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Gaston Leroux, the author of the French gothic novel Phantom of the Opera imagined a man trapped for his life inside the bowels of an opera house. As the years passed, he became adept at navigating its hidden nooks and crannies. I’ve been thinking about Leroux’ 1910 novel — which was loosely based on true events — the deeper we’ve gotten into the quarantine.
I’ve begun to compose my own list of the Top 5 places I’d like to haunt for the rest of my days. One day, perhaps, I too will be a phantom:
The Phantom of the Bodega. What’s not to love about this? There are snacks and you get to watch the scene. Sometimes there’s even a cat.
The Phantom of the Brooklyn Public Library. Now that the public isn’t allowed in, it’s quiet enough to read! Only problem is there’s not much to eat besides mice.
The Phantom of the Subway. Now that they’re closing the subway between 1 and 5 a.m., this idea seems like a good one. Only problem is that the civilization that already exists in the tunnels does not look kindly on strangers.
The Phantom of Citi Field. I mean, who wouldn’t want this gig? Once ball season starts again, you can mess around with the scoreboard and sleep inside the home run apple.
The Phantom of the Met. I’m talking about the museum, obviously. Oh, what a place to be a phantom! So much art. Suits of armor. Statues to hide behind. I’d ride around in the chariot at night for sure.
Today’s Film: The Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Few people today remember Gaston Leroux’ novel, The Phantom of the Opera, which is a shame, because it’s a gripping, creepy gothic adventure. Since it was published in 1910, the book has been adapted to film at least 15 times. Leroux’ legacy disappeared, however, in 1986 with the first staging of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s blockbuster musical in London’s West End. It opened on Broadway in 1988, winning the Tony that year for Best Musical, and it has been in production ever since, making it the longest running musical in Broadway history.
There’s a reason for the musical’s enduring popularity. It’s cheesy and melodramatic enough to make sense as a musical, but the electric guitars, timpani and organ make it feel big. It’s a twisted love story, a murder mystery and a meditation on creativity. It also hews somewhat closely to Leroux’ story, so it has good narrative and structural bones as well.
Yet for many years, if you lived in Iowa — or wherever — and wanted to experience Phantom you had to content yourself with lackluster cinematic attempts or make a trip to the Big Apple. That all changed in 2004 with the release of director Joel Schumacher’s The Phantom of the Opera. The movie is simultaneously fantastic and terrible; it has a 33 percent critic approval on Rotten Tomatoes and an 84 percent audience approval. Trust me when I say the audience is right on this.
The movie is ridiculous, in the way that a movie adaptation of a broadway adaptation of a turn of the century French gothic novel should be. There’s smoke! Slow motion shots of people dancing and gasping! Eye makeup and body glitter! Candles that burst from watery grottos pre-lit! Did I mention the slow-mo and smoke?
Schumacher knew what he was doing with this movie. Too slavish of an adaptation of the stage musical, and it would feel dull and static. Too little camp, and it would paradoxically feel silly. The major songs are all shot like MTV music videos, and the leads — Gerard Butler and Emmy Rossum in her first major role — clearly relish the opportunity to ham it up. Few films have been more dedicated to their mission of entertaining first and foremost.
So. Put on your mask, cape and eyeliner. Turn the TV up LOUD. And maybe sing along if you feel like it.
The Phantom of the Opera is available to rent on YouTube and other platforms.
Reading List:
There’s a story in Texas Monthly so crazy you couldn’t make it up. Two ex-spec ops soldiers organized a group of Venezuelan revolutionaries in a poorly thought-out plan to kidnap President Nicolas Maduro and bring him back to the U.S. to claim a $15 million cash reward. They’re currently in a Venezuelan prison, which sounds nice.
Little Richard died over the weekend. He was a musical trendsetter, and David Remnick has a nice piece on him over at The New Yorker.
Benjamin Reeves is an award-winning screenwriter, journalist and media consultant based in Brooklyn, New York.
Follow him on Twitter @bpreeves or write to him at breeves.writer@gmail.com.