The curse of young, hip, and sexy

This is not a review of the film version of Phantom of the Opera. A review requires that you actually see the movie you're writing about. I haven't done so and have no plans to. This despite the fact that I do much of my home decorating with Michael Crawford posters and have every CD he ever made, including the almost-impossible-to-find ones.

Oh, wait -- maybe that should be because, not despite.

I'm not bitter about this travesty of a film simply because Michael got slapped in the face after a performance that can justly be described as legendary. (Though I find it intensely amusing that the composer and director keep using his name to promote it -- in an interview that I unfortunately can't find right now, they couldn't seem to shut up about how wonderful he was.) I'm upset because it's a complete sellout of everything the show's supposed to be about -- and I don't use the word sellout lightly, not wanting to sound like a hippie. You don't take a show based on a book in which the main character's voice is practically a character in its own right ("so delicate in strength, so strong in delicacy, so irresistibly triumphant") and then cast your movie lead by saying, "I think you'd be great for this part -- can you sing?" And on that note (no pun intended), if he answers, "Well, I used to be in a rock band a long time ago," you show him the door. Furthermore, you don't make up your horrifically disfigured character so lightly that the critics -- not to mention swooning hordes on the Internet -- make it a point to mention how handsome he is.

Yes, I realize Phantom is one of those shows nobody likes but the public. Lord knows most reviews of the stage version, which I saw three times, make me feel like trailer trash for loving it. No matter. Phantom for me was a magical experience the first time I saw it. It's been so every time I've seen it, as well as every time I've listened to the cast album. (And I'd like to point out that it's been so for some people I know who are much better educated musically than I am.) But as far as I can tell, almost everything that made it what it was -- the heart of it -- was utterly disregarded in making the film. The curse of "young, hip, and sexy" that ruins so many Hollywood products -- which is supposed to appeal to me as a viewer in my twenties -- ruined any chance it had for greatness.

I'll be writing more about that curse before too long; I have more reasons than Phantom to feel bitter about it. But that's a pretty big reason in itself.