A heartfelt ache of unmet dreams in New Rep's 'tick, tick'

September 26, 2007|Stage Review, Sandy MacDonald, Globe Correspondent

WATERTOWN - It's not everyday you get a perfect confluence of material, talent, and venue. But that's precisely the phenomenon now occurring, on a modest scale, in New Rep's alternative Black Box Theater, where three young performers are acing "tick, tick . . . BOOM!," a chamber musical that the late Jonathan Larson conceived on his way to hitting the big time with "Rent."

Larson's death from an aortic aneurysm at age 35, on the eve of the Broadway premiere of "Rent" in 1996, adds poignancy to this autobiographical portrait of Jon (Guy Olivieri), a young waiter/musician agonizing over the prospect of turning 30 without having accomplished any of his artistic goals. Larson himself performed the show, as a solo "rock monologue" with backup by a band, at the Village Gate in 1991. In 2001, colleagues - with an assist from playwright David Auburn ("Proof") - opened the script up to encompass Jon's girlfriend, Susan (Aimee Doherty), and best friend, Michael (Brian R. Robinson), plus a host of passing characters played by the same two actors.

The show doesn't exactly ignite from the get-go. The set is visually uninviting: a window frame, a stoop, a cityscape silhouette (where later, evocative Manhattan slides will flash). Jon's opening song, the birthday lament "30/90," seems the anthem of a puerile whiner. "Get over yourself," you want to say. His girlfriend is kinder, suggesting only, "Breathe."

It doesn't help that Michael, having forsworn his passion for acting in favor of a lucrative career in marketing, is rapidly acquiring symbols of the success that eludes Jon: Gucci belts, a Beemer, an apartment "with the bathtub in the bathroom" (denizens of the pre-trendy SoHo will remember tubs that doubled as dining room tables).

Jon's milieu is the Moonlight Diner (Larson's real-life bread-and-butter gig), where demanding, entitled brunchers occasion the embittered ballad "Sunday," complete with freeze-framed altercations. Meanwhile, Michael has ascended to Victory Towers, where the doorman "looks like Captain Kangaroo." In "No More" (as in "No more walking 13 blocks with 30 pounds of laundry"), the pals slip into a celebratory waltz. "Hello to my walk-in-closet," exults Michael, before planting a kiss on his butcher-block table.

By this point, the disparity in the cast members' vocal capabilities is unmistakable. None of the singers is miked - a commendable choice, especially in so small a space. However, the four-member band is of course amped, and it often overwhelms Olivieri's words (the drummer, especially, needs reining in). Doherty's sound is relatively thin and seems strained, though well articulated. Only Robinson, who has soloed with the Boston Symphony Orchestra, has no trouble projecting; his velvety bass spins out effortlessly.