Buckeye Road

I'll Cover You

I've held off long enough -- now it's time for my writeup of the new film version of Rent.

I suppose I'm supposed to give you my disclaimer about the stage show. I saw the original cast on Broadway in May of 1996 -- before they won the Tony Awards. That day-trip (part of one of my best friend's birthday gift from his parents) was the first time I ever set foot in New York City. (When I was growing up, my parents thought it wasn't safe -- that was before Giuliani, mind you. When we went on our vacation to Philadelphia and Boston when I was ten, we managed to go to the Statue of Liberty on a ferry from New Jersey, and then took a route far to the north around the city.)

So Rent was my first Broadway show, and it's always been tied up in some way in my thinking about New York City. The energy and excitement of that cast -- and that theatergoing experience -- is something that's stuck with me. Most memorable, perhaps, was Jesse L. Martin's soul-stirring reprise of "I'll Cover You," where I totally lost it. This was before I had started going to gay movies, and it was the first time I'd ever heard a man express a deeply felt love for (and loss of) another man. I was very sheltered growing up in Ohio, where it seemed like we only heard about gays when they were doing drag or dying of AIDS. They might as well have been from another planet.

Now, nine years later, I was dreading the movie version of Rent. I was put off by the previews, which seemed to focus on the cast -- mostly consisting of the original stage cast, a decade older -- lined up in their original costumes in a warehouse, singing "Seasons of Love," as if they'd been put in storage back in 1997 waiting for this moment.

I know more than a little about movie musicals, having taught a class and done a lot of research on the subject. In my view, the most successful ones are those that reinvent the stage show for the medium of film. Chicago did this delightfully, reconceiving familiar musical numbers for the camera.

[At this point I am going to start getting into specifics -- so if spoilers will offend you, see the movie and come back and see if you agree with me.]

Chris Columbus does his best to reinvent the musical numbers. The most successful is "Take Me or Leave Me," which is set at Maureen and Joanne's engagement party at her parents country club. The action moves the song seamlessly from the party itself, where Maureen flirts with a female bartender and dances on a table next to an ice sculpture, out to the hall, where Joanne unleashes herself on the stairs, then into a booklined room where the two face off over a pool table before heading their separate ways -- out separate doors. This number makes sense -- it starts diegetically (that is, directly and believably from the non-musical story line) and its end flows right back into a dialogue scene.

Contrast this with any number of the other numbers, which are less successful at fitting themselves in. During the song "Rent," Roger and Mark light their posters and screenplays on fire because the heat has been turned off. Then they take the giant wastecan out to the balcony and, rather confusingly, pour the fire out into the street, where Benny has pulled up in his Range Rover. On all the balconies of their building and the one across the street, other East Villagers are raining fiery debris down on Benny. It's a visually effective (if realistically incoherent) ending to the number. However, in the scene that follows the number, the fiery debris remains in the street, and cars drive right over it. Wouldn't that be incredibly dangerous -- even for a New York City cab?

This is a recurring problem in the film -- the transitions between many of the numbers and the non-number scenes are stilted, at best. "I'll Cover You" (the original) is one of the lightest and most delightful moments in the film, there's an extraordinary tight shot of Angel and Tom running down the length of a city block, holding on to each other. But the setup is so very stilted: they come out of the subway, having just finished "Santa Fe," Angel says "Come on," and they started walking and singing.

Probably the most unfortunate musical number is "Tango: Maureen." I so wanted it to work -- and it was delightful, at first. But then Mark falls and hits his head, and that's what sets us into the fantasy number -- with dozens of black clad man-woman couples tangoing, and Maureen in a red dress, taking turns dancing with a man, then a woman, then both, as Joanne and Mark join in.

Now this was a great way to introduce Maureen. However, it is a total and direct ripoff of "Cell Block Tango" from Chicago -- so many hot bodies suddenly on the screen, dancing! -- and an unfortunate reminder of how deft Rob Marshall was at handling the numbers there. One of the most painful moments of the movie (for someone who's always enjoyed the original cast) is when the number ends, and the camera cuts to Mark on the floor, opening his eyes and rubbing his head. Ouch.

posted by BT @ 12:10 PM