “Happy New Year” and “Halloween” from the film. (The latter made the film’s soundtrack album.) Both of those, in addition to being excellent tracks, moved the action forward.
Again, the good and the bad.
“Santa Fe” is beautifully shot in a subway car with Collins (Jesse L. Martin) working his magic. But Maureen (Idina Menzel) and Joanne’s newly created commitment ceremony, the site of a lackluster “Take Me or Leave Me,” is a bit of a stretch.
There’s an immense life to everything that comes out of the HIV support group meetings – so much that “Life Support” and the heartbreaking “Will I” match the always-excellent “La Vie Boheme” in intensity. But then there’s the fact that Dawson never fully embodies Mimi and the tragedy she represents.
Which is a big problem, because ultimately the entire movie comes down to Roger and Mimi. Angel (Wilson Jermaine Heredia) is the heart of the story, yes, and Mark is its narrator – the voice of Jonathan Larson, who wrote the Pulitzer- and Tony-winning musical and died of an aortic aneurysm the night before its first preview. But this is a love story – now more than ever, as a film.
You can’t help but wonder what would have happened with Daphne Rubin-Vega as the film’s Mimi. She created the character, of course, but it’s a pretty standard stereotype, and not all that difficult to nail. Dawson flubs “Out Tonight” (admittedly a flawed song) but comes back with a strong duet in a moving “Another Day.”
In the end, she’s neither good nor bad. She’s OK.
And that’s not OK by this “Rent” rat’s standards.
Staff writer Ricardo Baca can be reached at 303-820-1394 or rbaca@denverpost.com.
