Knight at the Movies - ARCHIVES
The Young and the Restless:
Rent, Dorian Blues
Expanded Edition of 11-23-05 Knight at the Movies/Windy City Times column
by Richard Knight, Jr.
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 (the openly gay 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 (which it bears more than a passing resemblance to). But
unlike the benign hippies in the latter, protesting against the Viet Nam 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, bi-sexual 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 with the deeply moving song performed by Jesse L. Martin at the funeral when one of the
principal characters died the film’s highlight. Suddenly, everyone seemed to drop the narcissism and pay genuine
attention to one another.
Audience members applauded when the title card for Rent came up on the screen at the preview I attended.
Naturally, since the theatre was packed with “Rentheads” – those diehards that had seen the stage version again
and again and had eagerly awaited the transformation of the musical to film. After all, these folks had waited nine
years for their baby to arrive. A lapsed show tune queen myself, I completely appreciated this response. I
distinctly recall sitting at an advance screening of A Chorus Line when IT finally hit the screen. I left feeling
horribly disappointed. They really screwed up that one. But I didn’t see “Rent” on the stage or hear anything other
than “Seasons of Love” before attending the screening. I think perhaps I’m lucky having never encountered it
before. My companion, who saw the show three times and knows it intimately was sorely disappointed for reasons
that she couldn't exactly put her finger on until we both realized that the gritty subject matter was just too
immediate for the intimacy of film -- the stage allows for a certain distance which film does not.
In the end, however, I think that 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 non-disappointed Rentheads. But I’m also glad that my show tune
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.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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 Chicago's 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. www.landmarktheatres.com
Rent, Dorian Blues
Expanded Edition of 11-23-05 Knight at the Movies/Windy City Times column
by Richard Knight, Jr.
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 (the openly gay 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 (which it bears more than a passing resemblance to). But
unlike the benign hippies in the latter, protesting against the Viet Nam 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, bi-sexual 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 with the deeply moving song performed by Jesse L. Martin at the funeral when one of the
principal characters died the film’s highlight. Suddenly, everyone seemed to drop the narcissism and pay genuine
attention to one another.
Audience members applauded when the title card for Rent came up on the screen at the preview I attended.
Naturally, since the theatre was packed with “Rentheads” – those diehards that had seen the stage version again
and again and had eagerly awaited the transformation of the musical to film. After all, these folks had waited nine
years for their baby to arrive. A lapsed show tune queen myself, I completely appreciated this response. I
distinctly recall sitting at an advance screening of A Chorus Line when IT finally hit the screen. I left feeling
horribly disappointed. They really screwed up that one. But I didn’t see “Rent” on the stage or hear anything other
than “Seasons of Love” before attending the screening. I think perhaps I’m lucky having never encountered it
before. My companion, who saw the show three times and knows it intimately was sorely disappointed for reasons
that she couldn't exactly put her finger on until we both realized that the gritty subject matter was just too
immediate for the intimacy of film -- the stage allows for a certain distance which film does not.
In the end, however, I think that 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 non-disappointed Rentheads. But I’m also glad that my show tune
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.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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 Chicago's 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. www.landmarktheatres.com
Beautiful voices and beautiful songs about horrible things, an amiable coming out story
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