Phantom of the Opera? More like Phantom of the SLOPERA

A review by Laura Kay, Theatre Critic

I must admit, my review is greatly colored by a tragic accident that occurred right after Ben Crawford (who, I learned today from long time Phantom Company Manager and trusted source Steve Greer, is actually the great-Grandson of the original Phantom, Michael Crawford, who originated the role in 1787 on Broadway) sang “Music of the Night.” I was so inspired by Crawford’s seemingly non-functional hands that I reached over to my companion to caress her face in the same manner he had just caressed Christine. And through a series of unfortunate events, my finger slipped right up her nostril. Fits of muffled laughter ensued, that were only amplified when we turned our attention back to the stage just in time to witness Crawford on his belly, slithering like a snake across the stage.

I think I blacked out for a full twenty minutes. My eyes saw nothing but the tears from my laughter.

When I came to, somewhere around the end of Prima Donna, many questions came flooding into my mind: what is up with the Phantom’s vowels? Why is Raul so tall? Why were some of the lights out in the house during preshow?

Intermission allowed me to regain some much needed composure and move past Nostrilgate 2020 (as the event is now being called by theatre staff and world news outlets) to really focus on the essence of the show and its message.

Is The Phantom the original incel? The original “nice guy in a fedora” who does all those nice things for Christine only to be left in the end? Yes. When I arrived home and spoke to the man I keep captive in my basement, we both agreed that the Phantom should’ve gotten the girl. After all, he did do all of those nice things for her.

But I digress. A chandelier almost killed us, fire almost blinded us, and I must admit I thought the dummies at the top of the staircase in Masquerade were real people. Crawford’s vowels continued to keep us guessing. Raul took his shirt off. Christine was delightfully bite sized. To me, these are all elements of a smash hit.

The silent curtain call gave me some much needed time to reflect: should I get an organ to punctuate my dramatic thoughts? Piangi was way more incompetent than Carlotta—can we get a 2020 reboot in which the Phantom is Gay and helps a hot young guy named Christopher become an opera sensation? Why were those damn lights in the house out during preshow?! Why did Christine and Raul have to add insult to injury and sing their mean love song within earshot of the Phantom seconds after he lets them go? They shattered him just like he shattered that poor mannequin. Why does the Phantom need a salary? He never leaves the Opera House...does he order all his candles on Amazon?

For the past 233 years, The Phantom of the Opera has remained a staple of Broadway. Written by Andrew Lloyd Weber, who has been condemned to live trapped inside a wax figure at the end of a mirror maze in Madam Tussaud’s after co-writing that new Cats song with Taylor Swift, Phantom continues to tell the story of a dramatic, magical man child who kills people when he doesn’t get what he wants. And I LOVE IT.

I leave you with this: you can pick your friends. And you pick your nose. And at the Majestic Theatre, for just $600 a ticket, if the Music of the Night moves you, you can pick your friend’s nose.