November 25, 2000
Rent
So. Finally, after having bought my ticket months ago, I got to go see Rent today. Some folks might remember I got hooked on the music about six months ago or so (yeah, I'm late jumping on this particular bandwagon). When I heard it was coming back to Detroit, I knew I was going to get there, come hell or high water. So when tickets went on sale, I bought one. So how was it?
In a word: amazing. When I bought my ticket, ages and ages ago, I was really excited because I thought I had a great seat. Main floor, fifth row. When I got to the theatre -- hang on. Let me digress a moment about the theatre. The Detroit Opera House is in Detroit's theatre district, which has been undergoing a bit of a renaissance over the past ten or so years. The DOH itself, like several of the big theatres downtown, is an old, old theatre that has only recently been renovated and reopened. It is, to put it mildly, baroque. It's so amazingly ornate inside, it's almost dizzying to see. The area of town itself is fairly decent, as long as you don't wander out of the theatre district. This is why I went to a matinee performance. Yes, I went by myself.
Anyway, end of digression. I get to my seat, and I end up feeling more than a touch disappointed. While I am in the fifth row, I'm all the way over on the very farthest right-hand aisle of the theatre. The way the stage set is made up, I could only see about three-quarters of the stage. To further aggravate me, there were four rows of portable seats that had been placed where the orchestra would normally be, and over half of them were empty. The orchestra (really more a rock band) for Rent is onstage with the performers, allowing the orchestra pit to be used for some additional (and VERY CLOSE) seating.
I had resigned myself to my rather substandard view, when about ten minutes before the show started, an usher (who I'd noticed moving up the aisle talking to the patrons) stopped at my seat and said, "Since your view is obstructed, would you like to move to the red velvet seats in the orchestra?" Well that was a no-brainer. I sort of blinked and grinned and said, "Really?" She said yes, then showed me up front -- where I sat in the fourth row, dead center stage. I was ten feet from the stage. No more than that. I had, without a doubt, one of the best seats in the house. All because I got stuck with a kinda crappy seat. I was ecstatic.
I found out from chatting with the usher that those same seats, the first two rows, at least, are reserved, and the tickets only go on sale two hours before the performance. She said the people sitting in them had camped out overnight to get one of the 36 seats available. "It's sort of a reward for the people who are huge fans of the show," she explained. I thought that was kinda cool. The other two rows, including the one I was sitting in, were reserved for the people who ended up, like me, with a blocked view of the stage.
Then the show started. If you're completely cut off from anything theatrical, you probably don't know the story, there's a better synopsis on the official site than I could come up with. The show is more than the story, though. Even just listening to the music as much as I did didn't give me the full effect. Every time I see a live show, I always get reminded how much I love live performances. I don't see enough of them. The energy was unbelievable, especially since I was surrounded by die-hard fans. We clapped, we yelled, we screamed. It was a combination Broadway musical and rock concert.
The show is truly a theatre geek's dream. The set and staging are so sparse, all of your attention gets focused on the actors. The opening of the second act, "Seasons of Love", consists of the actors simply lined up across the front of the stage singing the song. I was so close, I was making eye contact with them as they sang. That was amazing. It's worth mentioning that two-thirds of the main characters are HIV-positive, and during the second act, one of them, Angel, dies. I cried. No, I bawled . I sat there in the dark hearing sniffles all around me and knew I wasn't the only one. At his funeral, the entire cast reprises "Seasons of Love", with the same staging as the first time -- exactly the same. The space in the line where Angel stood at the beginning of the act is left empty. That one bit of staging, so very simple and subtle, said so much to me about what exactly AIDS means, and made me cry all over again.
All in all, it was everything I'd hoped it would be and more. Sure, there were a few glitches here and there. Phones didn't ring when they were supposed to once or twice, someone flubbed a line or lyrics once or twice, snow didn't quite fall when it was supposed to. It was never anything noticeable unless you knew the show. And the flubs, combined with how close I was to the actors, made it that much more real. These were live people in front of me. Watching these people sing and dance and act in front of me was so powerful. I'm not able to find the words.
I miss it. I wondered, during intermission, if my life might have gone that way. That if I'd pressed and worked and stayed with it, if I might not have ended up in a touring company somewhere, doing some show. I wanted to, once upon a time. When I was high school, that's what I wanted more than anything else. Too many voices talked me out of it. "You're too fat." "It's too hard." "You'll never make a living at it." "It's too uncertain." "You need something to fall back on." Nobody, but nobody , ever said, "You're not talented enough."
A part of my heart will always be on a stage somewhere, despite years away from it and years of insecurity and doubt and a now-growing stage-fright. I think that's why I always want to go see shows like this, to visit that little bit of my heart I lost so long ago. For that three hours in the darkness, I'm complete.
Posted by Lisa at November 25, 2000 07:13 PM"Seasons of Love", lyrics and music by Jonathan Larson
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?
In daylights -- In sunsets
In midnights -- In cups of coffee
In inches -- In miles
In laughter -- In strife
In -- Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?
How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love
Seasons of love
Seasons of love
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Journeys to plan
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life
Of a woman or a man?
In truths that she learned
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned
Or the way that she died
It's time now - to sing out
Tho' the story never ends
Let's celebrate
Remember a year in the life of friends
Remember the love
Remember the love
Remember the love
Measure in love
Measure, measure your life in love
Seasons of love ...
Seasons of love
