tick, tick...BOOM!

tick, tick...BOOM! ★★★★★

tick tick tick ...

picture me, a tiny little girl, listening to my dad's jesus christ superstar record, following along with the printed out lyrics with my tiny little finger, thinking about trials and tribulations.

tick tick tick ...

cut to me, cuddled up on the couch in the blue earth street house, watching my well-worn vhs tape of the pbs concert of into the woods. i know the witch's every single word, but i'm afraid of the giant's mother. i'm only six and i wish i was little red.

tick tick tick ...

middle school sleepovers, handwritten notebooks filled with newsies fanfiction. the tape is rewound and watched for hours on end, and we decide if we want to live in santa fe or brooklyn and we memorize the dance to seize the day.

tick tick tick ...

i'm in musical after musical growing up, at the community theater or at the university in town or in my high school. i'm molly in annie, thrown into a laundry bin and told i look like an orphan. i'm amaryllis in music man, i'm in schwartz and rogers and hammerstein and stage makeup and aquanet and tights. it's all my dream come true

tick tick tick ...

i download napster and i download la vie boheme. my teenage brain wonders and wonders about bustelo and marlboro and uta and buddha and pablo neruda, too. she's deep in it now and she signs up for messages boards for compulsive bowlers and starts a long long love affair with broadway bootlegs and mark understudies and late night instant messanger conversations and christmas eves at 9 pm eastern standard time.

i make friends across the country, i get to fly to new york so many times to stage door at the neder, i camp out and i sit front row, and i cry cry and cry watching angel appearing and i have my grandma knit me mark's scarf, i have my mom drive me to barnes to buy my rent bible, i get phone calls when i'm back in minnesota from friends sitting in lotto seats, their early-00s cell phones sitting on their laps so i can hear joshua as roger singing halloween. i frame my stage door pictures, i update my livejournal, and years later i invite these same friends to my wedding.

i sit in the backseat of my parent's van on the way to a family vacation up north, my headphones plugged into my discman, the cd skipping as raul wails fuck 30/90. i'm only 17 and i think fuck 30/90. i look out the window, dreaming of a life in new york city that i've wanted as long as i've ever known my own personality. i cry thinking of what we missed because of jonathan's passing, i cry thinking of the back alley at the neder, my little name written in black sharpie, wishing i was on the other side of it all.

there's absolute no way that i could come into this movie without a bias. lin is lin, but one thing i know is that i could trust him with taking this seriously for the people like me, with finding the manic theater kid energy in the moondance diner, with giving ttb everything it deserves on film. with bebe and bernadette and little red and joel grey and an obc reunion of rent and --

now i'm 36 and my own 30/90 is so far past and i'm in a lingering pandemic and i'm crying at my desk, the day before thanksgiving, watching this -- my 300th movie of the year -- instead of working. how do i still know every word to therapy? i have a presentation to give before our vp and president and ceo in an hour, but i've been watching this, the old testament for rentheads who are now edging past their sell by date. the ones who understand why the voice of sondheim means so much and the ones who stayed up late, thinking how to make "no day but today" their life goal, no matter if they were in times square or middle america. how much of my life have i dedicated to loving rent, and in turn, tick tick boom? how many of my friendships, of my life choices, of my skills and interests are thanks to jonathan larson? there's no way i wouldn't love this movie, i just wish i had a message board thread to go post on about it. letterboxd will have to do.

tick tick tick ...

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