The mark of a classic is that it is universally loved. Not that
literally everyone loves it: but that it is loved across all social divisions.
Men love it, women love it, children love it, adults love it... This is unlike
works of art that are good through speaking well to one particular audience: as
action movies speak to men, romantic comedies to women, etc. Even the works
that expert critics love need not be classics, because there are genres which
only appeal to critics: and in the past century the educated classes have
become infected with a snobbish contempt for art that is comprehended and
enjoyed by the masses (I speak the more freely of this prejudice because I
share it), and so the critics are often inoculated against appreciating the
classics when they arrive. Has there ever been a time when the gulf between
what the critics enjoy and what the rest of the people enjoy was wider or more
painful to cross?
Digressions aside, the point is that the works that are really popular
with everyone, even if the critics disdain them at the time, are recognized as
classics by later ages. It’s fun sometimes to consider: what has our own age
produced that will turn out to be classics?
I submit for inclusion on that list, the longest running Broadway show
of all time, the stage musical The
Phantom of the Opera.
Universally loved? Wikipedia tells me that Phantom is the highest grossing entertainment event in history. That
ought to do it. But I have also observed that The Phantom of the Opera is easily enjoyed by men and women, adults
and children.
The latter fact I’ve discovered from personal experience. When I was a
wee lad in the second grade I had a friend who was seized by an obsession with Phantom. He played the soundtrack on an
endless loop. He sang the songs in his room. He decided to stage the show for
the neighbourhood.
Then my father took me to see the stage show. I was maybe eight years
old, and it exploded my little eight-year-old brain. It awed me, amazed me,
excited me, confused me, frightened me to the point that I cried in my dad’s
arms. That night seeing Phantom was
the first time a work of art deeply moved me. It may have been the most intense
experience of my childhood—certainly I remember it more vividly than anything
else from those years.
Needless to say, after that my
friend had little trouble getting me on board for his staging of the show. It
never happened, but I was hooked on Phantom
for years...
I saw the stage show again in my early twenties (note that a bunch of
guy friends also paid to see it). I loved it just as much, and perhaps more,
since its intensity did not overwhelm my faculties. More recently I became
hooked on the soundtrack again, listening to the whole thing in one go
sometimes.
What is it that makes Phantom
appeal to everyone? Well, it’s clear that it’s not the raw material, the Fantôme story. Most people have probably
never heard of the original French novel, which is because it (apparently)
stank. The early film versions weren’t especially popular. And on the face of
it, the plot seems to lend itself to either a horror or a romance treatment:
either of which is fine, but does not have the universal appeal we see with Phantom. Clearly, there is something
special about the Andrew Lloyd Webber version that elevates this material to
classic standing.
Let’s analyze this further. What is it that appeals to women? The stage Phantom takes the story in the direction
of romance. It is all about the love triangle between the Phantom, Christine,
and Raoul. She’s loved by two men: one is dashing, rich, and good, the other is
brooding and dark, but she just can’t seem to get him out of her mind... There,
done. You’ve got the ladies. But how does a love triangle story set in a Paris
opera house bring in the fellas?
Speaking as a fella I offer three key ingredients that, when cooked,
produce a Phantom that appeals to men
and boys, too, and is therefore a classic. For Men, it’s the three Ms: Music, Mood, and Murder.
Music. This perhaps does not need to be said, and in the event I can say
little about it since I have no musical training at all. But clearly the Music
is key. The Music, mind you, not the lyrics. The dialogue, whether spoken or
sung, is one of Phantom’s real
weaknesses. Except for a few high points, listening closely to the lyrics is a
sure way to spoil your enjoyment, and happily is far from necessary. The Music
does it all for you.
Part of why the Music works so well is that it is orchestral and
operatic. Shows that use pop- or rock-style music, like Rent, can easily come across as corny. Shows that use primarily
vocal music, like The Sound of Music,
don’t reach the intensity of Phantom.
For that you need the power and seriousness of an orchestra.
Mood. This is a love triangle plot, right? Well, I bet I couldn’t have told
you that after I saw it when I was eight. To a boy, this is the plot: you are in a haunted opera house. That is
what makes the stage show so effective: you are actually in the opera house. And that is why it is so inimitable in other
media; the 2005 film, for instance, could never capture it.
As you can ignore the lyrics and still enjoy Phantom, so you can ignore the plot, too. What matters is the Mood.
The wonderful opening scene does it all: the echoes, the creepy voice coming
from nowhere, the number 666, and then the blast of the organ... it’s already
won you over. Then it’s one spooky scene after another: the mirror, the
underground lake, the graveyard...
The underground lake sums it all up. The entrance through the mirror...
the long descent into the earth... the boat ride across the foggy lake... What
man or boy can hold off the awe and the attraction of a subterranean lair? And
for the ladies, a romantic Venetian boat ride is in the bargain.
Murder. The fellas may not approve of murder, but we sure are interested in
it. Say what you will about it, the fact that Phantom has lots of grisly deaths is part of what makes it a
classic. Consider it in the tradition of Macbeth.
But when I say Murder, I really mean the Chandelier. Does anyone who has
seen the stage show ever forget the moment when the Chandelier falls?
I’ve been calling Phantom a
classic, but it’s clear from our scientific analysis that it cannot possibly
stand as a literary classic. Unlike
Shakespeare, Phantom cannot easily be
read for pleasure. It really must be
seen, or at least heard: as reading in private is to seeing Shakespeare
performed, so listening to the soundtrack in private is to seeing Phantom performed.
If I’m right and Phantom is
received by future ages as a classic of the twentieth century, it’ll have to be
performed. But perhaps Western civilization will collapse, and we will no
longer have the resources to put on these big fancy shows. Then Phantom will be a lost classic. Maybe
they’ll have the music, but that won’t be enough—people will say, “ah, Phantom, why did they like it so much? just
a turn-of-the-century fad...”
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