Theatre in Review: From Here (Renaissance Theatre Company/Pershing Square Signature Center

	Blake Aburn, Michelle Coben, Jullien Aponte, Devin Skorupski. Photo: Matthew Murphy

Nobody exploits like the sincere. I'm referring to artists who, ready or not, want so much to move an audience, to convince it of the rightness of their causes. They put themselves out there, as vulnerable as all get-out, advocating bravely but without the necessary skill or insight. One sits there, feeling oppressed, wanting to respond affirmatively but instead feeling used. It's a lose-lose situation.

Such thoughts occurred to me at From Here, a new musical that tries, audaciously but ineptly, to make a statement about the 2016 Pulse nightclub shooting. The deadliest mass killing in US history (until then, anyway; our rampant gun culture allows such horror to proliferate), it could be a vehicle for investigating many subjects: gun culture, homophobia, racism (many of the victims were people of color), and the American knack for breeding angry loners who seek psychological release by mowing down as many strangers as possible. It's tricky material for musical theatre and it's putting it mildly that Donald Rupe, author of From Here's book, music, and lyrics (also the production's director) isn't equipped for the job.

From Here breaks down into two parts: a celebration and a memorial. The former introduces the thirtysomething Daniel and his crowd, including Michael, his ex; Jordan, his best female ally; and Ricky, an acquaintance who increasingly looks like boyfriend material. They and their larger circle form a gaggle of cut-and-paste stereotypes living in a kind of adult Romper Room: They constantly call each other "bitch" or "girl," down vodka sodas by the gallon, and live for "Tini-Tuesdays" and "Gayme Night." As for wit, Daniel says, "I guess I'm just another kid with mommy issues. I like to think of it as the gay version of the hit Broadway musical Gypsy. I know, bitch-Gypsy is the gay Gypsy."

Aside from Daniel, a high school teacher about to get fired, nobody seems to have a job. Well, Jordan is a cabaret singer, but with lyrics like "Homos have good chromosomos," I don't think her career is going everywhere. (Her song is about "the gay boys" and "the nosy women," without whom the former would "run around the world collecting cats/Like lesbians and Democrats.") When they aren't partying, everyone indulges in lachrymose ballads about estranged parents, far-away homes, and broken relationships. Daniel, in particular, has big-time problems with his mother Becca who, a) tells him that his father left home out of disgust with his gay son, b) ghosts him for a year, and c) shows up at Jordan's cabaret, surprised that he is upset.

The action comes to a crashing halt when the Pulse shooting happens, and the characters gather, essentially to sit shiva for their murdered friends and acquaintances. This cues plenty of teary memories of Tini-Tuesdays past along with plenty of hugs and I-love-yous. (The show leans hard on the well-worn notion that gay people, deprived of their families, create new ones with their friends.) But this lengthy, weepy, static memorial service is no way to end a show. "To be honest," says Daniel, noting that none of his gang was present that night, "I don't know how to talk about this. In some ways, it feels like it isn't my story to tell." He should have listened to that instinct.

You have to hand it to Blake Aburn, who, as Daniel, must handle endless incidences of direct address that cause the action to drag badly; he also has the impossible task of making something appealing out of a character who is a self-hating, heavy-drinking philanderer. Much better is Omar Cardona, who brings real charm and a stunner of a voice to the role of Ricky. Everyone else is, well, enthusiastic.

If Philip Lupo's set design is basic in the extreme, his lighting is solid, as are J. Marie Bailey's costumes and Matt Craig's sound design. But, even accepting that its intentions are benign, From Here exploits an unspeakable tragedy for easy tears and even easier uplift. (Despite Daniel's insistence that the killings ultimately resulted in a kinder, gentler Orlando, the show says nothing about the recent attempts at building a museum and memorial on the club's site, which have bogged down thanks to stalled fundraising efforts and conflict-of-interest accusations.) Clearly, the victims of this terrible event deserve better. But audiences seem hungry, almost desperate, for experiences that will let them feel good about themselves, so much so that questions of quality get tabled. A woman sitting behind me enthusiastically noted she was there for some "queer-positive entertainment." I guess that's what she got. --David Barbour