PHANTOM AT THE PANTAGES

So many pages have been dedicated to this musical that at first, I didn’t want one. Why cover a subject already done by hundreds of sites, and of which, I am hardly a foremost expert? I haven’t a clue what the chandelier weighs, or how many lights it has. I can’t post fifty photos of the show, or rattle off entire casts. But I do love the show, having seen it ten times in various places. I realize that is ten times more than some fans, so I consider myself blessed.

But I suppose I should share my thoughts at least. Perhaps I can jog the memory of another fan, or put a smile on a reader’s face. I will say from the start that I love the musical as much as any other fan, but as I have no way of seeing the show as of right now, I do tend to let it drift to the back of my mind. But I can still recall every note I ever heard. I can close my eyes and feel the intoxication of being in the theater. I can feel my heart break as the Phantom is ultimately betrayed and abandoned by his ladylove.

I can still remember the first show I attended. I had listened to the music (and already memorized the lyrics) on tape before, dragging the cassettes around in my Walkman until they met an untimely end in a car stereo system, so I at least had an inkling of the show’s majesty. The theater I would first see the Phantom in was the Pantages Theater in Toronto, Canada, long since stripped of the show and it’s magnificent splendor. But then, the show was at the height of its glory with Colm Wilkinson as the Phantom.

The opening notes of the orchestra rolled through the theater as the chandelier rose to its place high above the stage. Anticipation rushed through my veins. At last I would see the Phantom on stage! I’ll admit to being a little nonplussed by the fact that the Phantom in no way resembled Leroux’s Erik or even the Chaney version. To this day that still bothers me a bit, but it didn’t stop me form enjoying the musical as much as possible. I remember how happy I was to buy things in the gift shop, and to collect all the brochures and books I could. Somehow I knew to stock up for the day when the Phantom no longer walked that stage.

Wilkinson was charming as the Phantom. His Phantom had a sweet gentleness to him, and a decidedly loony laugh that would make the audience glad he didn’t decide to attack them. He could hold the audience in such a thrall that I would hear people murmur in their fear that he would suddenly leave the confines of the stage and antagonize the audience. Quite a few people seemed to believe that the Pantages chandelier would be dropped on all of us. After all, if Wilkinson didn’t do it, perhaps Rains was running around in full costume even after death. No not even Rains, but the Phantom of the opera.

He was as real to the audience, and to me caught up in that electricity as the people sitting next to us. He could appear at any moment to whisk the entire building away if he so deigned. Thus I met without realizing it, the first of many fans just as passionate as myself. People, both men and women, who would have gone into the Phantom’s twilight world forever if he would only show up and beckon. They were not operating under any delusion. They were just poor souls waiting the arrival of the one man who could understand them better than anyone else, a fellow outcast who wouldn’t judge them or blame their troubles on them.

But Wilkinson was more than Phantom enough to content the audience. As was his understudy whom I saw on subsequent visits. I have even been fortunate enough to see Crawford in his touring show of Webber’s music, and I’ve seen several touring Phantoms worth their weight in gold. I had the time of my life speaking to those just as enthralled with the show as I was. I envied the lucky few that had seen the show almost every weekend, or met the actor who played the Phantom. We would trade advice on who was playing where, what tickets cost, and where you could find unusual Phantom gear.

I have collected everything form jewelry and music boxes to water globes and beach towels, the latter of which I’ve hung as tapestries. I’ve worn the perfume, bought the music on so far indestructible CDs and have plenty of T-shirts. I think I’ve eaten enough wine gum masks to deserve an award of some sort. All of course to still that fierce urge in my heart to completely surround my self with the music. It is a reoccurring fantasy of mine to be so rich as to build a theater in my home town and to be able to afford to have the show performed nightly. Ah, if only I were able to do so!

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