RENT
Book, music and lyrics by Jonathan Larson
directed by Luke Sheppard
Tom Stoppard Theatre, London – booking until 29 May 2026
running time: 2 hours 45 minutes including interval
Time has been pretty kind to Rent. Twenty years after its shatteringly successful New York debut, the original impact heightened by creator Jonathan Larson’s shockingly sudden death aged just 36 on the eve of the show’s first off-Broadway preview, it still has the power to propel audiences out of their seats into a spontaneous ovation. The ongoing appeal of Rent isn’t surprising; the source material -the sentimental tragedy of Puccini’s La Bohème– has been pleasing crowds for generations. In reimagining that story of struggling artists and terminal illness to New York’s grungy, AIDS-shadowed East Village in the 1990s, Larson fashioned a score of spine-tingling bangers, melodically profligate and drenched in adrenaline and raw emotion, and a gallery of characters that have become iconic down the years.
‘Rent-heads’ is the affectionate term coined for super-fans of this epoch-making rock tuner, and Luke Sheppard’s electrifying thirtieth anniversary production -based on, but significantly upgraded from, his pre-pandemic staging at Manchester’s Hope Mill Theatre- is likely to create a whole new generation of them. Sure, some aspects of the story have dated, such as the idea of AIDS being a death sentence (people really are now “living with, not dying from, disease” thank God), and the ‘cyber-arts’ these penniless creatives are so passionately opposed to, have now become worryingly normalised.
But the belief in community, friendship, and “no day but today” remains movingly relevant and urgent. Additionally, the proliferation and acceptance of same-sex relationships makes Larson’s Bohemians feel less outlandish to your average, enlightened straight folks than they perhaps once did, ditto the raising of the profile of drag in mainstream entertainment.
Then there’s the music, oh God the music! Rent is a feast of pulse-quickening, eye-moistening beauty, by turns thunderously exciting then lyrical and transporting; arguably the finest rock score ever created for the stage. There are hints of reggae, disco, r’n’b, emo, even a cheeky reference to Puccini, all served up with a grandiose theatricality that leaves us breathless with delight. Is it a little overwrought at times? Sure, but so is grand opera, and in many ways Rent is nearer to that extravagant art form than to traditional musical theatre.
The score has seldom, if ever, sounded better than in this production. Not only is every voice magnificent, but technology has sufficiently advanced in the last three decades so that, finally, in Paul Gatehouse’s sound design, the show is satisfyingly, bone-shakingly loud but you catch almost every harmony and lyric. Even the show’s biggest UK fans (and I’m guilty as charged) can pretend that some of the original Shaftesbury production didn’t turn into aural soup whenever multiple people were singing.
This new Rent is such an embarrassment of riches it’s hard to know where to begin. The first iteration for Hope Mill was already good (and introduced a newly graduated Tom Francis as tortured singer-songwriter Roger) but this version builds on that and also serves as a useful demonstration of how Sheppard has developed as a director during the intervening years. Every character is clearly delineated and reminted, while still honouring the unforgettable original creations. So much of the show is chaotic but it’s always clear where we should be paying attention. The semi-immersive setting, which has audience onstage and cast entering and exiting up and down the aisles of the theatre, lends a sense of intimacy, immediacy and, at times, danger. A central revolve is used sparingly but potently. This is propulsive, top level work that matches and builds upon the gritty vitality of Michael Greif’s first staging.
Tom Jackson Greaves’ choreography has a sinewy desperation and hard, rhythmic intensity that is extremely compelling, and at times downright inspirational: the explosion of movement in the segue from the heartfelt but static cri de coeur of a group of AIDS sufferers (“will I lose my dignity / will someone care / will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare”) into the messy nocturnal prowling of chemically strung-out dancer Mimi (Alexa Lopez in a star-making turn) is as thrilling as it’s unexpected. It also feels completely organic…the dancing is consistently strong but it feels like real people vibrating and gyrating at the extremes of their existences, which is so very Rent.
With its fencing, neon signage, scattered chairs, multitudes of TV screens, shrines of candles suspended half way up walls, photographers umbrella doubling as the moon, and strings of fairy lights stretching out and around the auditorium, David Woodhead’s set evokes the makeshift, artsy glamour of ‘90s New York at its seediest. Gabriella Slade’s costumes match this aesthetic perfectly, and the whole thing is lit with plenty of dazzle and drama by Howard Hudson. Katy Richardson’s band, perched behind the onstage seating, play up an absolute storm, with Bill Sherman’s orchestrations and Steve Skinner’s arrangements unerringly finding the sweet spot between rock music and theatre. Technically, the show is flawless.
So is the casting, some of which is among the very best I’ve ever seen in the lead roles: Alexa Lopez makes an incendiary UK debut as Mimi, making fully convincing in a way few of her predecessors have, both the feral drug addict and erotic dancer, and the frightened, vulnerable child. Opposite her, Travis Ross embodies Roger’s restless, broken heart and hopelessness with rare conviction. Gaten Matarazzo finds exactly the right mixture of cute chumminess and detachment as film maker Mark (his and Roger’s ultimate, roof-raising duet of grim acceptance, ‘What You Own’, is staged here like a boxing match without the physical punches, and is tremendously clear and effective).
Danielle Fiamanya’s lawyer Joanne, funny, warm and fierce, is absolutely wonderful: she soars vocally and also finds unexpected seams of humour in the role. Lazy Violet nails performance artist Maureen’s unique mixture of self-absorption, kookie kindness, and steel. Billy Nevers’ iconoclast and academic Collins is vividly benign with a suitably wild streak, and a voice that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Jeevan Braich, in a really lovely turn, embodies every contradictory facet we are told about drag queen and street musician, but perhaps most of all just how appropriate their name is. Joaquin Pedro Valdes, in another cracking performance, conveys newly moneyed Benny’s exasperation with his former friends, his ruthlessness but also, unusually and crucially, how much love he still has for them. I’ve never seen his tranche of the story make so much sense before.
That’s just one detail in a production packed with them, making a now-canonical musical feel fresh and enthralling once again. This Rent has its roots in the 1990s but Sheppard and his team make it resonate powerfully in the here and now. An incandescent, unforgettable night where, as always with this musical, the catharsis and exhilaration is tempered slightly by the sad thought that we’ll never know what Jonathan Larson might have gone on to achieve. Don’t even think about missing it.
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