“Tick, Tick… Boom!,” Jonathan Larson’s semi-autobiographical musical, is a perfectly imperfect work — a scrappy, deeply personal and rough-hewn story about a theatre writer trying to break through in the early ‘90s. And perfectly imperfect as well is the show’s latest revival, which opened Saturday at Alumnae Theatre, a production brimming with imagination and youthful energy.
Larson’s one-act musical centres on Jon (Joshua Kilimnik), who, on the cusp of turning 30, is still looking for his big break. He waits tables at a New York City diner by day and writes his shows by night (or whenever he has a burst of inspiration). His best friend, Michael (Misha Sharivker), however, has traded in that bohemian lifestyle for a stable, cushy job in marketing. Meanwhile, Jon’s girlfriend, Susan (Diana Del Rosario), wants to quit the big city altogether.
“Tick, Tick… Boom!” is a tale of artistic sacrifice. Jon can feel his biological clock ticking away. He knows he’s only growing older and he’s desperate to write just one successful musical. But in his pursuit of that goal, he also pushes away those closest to him.
Anyone familiar with Larson’s personal story knows that this theatrical self-portrait hinges on a sad piece of dramatic irony that even he could never have foreseen. After Larson completed “Tick, Tick… Boom!,” he did indeed go on to write a musical that would change the face Broadway: “Rent.” However, Larson never got to see that work become the cultural phenomenon it is now; he died just hours before its first off-Broadway performance in 1996, from an aortic aneurysm at age 35.
“Tick, Tick… Boom!” largely succeeds the way it does because that fact is lodged in the back of our minds as we watch Jon’s story unfold. And it adds an underlying sense of tension to the narrative. Like when Jon sings in the opening number “30/90”…
Why can’t you stay 29
Hell, you still feel like you’re 22
Turn thirty, 1990
Bang! You’re dead
What can you do?
… it’s hard to process those lyrics without a lump forming in your throat. It sure does in mine each time I hear that song.
However, objectively speaking and assessed on its own terms, the musical isn’t faultless. Momentum sags about halfway through, while the secondary characters of Michael and Susan are more like sketches rather than fully developed roles. (I think much of these issues stem from when script consultant David Auburn expanded the musical from a solo show into a work for three actors, following Larson’s death.) And while the show’s electro-rock melodies are invigorating, some of Larson’s trite, overly sentimental lyrics serve as a reminder that “Tick, Tick… Boom!” was very much a sophomoric effort from a writer who still had so much else to give.
These issues don’t really matter, though, when you watch this revival by the indie company Bowtie Productions, performed with such heart and respect for the material. Kilimnik possesses a radiant voice, capturing both Jon’s desperation and vulnerability. As Michael and Susan, Del Rosario and Sharivker offer solid support, while each has moments in the spotlight.
None of the three performers looks even close to their characters’ ages. But their youthfulness adds another tragic layer to the musical: their versions of Jon, Michael and Susan are still so young, yet they’re already feeling so disillusioned by the world around them.
Director Meredith Shedden’s small-budget production is inventive and imaginative, turning what could be a static show into something that’s always kinetic yet never overly busy. A number involving Jon and Susan arguing over the phone, for instance, is staged here as a choreographed duet, with tangled telephone cords criss-crossing the stage.
“Tick, Tick… Boom!,” long overshadowed by “Rent,” only emerged into mainstream consciousness following Lin-Manuel Miranda’s film adaptation in 2021, starring Andrew Garfield. I thoroughly enjoyed that version, particularly Steven Levenson’s screenplay, which fixed most of the issues in the original script.
But I appreciated this new Toronto production even more, faults and all. It’s far less polished than Miranda’s big-budget, Netflix-backed film. Yet it’s this exact grittiness that makes it feel all the more true to the original material.
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