A decade ago, a new musical hit Broadway and became the toast of the Tony’s. Rent was a rock operetta about the trials of bohemian friends trying to live for art in the face of foreclosure and HIV. It captured post-grunge with a certain panache and has long been a target for film makers intent on transferring the story to cinema. Emboldened by the success of Chicago, producers handed the project to the G-rated director of Home Alone and Harry Potter, Chris Columbus.

Whether compromised by artistic vision or executive demands is largely immaterial. The result is a disappointing morass of questionable choices, sloppy script-editing and dubious acting. At the core of these problems is the decision to use most of the original cast - inexperienced film actors – and introduce dialogue into a musical that was previously through-sung. Unlike The Producers which made no apology for pointing a camera at the proscenium arch, Rent pretends to be of the real world. Whilst all the world may well be a stage, not much of it is as squarely contrived as this one.

Rent has, among other things, become a victim of its own success. Ten years ago the story was vital and significant; now it’s a quaint recollection of an age that has largely passed. As the film staggers implausibly from scene to scene, this treatment reinforces the fierce and unforgiving satirical knifing the musical suffered in Team America. In fact, that was the best thing about this excruciating version. Apologists will claim that the complicated source material makes for a difficult transfer. That’s like blaming God for a duff version of The Ten Commandments.

// COLIN FRASER