The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux (REVIEW)
A Critic's Meta-Review: 4/5
A Critic's Meta-Review: 4/5
God damn you, Andrew Lloyd Webber. God damn you and your boyish good looks. I will never forgive you for forever causing me to associate a classic work of French literature with getting my fortune cookie peed on in the restroom of a chocolate shop on 42nd Street at the age of about seven or eight.
It was supposed to be a lovely, fun family weekend in New York City. My sister had just started kindergarten, and, to celebrate, we all decided to go up to Broadway to see one of my mother’s favorite plays, The Phantom Of The Opera. At the time of this trip, I did not know much about this play other than that it was famous and not the Blue Man Group, the only frame of reference I possessed in terms of live performances.
This was not something I was particularly looking forward to, either. You see, I never really cared much for the Big Apple. Even now, I have yet to see exactly what the hype is about regarding that town. To me, it is just a congested, anxious, ultimately milquetoast mishmash of people that, collectively, think far too highly of themselves. Seriously, people will cut in front of you in line at an ATM machine. Then when you tap them on the shoulder and shoot them that bewildered look, the one that says, “Hey, man, why did you just do that?” you end up being met with something trite and idiotic such as “ayyy...don’ worry ‘bout it” or “this is New York City, baby!” or “beepidy boop ba babbady bee”, depending on which part of town you happen to be in at the time.
The whole charade sickens me.
Nevertheless, the play was good.
From what I remember of it, at least. I was pretty young. I think Mr. Gaston Leroux had a pretty badass mustache, though. It reminds me of the one my old guitar teacher, a Nigerian fellow by the name of Chiemena, used to have. But this was a guy who was also born about fifty years or so after our beloved French writer had passed on from this Earth. I am an expert on the shelf life of a mustache, but I have a very strong feeling that it is not that long.
Kudos to you for making it work, big C. And thanks for helping me understand the Circle of Fifths.
It’s still God damn you, Andrew.