The Pulitzer-winning show about gender-fluid bohemians in a time of pandemic is back. As Rent hits Manchester, the original cast remember its barrierbusting magic β and its tragic, visionary creator.
W hen a new production of the musical Rent opens in Manchester this month, it will provide proof of two kinds of endurance. The first is that of the theatrical community. Social-distancing restrictions have forced the Hope Mill theatre to halve its capacity and to install plastic screens between audience members from different households.
All seats sold out within 48 hours but online streaming tickets are still available. On the day when a government advertisement encouraged unemployed ballet dancers to consider retraining in cyber security, the cast were busy rehearsing the scene in which Maureen rails against performance spaces being closed and replaced by Cyberland.
I wish you were here to see this. Awkward-looking but adorable as fuck. He was writing a contemporary musical and honouring a group of people he knew very well who were suffering and dying in the Aids crisis.
The music itself felt radical, too, introducing a youthful MTV energy into a landscape dominated by cobwebbed monoliths. Whereas reading Rent and hearing the music, I felt for the first time that here was something that spoke to me and my generation. I was a club kid. I knew these characters. Many of the cast members felt validated by this show with diversity in its DNA.
