Phantom of the Opera Closed and I’m Way Too Emotional About It
When I was in high school, I wore a lot of rings.
There’s no real reason why beyond thinking they were pretty, but it felt cool to always have them on. As someone who grew up reading a million different books about magic jewelry, wearing the same things every day felt like having my own private amulets. I only kept 2 of the 6 rings from those years: one a family heirloom, the other a mini carving of the Phantom of the Opera’s mask.
There’s nothing new to say about the material elements of Phantom (cast, costumes, set, music, etc.) We all know being in that theater is the closest thing to magic, and we all know that it’s pretty to listen to. I always said Phantom is the one Broadway show everybody deserves to see, because it’s the ultimate demonstration of what live theatre is capable of, and that opinion hasn’t changed. Today, I want to briefly talk about the story of the opera ghost (heretofore referred to as “Erik”) and how he moved me. Like most bright-eyed theatre kids, I fell in love with Phantom at a very early age, listening to the soundtrack at age 8 and seeing the show for the first and only time at age 10. I built bridges with people on Erik’s back, wrote stories about handsome bad boys living under AMCs, drew mechanical-armed Madame Girys and gear-bedecked Carlottas in my steampunk phase. As a lonely child still learning what it was to feel, Erik made me feel seen, heard, and understood.
At 23, the story means something different. Christine’s feelings and motivations make a lot more sense, the background characters add more zest, the suspense/horror elements stand out, and most of all, my once perfect romance is anything but. I now see Erik for the manipulative and terrifying character he truly is, and wonder how I ever could have identified with someone like that. Then I remember that’s the whole point. We love Phantom because we are the Phantom. We begin as children, and we end as adults. We take what we think belongs to us in Act I, and we let it go in Act II. We think we have an epic tale of star-crossed lovers, but really we have a surprisingly poignant story about maturing out of toxicity and moving on. The love stays true, but how we love it grows with us.
The Phantom of the Opera was never perfect. There were plenty of musicals stronger than it was, and plenty of bones to be picked. Ultimately, what kept Phantom alive for the past 35 years was its heart. All hearts have to give out eventually, and I can’t do much about that. But I still have my hands, and even though the band has broken twice and my fingers are different sizes, that ring isn’t coming off anytime soon.
