Searching for soul
Phantom delivers on magic, but misses the heart
BUFFY COWTAN
At exactly fi ve minutes to 10 a.m., one Saturday last May, I sat in front of my computer. My Visa to one side, I repeatedly clicked on the “refresh” button of the Ticketmaster “Phantom comes to Winnipeg” page. Ten minutes and a hundred dollars later, I had a tenth-row ticket to see the longest running musical in Broadway history.
Nearly fi ve months later, all my waiting cumulated in me leaving the Concert Hall with a feeling of “huh?”
It’s not that the show wasn’t good — it was. I love Webber, in all his Technicolor-coated, feline glory. The sets, costumes and infamous stage magic that have made Phantom endure are out in full force in this run. Dry ice, candles that rise from nowhere, disappearing characters — as the six-year-old sitting in front of me put it: “sweet.”
And the casting was certainly a big step up from our average Winnipeg fare. Adam Monley’s portrayal of Raoul was extraordinary, and Marni Raab and John Cudia bring power and fi nesse, proving them to be more than worthy of their roles as Christine and the Phantom.
Anyone who loves the show will not be disappointed. However, there was something missing — something I couldn’t put my finger on until long after the chandelier had come crashing down . . . .
The Phantom of the Opera follows a young, talented ingénue, Christine Daae, whose career takes a dramatic turn for the better after she begins taking lessons from a shadowy, mysterious figure.
Her teacher is soon revealed to be the infamous Phantom of the Opera, whose obsessive love for Christine is both touching and terrible. Meanwhile, Christine rediscovers Raoul, her childhood sweetheart, and the two become engaged. The Phantom is furious, and a battle for Christine’s love ensues.
Or at least, that’s what’s supposed to happen. Last night there was some vital element missing from the performance — some sense of the relationship the Phantom and Christine might have been able to have, were it not for his terrible deformity and self-infl icted banishment. If he becomes too monstrous, too vilified, his humanity is lost.
Christine should be drawn to the Phantom, enchanted by his genius and dark sensuality. Without that draw, she can’t be torn between these two men. If she loves both of them, her decision is heart-wrenching. If the phantom’s just a creepy, fi xated man, the decision is easy (unless you’re into that kind of thing . . . ).
I have always separated the world into two halves: those who cheer for the Phantom, and those who cheer for Raoul. True, there’s a third half that’s never seen Phantom of the Opera, and a fourth half that just doesn’t care, but fourth halves are where broad statements get tricky, so I tend to draw the line.
Until last night, I had always counted myself unquestionably on the Phantom’s side.
Now, I’m not denying that the recent fi lm version may have something to do with this (Gerard Butler is a very attractive man — mask or no mask) but regardless, I always cried for the terrible life the Phantom’s deformity had forced him to lead. Last night there were many dry eyes in the house — and two of them were mine.
When I got home and removed the unused Kleenex from my purse, I couldn’t help but feel just a little ripped off . Someone had taken the musical I loved and cheapened it. No messy love triangle, no heart-breaking decision . . . and no tears.
Oh well, there’s always Cats.
