Theatre in Review: The Jonathan Larson Project (Orpheum Theatre)As the new entertainment at the Orpheum begins, it's impossible not to get choked up. First, we see a video montage of various companies of Rent singing "Seasons of Love," followed by footage of playwright/composer Jonathan Larson at the piano, then news reports of this death, interviews with distraught Rent cast members, and a clip of his sister, Julie, accepting the Tony Award on his behalf. If you were there, and maybe even if you weren't, it's one of the great heartbreakers: A brilliant young talent who, after years of struggle, died one day before his fortunes would be forever transformed. It's the stuff of a bad Hollywood musical, only it really happened. That what-might-have-been feeling looms over The Jonathan Larson Project, a revue consisting of musical ephemera -- songs written for college revues, cabaret acts, or cut from shows -- providing an unforgettable reminder of what we lost on that day in 1995. Staged with gusto by John Simpkins, aided by choreographer Byron Easley, it's both a celebration of a now-vanished downtown scene and an all-too-relevant lament for America in the Reagan/Bush years, mindlessly hopped up on greed and glamour. From the moment Adam Chanler-Berat appears to lead the company in "Greene Street," a jaunty, observant sketch of downtown life, Larson's distinctive voice prevails. With his gift for engaging musical hooks, he surely could have been a successful pop songwriter -- according to a program note, he dreamed of writing for Whitney Houston -- but he was hostage to a bigger vision. "Falling Apart" alludes to apartheid and the racially motivated 1986 murder in Howard Beach. "White Male World" is a time-capsule accounting of the era's obsessions, including Bryant Gumble, Clinique, Madonna, Advil, and Calvin Klein, paced by the then-ubiquitous ad slogan, "Diamonds are Forever." "The Truth is a Lie" is a summing-up of post-truth politics that could have been written yesterday morning. Such statements as "Bensonhurst was a publicity stunt/AIDS is a myth/First Amendment's fake/The sun revolves around the earth/And the Holocaust never took place" are followed by haunting, repeating refrain "Don't look out the window/Don't go to the mirror/Don't you know what you will see?" The mess we're currently in? Clearly, Larson saw it all coming. It's probably inevitable that any collection of early writings and juvenilia will be uneven, and The Jonathan Larson Project is no exception. "The Vision Thing," about the manufacturing of a political candidate, written for a proposed National Lampoon musical, proves that Larson was no satirist. "Casual Sex, Pizza, and Beer," a mildly humorous doodle with oom-pah melody, would have been better left off the program. "Hosing the Furniture," from a proposed revue about the 1939 World's Fair, makes little sense outside its original context. Some numbers are so tied to events from the 1980s that one wonders what the audience will make of them; the ballad "Iron Mike," about the Exxon Valdez disaster, which spewed unimaginable amounts of oil in the waters off Alaska, is compelling if you remember the incident. I wonder how many do. Nevertheless, in song after song, The Jonathan Larson Project offers the sheer excitement of seeing a gifted artist coming into his own, note by note, word by word. It certainly helps that Simpkins' performers are finely tuned into the songwriter's wavelength. Chanler-Berat often seems to stand in for Larson, especially in the lovely, poignant "Rhapsody," about being young, earnest, and lost in the city. (Orchestrator Charlie Rosen backs the song with a gorgeous jazz piano styling.) Lauren Marcus all but burns down the theatre with the mock-blues selection "Break out the Booze." Andy Mientus, whose voice has seemingly deepened and acquired a new luster, makes something special of "Valentine's Day," a slightly dicey character study set in the S&M scene. Jason Tam offers a transcendent reading of "Pura Vida," a stand-alone pop tune blessed with a ravishing melody and a stirring lyric about the fate of humanity. Taylor Iman Jones is briskly efficient all night, biding her time until she blows the roof off the theatre with "Love Heals." Written for an AIDS organization, it is the product of an artist writing with astonishing directness from his wounded heart. It's an evening informed by Larson's idealism and anger, set to distinctive melodies with a deep undertow of longing. Aiding the overall effect is a production design that evokes the New York of the writer's heyday. Michael Schweikardt's two-level set uses projection screens and lighting units as building blocks, creating an alluringly theatrical atmosphere. Alex Basco Koch fills the screens with footage of Manhattan neighborhoods, TV clips, original imagery (like musical notes and staff paper), and shots of Larson at different ages. (An especially touching passage features a video tour of his grungy downtown apartment.) The lighting by Adam Honore and Shannon Clarke, which fills the space on vertical trusses, paces the music with bumps and ballyhoos, creating a quieter, more melancholy mood when needed. Justin Stasiw's sound design unfailingly keeps the voices on top of the music; he is assisted in this by Cynthia Meng's excellent musical direction. Tracy Christensen's costumes are carefully styled to each performer, tweaked just enough to suggest the New York of thirty years ago. It may not be perfect, but The Jonathan Larson Project is an indelible, invaluable record of a talent lost too soon to us, who still has much to say. Cheers to Jennifer Ashley Tepper, for conceiving it, adding to our storehouse of his songs. --David Barbour 
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