Phantom Pain (or Sing Well, That's All I Ask Of You)

To celebrate our 12th Anniversary, Tim and I got all gussied up on Friday and headed off to the Kennedy Center with some friends (who will hereafter be referred to as R&C) to see Phantom of the Opera. Ever since high school, Phantom has been a particular love of mine and I've been blessed to see it live at least four times. Each of these was such a wonderful, magical experience that I was excited to share it with Tim and our friends, none of whom had seen it live previously (though all were passingly familiar with the score and music.)

We got the Kennedy Center fashionably early. Tim will be the first to attest to the fact that I enjoy showing up to events almost painfully early. So, while the show didn't start until 7:30 (and the doors weren't going to open until around 7), we were there at around 6:30. This, of course, gave us time to ramble through the gift shop (where they were playing the Broadway recording of Phantom) and remark on the fact that we were surprised that anyone actually bought well over 3/4 of the items for sale. Even still we had a chance to wait up by the Opera House and listen to the "Zydeco" band currently entertaining those waiting. (I put "Zydeco" in quotes out of deference to our friends who hail from Louisiana and were fairly well convinced that this band's experience with anything Cajun or Creole was relegated to eating at Popeye's.) They did, however, play Iko Iko - though I had to admit that Cyndi Lauper did it much better.

Our seats were fantastic. In fact, I would go so far as to say that our seats were, perhaps, the highlight of the evening. Dead center and still in the single letters of the Orchestra section (the single letter was W, but still!) After we sat, C decided that it would be fun to have a photo of us. So, R got out the camera and then promptly got trounced by no fewer than four little old ladies with flashlights who were admant that there was NO photography at ANY time in the Opera House. Ever.

Finally, the lights dimmed and the auction scene began. And it was only a few minutes into this that I realized exactly how craptastic this production was going to be. Because, you see, when old Raul tried to sing to the Monkey windup he croaked. And not like "I'm an actor and this is an old man, so I will try to sound old and tremulous" - but more like, "I'm a baritone and have been cast in a tenor's role and my voice is completely unsuited for any of the notes that I may have to sing at any point in the coming performance." Then there was the melodramatic raising of the auction numbers - rather than the fast paced flinging up of the paddles, these paddles were raised with excruciating slowness, as if they were in slow motion. Underwater. And I won't even mention how this auctioneer (as opposed to every other auctioneer in any other performance I've ever seen or heard) decided to say, "Lot 6.........6..........6........." in ominous tones with lots of pausing. Because clearly we couldn't figure out the irony of the chandelier (in pieces) being lot 666 on our own.

What followed would have been hillarious if we hadn't paid upwards of $90 each to sit through it. All I can think to say about the singing caliber of the performers (with the notable exception of the Phantom himself) is that there's a dinner theater in Miami that's missing their entire cast. Fortunately, for most of the performance you couldn't actually hear the singing because the trumpet and drums were having a pissing contest - each trying to prove that they were the most important part of the whole show. Periodically the keyboard would chime in and try to take over, but then it seemed that the trumpet and drums would combine forces to put that guy in his place.

Then there was the "acting". The cast would flail around the stage with large, overly dramatic motions in places where they clearly should have been singing to someone else in the cast and/or in an embrace with them (e.g. All I Ask Of You is traditionally sung with Raul and Christine in an embrace or at least near eachother, not with them dance-stepping around the stage in opposite direction from eachother and flinging their hands to their foreheads in melodramatic indecision. During this particular song I asked myself if we had been transported to a Gilbert & Sullivan production without our knowledge. Although that does a tremendous disservice to G&S.)

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your interpretation) we were not alone in our summary. R chanced to overhear one gentleman remark to another, "I thought this was supposed to be good." "Yes, well, it isn't."

At long last the curtain fell. People applauded politely but very few people got to their feet until the Phantom (the last) appeared. He certainly carried the show and I honestly hope he's being paid more than all of the amateurs on tour with him, because otherwise he needs to find another job. Of all the cast, he's the only one I think would be able to do so. To say this was pathetic doesn't quite sum up the hideousness of the experience.

1/2 of a Phantom Mask out of 5 - and solely because the Phantom himself did such a good job. The Kennedy Center ought to be ashamed to have let this ensemble through their doors as anything other than patrons.