Hide your face so the world will never find you... (Patreon)

There were two "final" showings of Phantom of the Opera on Broadway--one was the final public show, and then there was the actual final show, which was not available to the public aside from a couple hundred seats that were raffled off via lottery. The final show was only for cast, crew and VIPs, which regrettably I did not qualify as (despite several deeply pathetic attempts through backchannels), so I snagged a ticket to the final public show on April 15th. It wasn’t exactly a secret that I was there, but I didn’t post on any socials because it was a busy weekend, and more and more I find myself just forgetting to capture moments for Instagram that don’t involve babies. It wasn't that I didn't have anything to say so much as the longer I'm away from social media and the Internet, the less I want to engage with it.

I should not have been surprised at how little regard the production had for the audience of the final public show, but honestly I am. When the curtain fell, that was it–no speeches, no “thanks for coming!”, no Lord Andy (despite the fact that he had been at the charity show the previous night), nothin’. When Beetlejuice reopened on Broadway last year, those of us who made it to opening night got commemorative pins with the date stamped on them–here? Nothin’. It really does speak to a huge difference in the cultures of the respective productions; I’ve never seen a Broadway show venerate its fans like Beetlejuice did, but with Phantom, despite it having one of the oldest, most dedicated and most consistent fandoms in all of Broadway, it was pretty clear that by final “public” show what they meant was “the plebs.”

The audience stayed on their feet for several minutes after final bows, refusing to leave, eventually chanting “one more song! One more song!” leaving the poor cast and crew to awkwardly stumble back on stage with absolutely nothing prepared. Eventually they stammered out a very uncomfortable “Happy trails to you…” before playing with the chandelier for a minute, and then eventually shuffling away. If the audience weren’t already high off of the performance, it was the sort of thing that could have turned into a riot, which in hindsight it’s a shame it didn’t–wouldn’t that have been a great NYT headline?

The majority of the audience of the final public performance were hardcore fans, as well as a few rich people who were mildly curious to see what the fuss was about and generally could not have cared less. A few even left during intermission, which while frustrating considering how many people desperately wanted to be there that night but couldn't get tickets, it did mean I got to shift down to the front row mezzanine for the second act. The energy was higher than at any performance I'd ever seen. It probably also ran a solid five to ten minutes longer than usual for how much applause every single element of the show got, from the elephant prop that's on stage for all of two minutes to Carlotta going "rrrrrp".

The cast was the same for both “final” performances, so although Lord Andy declared the final final to be the finest performance of the show he'd ever seen, I imagine they were comparable. I'd never seen Laird Macintosh as the Phantom, but while he wasn't my favorite (that probably is Ted Keegan, who had played the role during the final matinee earlier on the 15th and who was my first Phantom from 2001), he was a big improvement on the last few I'd seen. Emilie Kouatchou as Christine was the real star, however, and I was surprised to learn that this role was her Broadway debut. We've been arguing for years that it really is Christine's story, but this was the first performance I can remember where it is she, and not the Phantom, who is the most captivating presence on stage. I've never cried during a Christine song but her "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again” absolutely wrecked me.

The show’s closing has people talking about it again, and yes, there have been the rote bad takes from people who don't know what they're talking about, such as the evergreen “this is a story about grooming” take (Christine is fully an adult in both the musical and the novel; the "she's a teenager who was groomed by the Phantom from childhood" thing is an invention of the 2004 film which is, and I cannot express this enough, bad). I was surprised that the show’s closing made as many headlines as it did, but more surprising is the positivity and nostalgia from outside of the core fandom–that it was so many people's first show, that it is stunning to see in the theater that was entirely rebuilt to house it, that it was a classic for a reason. The show didn't "save" Broadway, but it did reinvigorate the American theater industry at a time when it was in trouble and Times Square was a great place to visit if you wanted to get stabbed. There is a reason why it has built such a consistent and devoted fanbase (even if much of the younger generation was brought in by the movie, may we someday learn to forgive each other). The Phantom of the Opera is irony-free melodrama that in hindsight I'm surprised survived as long as it did; in that massive theater, in that iteration, and with fewer foreign tourists post-pandemic, it could not survive forever.

Minutes before curtain (Angie was around here somewhere)

It's hard to understate how important and formative the musical and the novel, both flawed in their own ways, were for me personally. Several of my best friends I met through Phantom fandom when I was in high school; two of them are still on my payroll. One of those friends has been my editor and co-writer for six years now, and another had a brother I'd eventually marry, and with whom I now have a beautiful, perfect baby. 

Baby (who was not at the performance but was a couple blocks away)

My pre-wedding ritual in 2018 was taking my bridesmaids to see the show on Broadway. My first novel is basically a glorified sci-fi Phantom retelling laden with mid-2000's references. The show has been running for almost my entire life. Like a friend I could visit whenever I felt like it, I took for granted that it always would be.

While Phantom is not for everybody (which as the author of a somewhat similar property I am also learning the hard way), there are many levels of appeal to the show.  There are the more obvious surface level elements that people point to–the spectacle, the chandelier, the fact that a lot of the music but especially the overture absolutely rips–but to me the biggest appeal was the character dynamics and the title character himself, with whom I felt a deep kinship when I was in high school.

The novel’s author Gaston Leroux makes it clear in the text that there was nothing inherently wrong with Erik, and indeed he could have been one of the world's greatest minds if he had been born with a normal face. When I was a teenager, feeling more and more uncomfortable and hideous in my own skin every day, trying to find ways to hide my body and go unseen, this musical and novel were a godsend. Here's the story about a guy to whom the world has been mercilessly cruel because of the way that he looks, and that cruelty turned him into the monster he became. If only he didn't look the way he did, people would have seen him for the brilliant talent that he was. No, he does not get the girl in the end, but at least he's able to make some form of amends with her before they say goodbye. Truly, this guy gets me.

People joke about outgrowing certain teenage quirks, but in our society I don't think body dysmorphia is something you ever really outgrow, especially as a woman. Even if I hadn't spent most of my adult life living under the shadow of people being intensely critical of the way I look, I'm sure that would still be the case. But Erik’s monstrousness isn't just about the way that he looks, either; Erik was ugly in the literal sense, but as Christine points out in the musical, there's far more to it than that. There are ways to feel and be ugly that go beyond the physical.

There is an inherent ableism baked into the story, but to leave any critical evaluation at that, to frame Erik's deformity only in its most literal sense, is both to sell it short and to misunderstand the deep connection people feel to this character. Yes, he is physically deformed, and he kidnaps the woman he "loved," and he is a murderer, but then he is forgiven by someone he loves, despite having done things that are unforgivable. This is, I believe, why this version of the story is far and away the most popular of the dozens and dozens of adaptations of Phantom of the Opera; compassion for the Phantom is central to its ending. He's the antagonist, but he's not just a villain.

The show will return to Broadway, and probably not before too long. It will be pared down and cheaper and in a smaller theater, probably will not run for more than a year or two, and then it will be gone for good. But it will always be around in some form, if not necessarily on Broadway. It’s far too popular not to reappear every so often, and maybe even with a wholly original production one of these days. I’m sad to see it go, but it’s not over, because this story has taken many forms.

Gone, but not forgotten, because Lord Andy needs something on his precious Great White Way. 

So I guess what I'm saying is: friendship ended with Phantom, Bad Cinderella is my new best friend.

On an unrelated note, we have completed a Nebula Original for April, so while it is done they want to release it in May now for some reason, so time permitting I may try to churn out something quick and dumb for April (otherwise expect a new Nebula original on May 12th, and 4 more in 2023).