November 2005 Archives

Those who know me, know that since the musical "RENT" hit Broadway I was a groveling fan. It spoke to me - as it did so many other queer people - in a way that no other popular medium had until that time. My parents got me tickets to see a traveling version of the play in 1999 in Charlotte, North Carolina. I was hooked.

When I was senior in High School, I organized a Broadway Revue with three songs featured from the musical: "Light My Candle," "Seasons of Love," and "Out Tonight." The event raised nearly $1000 for the International AIDS Vaccine Initiative. It was Fall 2001 - this was the closest I could come to doing LGBTQ activism in North Carolina.

It will come as no surprise, then, that when I learned this brilliant musical was going to become a feature film I was both excited and nervous. The fact that many of the original Broadway cast members were to be tapped for the cinematic endeavor was promising. The director, Chris Columbus, seemed unusual but not a sure sign of danger.

I got a chance to see a midnight showing of the film tonight at the Metreon here in San Francisco. What a thrill to be in a room with 1000 other hardcore Rent fans, I thought. San Francisco surely would be the 2nd best city in which see the film that first evening (NYC, obviously, being 1st). I showed up with my friend Jackson to find a room of 1000 teenagers who were barely alive when the musical debuted. I suppose everyone who was of the original "RENT" generation is now somewhere in their late 20s to mid 30s. They all have day jobs. As someone who came out full-force in 1997, I consider myself a (albeit young) member of that first generation.

I didn't let the crowd deride my enthusiasm for the event, however. The film, in a bold move, opens with the musicals most well-known number, "Seasons of Love." Each of the main characters stands on an otherwise empty stage in front of a deserted theatre. Despite a few bumps, though, the film starts off strong and delivers an experience that is poignant (if a bit melodramatic).

I was sold wholeheartedly until the movie veered dramatically off course with (SPOILER ALERT) the introduction of a completely inappropriate side-story. For the unaware, one of the major plot lines revolves around the relationship between Joanne, a straight-laced black lesbian lawyer, and Maureen, a flirtatious white performance artist who performs to promote issues related to homelessness in NYC.

Now, anyone who knows this musical will be appalled to hear what I am about to tell you. Maureen and Joanne, in the movie, get MARRIED. Well, okay, there was no gown or cake - but there was a get-down-on-my-knees "pop the question" moment that made my stomach churn. I grabbed Jackson's arm in disbelief and sat, aghast, at the unfolding events that included a fancy reception at a hotel. And, at that moment, I thought I heard the distant rattling of Jonathan Larson rolling over in his grave.

Now let me be clear: this musical is set in 1990. If we think back to 1990 and the state of the gay and lesbian political movement, it becomes striking just how unbelievable this would have been. This was a time when AIDS was still the lens through which most LGBTQ activism was done. Matthew Shepard had only just graduated from middle school. Marriage was NOT - I repeat, NOT on the table. It simply wasn't even conceivable to the vast majority of LGBTQ Americans. Director Christopher Columbus was playing on cultural capital of the present that he inappropriately projected into the past.

With that said, the rest of the film is stirring. There are few moments of contrived, awkward dialogue and cheesy shots of Roger in what looks to be the Grand Canyon ("finding himself," I presume). However, the zany energy of "La Vie Boheme" translated marvelously and the reprise of "I'll Cover You" was as moving as ever. This was truly Collins' (Jesse L. Martin) and Angel's (Wilson Heredia) film - they stole the show time and time again. Martin gives us an outstanding and heartfelt performance that brought laughter and, of course, those gut-wrenching tears with his mournful delivering of "I'll Cover You." Their words never felt static or forced, which can't be said for some of the other cast members.

Angel's painful death opened up the floodgates; a sniffling silence filled the otherwise rambunctious audience. I cried not just for Angel, but for all those young beautiful men who were taken from us. I cried reflecting upon what could have been -- the voices that were silenced. What books could have been written? What songs could have been sung? What fights could have been won? We will never know. "RENT" reminds us of this massive funeral that, for queer communities, was the 1980s and early 1990s. Our community was mercilessly robbed and, reflecting on that loss, it's clear that we still haven't recovered.