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| The Phantom of the Opera |
Among the many shows in Broadway history, there are few as inescapable as The Phantom of the Opera. With over 13,000 performances to its credit, the show hasn't really gone anywhere since its debut in 1986. But why is that? What makes Andrew Lloyd Webber's tale of love and music, based on the Gaston Leroux novel of the same name, stand out in a field of great shows? The answer is hard to understand if just taking in the cast recordings. It takes going into a theater and witnessing the grandiosity, the melodrama, the self-indulgence that overwhelms the audience to even begin to understand why it works. The Segerstrom Theater for the Arts has offered residents of Southern California a chance to see it once again. Thankfully, the team putting on the show captured everything that has made the show a billion-dollar phenomenon and make it a memorable night out.
As much as the show is about a lavish love triangle, one of the most appealing factors of the show is how it uses theater, onstage and off. The story's tapestry includes a satirical look at operatic performances, full of cheeky performances with onstage theater boxes. The curtain drops several times with characters taking a bow. You'll be forgiven for clapping along even if it's far from intermission. There's a confidence in letting characters in lavish 19th-century outfits and make-up perform for several minutes a number that doesn't matter literally to the story but only gives weight to the rest of the story. This is one of the most famous opera houses with an even more famous story akin to a haunted house. "The Phantom" is haunting the new performance, and the show does an excellent job of conveying his omnipresence despite not physically appearing in the show until midway through the first act.
There's a tension to introducing The Phantom, whose real name is Erik (Derrick Davis). He lives a lonely life underneath the theater and has an affection for new performer Christine (Emma Grimsley). Before he expresses his love for Christine, he is felt throughout the set design. Backdrops fall, candles blaze in firey rage, and his shadow appears seven feet high on the sides of walls. His intimidating voice echoes not only throughout the theater onstage but also throughout the real one. The sound design in the show is exceptionally used and helps to create a bigger mythology of Erik as not only a person but also a fear. There's a nerve-wracking mystery to who this phantom is, and it culminates in one of the finest musical motifs in Broadway history. Whereas the show uses more gentle melodies done on classical strings for every other character, The Phantom is given the clang of an organ, aggressive from the first note as it echoes throughout the room and rattles every member of the audience. In one of the few idiosyncrasies in the score, there's an electric guitar whose rebellious spirit perfectly clashes with our perception of security in the artificial world of the stage theater.
To love The Phantom of the Opera is to give in to the theater as a concept. While every note is sung with so much passion, there's also a sense of camp in even the show's best moments. Erik literally enters most scenes with his clanging organ preceding him. It's a soapbox moment akin to the timeless "dun-dun-dun!" Even the romance seems a bit silly given the lack of deeper character development until the second act. However, those willing to be taken by the towering production design and the gentility of the now-classic "The Music of the Night" will understand why it works. The slow deconstruction of theater may be self-indulgent and full of cheap shots (Erik at one point insults the entire theater staff in "Notes/Twisted Every Way"), but it's only one piece of the bigger puzzle. The show is about giving in to the impulse, appreciating basic emotions, and allowing the imperfections to entertain. Webber's masterpiece is, after all, a deconstruction of theater as a form of escapism. The show could be better written, but that would take something out of the heartwrenching moments that come through in moments like "All I Ask of You." It's the right level of sloppy.
With that said, there's so much effort that goes into making the show something next-level. Each performer has a vocal challenge that is at times harrowing. The titular song features so many powerful moments of Christine merely holding a note as Erik walks around a room of candles. The stage transitions are at times staggering, managing to turn a spiraling staircase into a theater almost simultaneously. There's never a dull moment in the show. If the story hits a lull, it's a chance to take in the scenery that feels expertly crafted, with many elaborate props being designed for one scene. If the show isn't great (which it is), it feels like every penny was thrown into making this a spectacle for the audience. It's a maximalist masterpiece where even the performers seem to be perfectly designed for the show (the 11-day run at Segerstrom has FOUR actresses playing Christine). Again, the show is silly if you think too hard about parts of it, but the whole point is to be taken in by the potential of theater. While there have arguably been better shows, few have incorporated the medium's potential quite like this.
Davis as Erik gives a great performance, especially in the story's closing moments. It's at points gut-wrenching as the themes turn into revelations. Still, it's the power of melodrama, where a basic love story is given a chance to find something deeper about the characters. The symbolism is rich as Davis performs vocal gymnastics, trying to make sense of his place in life. If the allure of theater has hypnotized the audience, the quietness that follows will be even more powerful than The Phantom's motif that jolted the audience at the start of the show. Where this man was a mythic force, he now lays his actual soul bare in one last effort. It's true that Christine has some of the best performative moments in the show, but the real emotional crux remains Erik stumbling through a messy conclusion. His life is now a mess, but there's something beautiful about it. For any fault that the show has, it ends with a tender earnestness that wipes those concerns away, leaving the audience with a lot to think about.
Why is The Phantom of the Opera the longest-running show in Broadway history? To some extent, it's that it embodies the very essence of what a show should have. It has the theatrics with a production design that feels like its own Rube Goldberg machine. The performers have voices that cut through to the audiences' emotional core. So much of the show feels silly and melodramatic, but it's escapism at its core. It's okay to get caught up in a love story with a straightforward message. It's okay to clap along to a fake opera performance 20 minutes into the show, or fear The Phantom when his shadow appears on the wall. The show's reputation definitely helps it stand out, but at the end of the day, it works because of how rare it feels. There are dozens of musicals per year that have come out since, but few have looked at the stage and questioned its potential quite like this. It may not be the best story, but it's the best example of how theater can captivate audiences, allowing them to feel comfortable to laugh, cry, and even groan without feeling cheap. If anything, it's a reward to find the cheese in this magnificent achievement.
Davis as Erik gives a great performance, especially in the story's closing moments. It's at points gut-wrenching as the themes turn into revelations. Still, it's the power of melodrama, where a basic love story is given a chance to find something deeper about the characters. The symbolism is rich as Davis performs vocal gymnastics, trying to make sense of his place in life. If the allure of theater has hypnotized the audience, the quietness that follows will be even more powerful than The Phantom's motif that jolted the audience at the start of the show. Where this man was a mythic force, he now lays his actual soul bare in one last effort. It's true that Christine has some of the best performative moments in the show, but the real emotional crux remains Erik stumbling through a messy conclusion. His life is now a mess, but there's something beautiful about it. For any fault that the show has, it ends with a tender earnestness that wipes those concerns away, leaving the audience with a lot to think about.
Why is The Phantom of the Opera the longest-running show in Broadway history? To some extent, it's that it embodies the very essence of what a show should have. It has the theatrics with a production design that feels like its own Rube Goldberg machine. The performers have voices that cut through to the audiences' emotional core. So much of the show feels silly and melodramatic, but it's escapism at its core. It's okay to get caught up in a love story with a straightforward message. It's okay to clap along to a fake opera performance 20 minutes into the show, or fear The Phantom when his shadow appears on the wall. The show's reputation definitely helps it stand out, but at the end of the day, it works because of how rare it feels. There are dozens of musicals per year that have come out since, but few have looked at the stage and questioned its potential quite like this. It may not be the best story, but it's the best example of how theater can captivate audiences, allowing them to feel comfortable to laugh, cry, and even groan without feeling cheap. If anything, it's a reward to find the cheese in this magnificent achievement.
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