Luanne and I saw "Rent" when we were in Simi Valley for Thanksgiving. I've been wanting to write about it, but I haven't had the time to adequately express my thoughts.
My experience with the show goes back several years. I remember watching the Tony Awards back in 1996 and seeing the original Broadway cast standing in a line, singing the unofficial theme song for the show, "Seasons of Love." It was electrifying. First of all, the sound was fresh... like it had just come off the radio. Edgy and "alternative"-sounding (whatever that means), but with the classic "showtunes" sense of melody and excellence in diction and voice. Then there were the words... "Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes. Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear. Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes. How do you measure, measure a year?" The cast, in stunning, passionate voice, called us to measure our lives not "in daylight, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee," not in "inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife," but instead, to measure in love. "Seasons of love..."
It was beautiful. Luanne and I were overwhelmed. But then life went on, and I forgot all about the show. After all, it was Winona Lake, Indiana, in 1996. I had a job and a wife and a new baby to worry about. "Rent" wasn't playing anywhere nearby, and even if it had been, we wouldn't have seen it. Too many taboo subjects. Lots of bad language. The "F Word," even. Homosexuality. Transvestitism. That show was not in my "allowable" column in Winona Lake in 1996. After all, Christians aren't even supposed to associate with sinners, right?
Skip ahead to 2004. "Rent" was coming to San Jose, and Luanne and I had tickets. What changed? So much. Sometimes Winona Lake feels like a lifetime ago, not a mere eight years.
By 2004, I had finally learned to live in freedom. By 2004, following Jesus had come to be less about what I opposed and more about who it is that I followed and what freedom and joy His ways brought to my life. In 2002, I had read a book that changed my life forever. That book was called "God.com," by James Alexander Langteaux, and it was the book that finally put me over the edge, the book that helped me to take the leap of faith God was calling me to. I had read a string of books that were helping my relationship with Jesus become more and more authentic... "The Divine Conspiracy" by Dallas Willard, "The Sacred Romance" by Brent Curtis and John Eldredge, "Abba's Child" by Brennan Manning, and "What's So Amazing About Grace?" by Philip Yancey. Finally, "God.com" came along and tore me apart. I let my heart of stone be broken. God spoke to me more clearly than He ever had before and gave me the courage to face myself and my past... secret garbage that I had never even named... and to really know, not just try to believe, that He loved me no matter what.
Langteaux, near the end of his book, had written a few pages on "Rent," and it really intrigued me. Here are his words:
Real revolutions, as romantic as they seem, always carry a high price. I believe you can do pay-per-view (fighting skirmishes here and there) or you can pay with your whole life.
Die Now or Pay Later…
Before my eyes and with all my senses, I have witnessed two powerful depictions of revolutions. Both stirred in me an insatiable desire to live with all the passion my heart could push through this mortal coil. Both made me leap to my feet with tears straming down my face as the music swelled and the passion poured lavishly on the stage. But only one of them embodied real revolution – social, personal, and full-blown spiritual rebirth. Blood was shed and lives were lost, but there was redemption in the end.
That production was Les Miserables. In it, Jean Valjean commits a minor crime in order to survive. Judgment is swift and severe, and Valjean is sentenced to many years of hard labor for simply stealing bread. Even after he pays his debt, under the law Valjean is forever a criminal, a number, an enemy of the state. Despite the fact that he has changed – a change brought about by an undeserved act of mercy by a forgiving priest – he runs from his accuser his entire life. His personal battle rages until his accuser no longer remains, and at last Jean Valjean finds redemption he can claim.
The other production was the Pulitzer Prize-winning Rent. The music still runs through my mind, and when it does, I feel the emotions swell all over again. There on that passion-drenched stage I witnessed the pain and the power of a generation in the throes of a pseudorevolution. The intent of this revolution is to secure individuality in a system that screams for conformity and “same” and the personal freedom to live like there is no day but today. Like real revolution, this one, too, is fought to the death.
I watched Rent’s accidental criminals – the neglected, the abandoned, the abused, the ignored – run from their accuser while they screamed and danced and sang and loved as if there were no tomorrow – as if there were only today. In just a few short hours, I witnessed the death of a beautiful Angel and the birth and resurrection of love lost and found again. I watched a drug addict nearly die of AIDS and find a new lease on life again.
I sang along. I know the pain. I felt the love and I cling to the refrain: 525,600 minutes – all the moments that make up a year. The sunrises, the sunsets, the laughter, and the tears. How do you measure a year? How do you measure a life? The cast swelled in one voice that nearly brought me to my knees.
How About Love?
As much as I love the passion of Rent, I can’t help but tally the sum of all that is spent for that which cannot be kept, but only lent. A temporary lease to live in personal freedom for the moment mixed with joy and pain. But the price we pay to live in this temporary place of personal space seems far too great in terms of money, pain, and death – in terms of emptiness and regret.
Too many Angels are dying. Too many friends of all those angels are left crying. And we keep on paying that exorbitant rent till all we have is finally spent. And there we are – with nothing left.
As I watched this musical revolution for personal freedom and acceptance, I felt the blood stir in my veins. I wanted to leap to the stage and at the top of my lungs sing about today. To sing about now and the rent we all must pay to a system that enslaves. As the curtain fell and the cast took their final bows, I wanted to rush forward and throw my arms around every damaged member of that insanely talented crew.
I wanted to remind them that they are loved and accepted – that they always have been (and always well be) for each of the 525,600 minutes in each of the years that each has lived. I wanted to tell all those who had forgotten their Father and the way He intended for them to live and about all the love He has to give. For free.
For you.
For me.
How About Love?
How about love? What is it about love that brings such pain? That hides such pain? That makes so much pain worthwhile? All of the characters in Rent (and most of the characters in life) are looking for love, crying, and ultimately dying for the same – while hoping beyond death someone will remember their name.
We’re Dying In America To Come Into Our Own…
Love and forgiveness are at the center of real revolution. But in Rent, too much is spent on that which cannot be sustained. Personal freedom, which demands so high a price, is only borrowed, not retained. And no matter how powerfully the music swells, in the end the curtain falls, and we are all left alone to face that bright light – the light that the character Angel faced as he/she walked softly into the dark night. Alone.
In the end, all of us must face death alone.
Walk boldly into that sweet light, and you will hear the old refrain: If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. And you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free. In believing this, you will lose your chains, forget your pain, and gain a brand new eternity.
So now, given the opportunity, I had to go. That night was magical... full of passion and pathos and memorable music. The performances were all top-notch, and our seats were amazing. I subsequently bought the cast recording and practically memorized it...
The movie. For fans like me, the movie is a real treat. (Luanne's seen it twice...) It brings back the emotions I experienced when I first heard the music and saw the actors. The best thing for me was being able to really follow the story. Instead of singing everything, the actors speak many of the lines. In the film, there's a greater ability to give the backstory of these characters. For instance, instead of finding out the fate of Allison (Roger's old girlfriend) in one or two lines of a song, we see her life played out on the screen during "One Song Glory." It's a nice touch. There are many moments like this that add clarity. Another scene like was clarified for me was when Roger first makes it to the AIDS support group during the song "Will I?" I love that song... but on stage, I didn't realize the significance of what was happening. The film allows us to see the power of Roger's choosing to accept the support of a loving group.
I was delighted that six of the eight original leading cast members reprised their roles here. I especially liked Anthony Rapp as Mark and Wilson Jermaine Heredia as Angel. The two newcomers, Tracie Thorns as Joanne and Rosario Dawson as Mimi, are, in my opinion, better than the original actors. Of course, I never saw them play these roles, but I much prefer the new voices to the old.
Roger Ebert, a critic whose advice I usually trust, didn't particularly like the film, giving it only 2-1/2 stars. Oh, I suppose he liked it, but he didn't really think it worked in its own right, as a film. I really don't know, since I'm a fan and come to it with a less-than-objective mindset.
Luanne and I bought the soundtrack and have been known to break out into rhapsodic, spontaneous versions of "Seasons of Love" or "Another Day" at unforseen and inexplicable times.
Should you see the film? I don't know. I disagree strongly with the message of the musical: that we should live for today, and that personal freedom is the highest value to aim for. But I resonate with the realistic portrayal of the desperately passionate lives of these "bohemians." My artistic heart longs to join them, to live for now... My Christian heart tells me that there are more days than today, and that living within the Designer God's plans and purposes for me will bring me the most satisfaction and fulfillment.
In the film's big Act One Finale, "La Vie Boheme," the cast basically flips the bird to all convention... organized religion, family structure, etc. They celebrate random things... everything from Sondheim to "mucho masturbation," from Pablo Neruda to sodomy. They even throw in a little line celebrating "hating dear old mom and dad." This scene makes me really sad. What's to celebrate about relationships that have been destroyed? Does anyone really want a poor relationship with their family?
That's the thing about this show. It's desperately sad. In the end, we know we're supposed to live for today and celebrate "seasons of love." That's great, and we leave the theater feeling good and all... but I always sense an undercurrent of sadness, of despair... even in the brightest songs. Because no matter how many times we sing "Viva La Vie Boheme!" in the end, even the bohemian life will die. Only what's done for Christ, only when we live in the light of eternity, will things really matter, will things really last.
And that's about all I have to say about that. Off to see "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" with Josh and Jake!