Seasons of Love, loss and resilience

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This article was published 29/06/2023 (1178 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Inside a ramshackle loft in New York’s Alphabet City, two roommates struggle to express themselves as their world collapses around them.

Erstwhile songwriter Roger (a tattered, resilient Duncan Cox) plucks aimlessly on his acoustic guitar, while heartbroken documentarian Mark (a wonderfully self-assured Elliot Lazar) runs through reel after reel of film, not exactly sure what he’s capturing or whether his celluloid time capsule will ever be seen.

Over the course of one year — that’s 525,600 minutes, for those counting — Mark’s camera witnesses the spectacular highs and soul-crushing lows experienced by a group of what society would describe as misfits during a period defined by instability and uncertainty.

On the heels of a recession, under the unforgiving boot of capitalism, and in the midst of an AIDS pandemic experienced by many but understood by few, the characters in Rent struggle to walk the tightrope between survival and its grisly alternative.

When it debuted in the mid-1990s, Jonathan Larson’s magnum opus was considered a groundbreaking piece of theatre, crafting multi-dimensional characters within rigid moulds normally reserved for caricature. Like Angels in America before it, Rent handled with requisite care and composure the still-unfurling consequences of global experiences, translating complex societal struggles into the musical language of the MTV era, a voice at once individualistic and generational.

Thirty years later, Rent — at Rainbow Stage until July 16 and running almost three hours with intermission — still meets that high standard of importance, cultural significance and, most importantly, entertainment. Under the direction of Allen MacInnis, Rent illustrates that our strength is in numbers, both musical and otherwise.

Roger and Mark are only two bricks in Alphabet City’s graffiti-covered wall, and are perhaps the least outwardly intriguing characters living inside set designer Douglas Paraschuk’s rust-coated, multi-tiered world, a structural metaphor for social stratification within New York City. (Paraschuk’s set — urban, industrial and shattered by neglect — is coated by the dancing figures made famous by the artist Keith Haring, who died of AIDS-related complications in 1990).

Thankfully, the loft’s security systems are negligible, and a coterie of disparate visitors burst in through its doors at exactly the right moments to raise the show’s spirits.

First is the refreshing Tom Collins (Arnold C. Tongol), a computer whiz who’s fallen on hard times. Then comes Angel (Chris Vergara), an alleyway drummer who eschews gender norms and sartorial conventions, choosing his own path and seizing his day with verve and vigour. Dressed as a Christmas present, Vergara is a gift, and the golden-voiced Tongol, as his lover, delivers the goods.

Mimi (Cassandra Consiglio, who debuted on Rainbow Stage at 13 in Joseph) arrives at Roger’s window with a candle and without a light, igniting a romance that flickers in a slow-burn. As she struts her stuff around the rickety catwalk in high heels, Consiglio is a daring marvel.

Meanwhile, Mark’s ex, Maureen (Rainbow regular Colleen Furlan), is now dating Joanne (Boma Cookey-Gam, in her major stage debut). Toe-to-toe with Furlan, whose Maureen is one odd duck, Cookey-Gam more than holds her own in a role that one wishes had been given more space on the page and time on the stage.

Looming over the action is a prospective eviction from the loft, courtesy of Mark and Roger’s nouveau-riche ex-roommate Benny (a smarmy Kamal Chioua).

Led by star-making turns from Lazar and Cox, and right down to the ever-versatile ensemble (especially the soulful Daniel Bogart, the refined Matthew Fletcher and the energetic Joyce Jugo), the entire cast shines in roles that have become as beloved as any in modern musical theatre history.

The only trouble is that for audience members without any prior attachment to those roles, in a cast as large and busy as this one, it can be difficult for the actors to establish well-rounded characters. The love stories can fizzle for some, while for others they sizzle with recognition and connection. This is not a fault of the cast or crew, but a necessary struggle of a performance as ambitious as Rent: with such intense commitment to social commentary and nonstop, dynamic musical-theatre set-pieces, it’s only natural that the power and influence of the group is favoured over that of the individual, sometimes to the detriment of narrative coherence.

That might explain why the most enduring scenes, and the most enduring songs in the entire show, Seasons of Love and La Vie Bohème, are those that favour collective experiences, whether they be celebratory or cloaked in the ashen pallor of grief.

Just as it did when it premièred and became a Broadway sensation, Rent represents an opportunity for catharsis and contemplation of what truly matters in life. Is it money, as Benny might believe? Is it artistic freedom, as Maureen, Mark and Roger might think? Or is it recognizing the exquisite beauty of the minute, the mundane, and the magnificent, as Angel would see it?

Regardless of your answer, it is best enjoyed together, not apart.

That’s what Larson captured in his musical. It’s what Mark captured in his film. And it’s what Rainbow Stage captured in Kildonan Park on Wednesday night.

ben.waldman@winnipegfreepress.com