critical essay of the phantom of the opera 2004

#CRITICAL ESSAY OF THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA 2004 MOVIE#

Schumacher knows more about making a movie than the material deserves, and he simply goes off on his own, bringing greatness to his department and leaving the material to fend for itself. But the songs are dirges or show-lounge retreads the dialogue laboriously makes its archaic points, and meanwhile, the movie looks simply sensational. I concede that Emmy Rossum, who is only 18 and sings her own songs and carries the show, is a phenomenal talent, and I wish her all the best - starting with better material. To have seen, that is, as opposed to have heard. Yet Schumacher has bravely taken aboard this dreck and made of it a movie I am pleased to have seen. Wouldn't get past Simon Cowell, let alone Rodgers & Hammerstein. Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world/Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before/Let your soul take you where you long to be/Only then can you belong to me. (I have the same difficulty with 'Waltzing Matilda.') Lyrics like: Every time I see Lloyd Webber's ' Phantom,' the bit about the 'darkness of the music of the night' bounces between my ears, as if, like Howard Hughes, I am condemned to repeat the words until I go mad. You do remember the tunes as you leave the theater, but you don't walk out humming them, you wonder if you'll be able to get them out of your mind.

When the chandelier comes crashing down, it's not a shock, it's a historical reenactment. The story is thin beer for the time it takes to tell it, and the music is maddeningly repetitious.

I do not think Lloyd Webber wrote a very good musical. In this version, any red-blooded woman would choose the Phantom over Raoul, even knowing what she knows now.īut what I am essentially disliking is not the film, but the underlying material. The character of Raoul, Christine's nominal lover, has always been a fatuous twerp, but at least in the 1925 version, Christine is attracted to the Phantom only until she removes his mask. The modern Phantom is more like a perverse Batman with a really neat cave. There was something unwholesome and pathetic about the 1925 Phantom, who scuttled like a rat in the undercellars of the Paris Opera and nourished a hopeless love for Christine.

Critical essay of the phantom of the opera 2004