I have seen Andrew Lloyd Webber's
The Phantom of the Opera on stage three times now. The first time I was seven, and so deeply in love with Colm Wilkinson, and so totally bored whenever he wasn't onstage that the whole evening is mostly a loud, chandelier swinging, cape swirling blur in my memory. The second time, I was twenty-two, in university, suicidally depressed, and cried most of the way through the show. The third time was about a month-and-a-half ago, at the age of 24, in London, and so in love with my boyfriend that he could have taken me to see the Sound of Music and I would have smiled all the way through the show.
(Note to my boyfriend if he reads this: please do not take me to see the Sound of Music)
I did a minor in Drama in university, which included several performance courses, and I can tell you that nothing makes you lose appreciation for Broadway musical-style acting than actually learning to act.
Still, anything Phantom (including
this) is automatically granted a warm and cozy little nook in my otherwise desolate heart. Age and education have just given me the ability to criticize it (along with all my other loved ones) with greater sophistication, and enthusiasm.
I wanted to adore the Phantom in London, I really did. It was Phantom! In London! Where it all began! Sorta! Then I remembered that I'm pretty sure Phantom was a fluke, and the Canadian cast was a giant fluke, and I actually dislike nearly everything else of Andrew Lloyd Webber's that I've ever heard, and that he picked the original London cast.
If you couldn't tell by my opening paragraphs, I often find acting in Broadway musicals to be, at best, cartoony and annoying, and at worst, unforgivably awful, but one thing that really struck me when I saw the Joel Schumacher film in 2004, and then the stage production in 2007, is that Phantom is particularly vulnerable to what I like to call the Jim Henson School of Acting.
Bulging eyes and flailing arms aside, based on the delivery of both the Phantom and Christine in the London production, I can only assume the script was given to them typed as follows:
DAMN You, youlittle PRYING PANDORa!I don't recall if Colm Wilkinson and Rebecca Caine were also guilty of emoting via Kermit flail, mainly because I was seven. What I remember well, however, are their voices, and while I would rate the 2007 stage production as a solid "Meh", there were aspects of the singing in the London production that actively annoyed me.
My biggest issue was with Christine. I feel that, in a production of
Phantom, when you find yourself vastly preferring Carlotta's voice, something is wrong. I sang for many years, and while I wouldn't call myself an expert, to my inexpert ears, it sounded like the role was just a touch out of her range. The only song low enough for her was "Past the Point of No Return", during which her voice was magnificent, but all the famous emo-ballads sounded breathy, weak, and disappointing. The Phantom, on the other hand, sounded like the lead singer of Trans-Siberian Orchestra, occasionally punctuating his lines with a hoarse seal bark, likely for dramatic effect, but making him sound like he was trying to cough up a chicken bone. I will, however, fully cop to being biased, since I am of the unwavering belief that Colm Wilkinson's voice is the Second Coming of Christ.
For all my gripes, the production was hardly bad. The cast certainly seemed to be into their roles, which, while not preventing me from complaining entirely, makes me at least feel a teensy bit bad about it. The production had hands-down the best Carlotta and Raoul I've ever seen. The set was beautiful, of course, and I noted with pleasure that someone, at some point, decided to finally replace that vaguely neon-ish torn curtain from the beginning, which had long ago stopped saying, "
Phantom", and now merely said, "80s". Her Majesty's Theatre is beautiful, and suits the production, and the fancy programs sold there were the only thing in London I didn't have to get a bank loan to afford, which made me happy because now I have both a souvenir from London, and a fancy program from every time I've seen
Phantom.
Hey, it's Phantom, and like the self-published fanfic novels, the nonsensical foreign movies, the poor lip synching, the questionable casting choices, and the insipid melodrama, I still loved and will continue to love the London production until the day my stupid offspring finally toss my old and withered corpse to the wolves.
I'll just continue to question why.
COMING UP ON THE GRIPE NETWORK:
Phantom 2: Electric Bugaloo.
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