The Rent Quonundrum, Conclusion

As it turns out, Paul ultimately decided to participate in the Rent excursion, but a couple of his friends from Bible study dropped out for aforementioned reasons. This meant he had an extra ticket, which naturally fell to me since: a) I love musicals (I know, how cliché: a gay guy who enjoys musical theater); and b) I had helped convince him going to see it as a Christian wasn't necessarily wrong. As an added bonus, these friends felt responsible to pay for their seats since they had already committed, so I enjoyed Anthony Rapp and Adam Pascal gratis. (So if you happen to be reading this, "thank you" to Paul's legalistic friends.)

Some commentators have asserted that Rent, which opened on Broadway in 1996, has now in 2009 lost the edginess that added to its allure. Probably its own success helped make once-taboo topics like homosexuality more mainstream for Broadway (think Spring Awakening). I have to admit that yes, Larson's magnum opus felt a little quaint--like an early 1990s period piece--in my most recent viewing, but this time it stirred something within me that I hadn't previously felt from the drama.

Readers familiar with Rent may suspect that "I'll Cover You," the love song between the show's two gay characters, was what elicited my maudlin response.

Actually, it was "Will I," a song about uncertainty, about searching for significance. It's sung at first by Angel, then Life Support, a group dealing with HIV/AIDS, and finally the entire cast joins in rounds, thereby broadening the scope and suggesting that these are questions all humanity asks. Spare lyrics, but powerful:

Will I lose my dignity?
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow
from this nightmare?

I'm HIV negative (thankfully), but even so--to hear my own concerns and fears vocalized by another young, gay man was both evocative and surreal. I could empathize with that character because part of his struggle is mine. And, in turn, I could understand myself better because I understood that character.

The other powerful moment for me during the play was at the end of "Without You." Three beds occupy the stage, each occupied by a couple, one gay, one lesbian, one straight. The rhetorical question being asked is simple, but powerful: what's the difference between them? Why should one kind of love be privileged or accepted over another?

Then I wondered, Is the scene asking this question, or am I?