Category Archives: theater

The Awesomeness That Is German Musical Theatre

As I mentioned last year, my roommate gave me the most amazing idea: drop the minor I hated and take what I wanted. The class I was dying to take was German.

So far it’s wonderful. There’s a smexy Russian, some really talented voice majors, and a professor who’s tons of fun. I love languages but I was tired of French. Every class I’ve been to reminds me why I made the right choice — to do what I want as opposed to what I think I should do.

Ask a teenage girl why she wants to take a random class and the answer is stereotypically a boy. I am not a teenage girl. My far geekier answer is German musical theatre.

As much as I love a good musical, I dislike 85% of musicals. Most are too frothy and frivolous. If it weren’t for the hilarious Book of Mormon, I could honestly say I’ve disliked every non-revival Broadway musical since The Producers.

So what’s a picky theatre-lover to do? Head over to Europe. Germany and Austria produce a ton of gorgeous musicals. They have better lyrics, edgier plotting, and very original staging. And they do stuff that a lot of Broadway theaters wouldn’t touch due to the Equity hazard pay costs. Like stages that separate, rise up like the stern of a boat, twist like a demonic Tilt-a-Whirl, and allow all the actors to slide into a trap door. It’s badass.

Here is a send up to some of my favorites. They and my roommate are responsible for giving me a kick in the ass to follow my heart.

Those who are expecting something lifestyle related, just stop reading. This is pure Mimiservice.

My gateway drug was Tanz der Vampire.  ’Twas a dark and boring night when I was trawling the Phantom of the Opera forum, ranting about Emmy Rossum and cursing Joel Schumacher.

Then I saw it: a clip of a vampire musical. I clicked, intrigued. Then, “what the hell, it’s in German?!” Color me stupid, but it never really occurred to me there were original musicals in other languages. I just thought it was a British/American thing and other countries translated and performed them. But the music was epic even if I could not understand a word of it. After scrounging up a translated libretto I was even more smitten. After that, it was a trawl through forums to find bootlegs and cast recordings. This was in the early days of YouTube, so I had to rely on my guile and desperation. The rest is sweet procrastinator heaven.

Tanz der Vampire

Edward Cullen is not invited to this party.

Based on Roman Polanski’s vampire parody film, The Fearless Vampire Killers, Tanz is a mix of everything great in a musical — great songs, good story, fun characters, skilled dancing, comedy, romance,  drama, and an intriguing darkness.

An eccentric professor and his young assistant are traveling in Transylvania, on the professor’s academic quest to track down vampires. They come to a Jewish hamlet where the assistant falls for the innkeeper’s daughter, who wants a way out of her dead-end life. Meanwhile, a vampiric count offers just that and invites her to a ball at his castle. The professor and assistant give chase and end up becoming the count’s houseguests. Things get crazy from there.

This musical originally starred Steve Barton as the vampire Count von Krolock, who was the original London/Broadway Raoul in Phantom of the Opera. It was the performance of a lifetime. Steve’s dead now but dang, what a legacy:

(I’d track down one with subtitles, except it was written by Jim Steinman so the song’s actually “Total Eclipse of the Heart”)

Tanz rocks because it’s the perfect mix of darkness, drama, and comedy. The characters are striking, the mood is a roller-coaster, and the music swings between classical beauty and rock tunes.

Oh, Broadway fans might be thinking of failed musical called Dance of the Vampires. Ignore it. That was the abomination crafted by Broadway peeps and Michael Crawford, and was mangled beyond recognition from the original.

Elisabeth

I’m a history nerd. Elisabeth is a very historically accurate (for a musical) retelling of the life of Empress Sissi, the last legit Empress of Austria. Her hubby Franz Josef would go on to inadvertently start World War I. Sissi’s own haunted life was a virtual opera — she was gorgeous and athletic but very disordered, she helped ally Hungary with Austria but despised politics, and she was always losing her relatives (including her son).

In the musical, Death is personified as a handsome young man who falls in love with her. When she marries the Emperor, Death gets pissy and stays by her side, making mischief in the crumbling empire.

Elisabeth has it all: powerful characters, a riveting story, and some beautiful songs. It’s a love story, but a weird one. Despite the personification of Death, it’s actually a very skillful historical drama, and portrayed Sissi very fairly — both as the beautiful girl forced into a world she hated, and the selfish woman who pushed away all who loved her. It also looks quickly at Rudolf, her equally tragic son. In the musical he’s visited by Death and they agree Austria’s going to hell in a handbasket. Oh, and Death’s not trying to make out with Rudolf. It’s called “Kiss of Death” for a reason:

 

Jekyll & Hyde

Hyde's kind of a bastard.

Technically this is an American musical. Thing is, it sucked on Broadway (except for the lovely Robert Cuccioli). The original Houston production was fine but wow, Broadway. The music and story are melodramatic, but the craptastic lyrics and weird story changes were awful. When it went to Germany it got a facelift — Germany’s best lyricist improved the lyrics and tweaked the story so that it made sense and had real character arcs. And he upped the gore. The result is a bloody marvelous melodrama.

The story is well-known: a nice doctor tries to separate the good and evil in man. In this version, he’s engaged to a lord’s daughter and denied human testing for his experiment by her jealous suitor. He also meets a sassy call-girl who falls in love with him and gets caught up in his fate. Testing his formula on himself, he becomes Hyde, an avenging demon who slaughters the people who wronged Jekyll. It’s a really challenging, virtually double roll:

As Jekyll:

As Hyde:

And together! This song has caused some actors to need oxygen masks after…

 

Der Glockner von Notre Dame

Has anyone noticed Disney’s takeover of Broadway? The Lion King is amazing and Beauty and the Beast is pretty cool, but the rest suck. Hunchback of Notre Dame got a different treatment — it got exported to Germany. Disney execs were nervous about putting it on Broadway because of its relative unpopularity; parents tend to get cranky when a kid’s movie features a rape ditty sung by the villain. Anyhoodle, the Germans rocked it. The director made a few astute changes. Esmerelda stays dead (as in the novel); Phoebus gets man-whored up; and the silly gargoyles become aspects of Quasimodo’s conflicted mind. It was beautiful and striking. Disney didn’t flip a shit, as they’d agreed to the changes, but they are still gun-shy about bringing it to Broadway. Some day, perhaps.

 

Rebecca

Rebecca is my kind of romance novel. It’s creepy as hell — a mousy girl marries a much older man who’s haunted by the death of his first wife, Rebecca. The girl feels adrift on his beautiful estate and tormented by the housekeeper who served as Rebecca’s maid. Secrets come to light and things get twisted.

The musical was a great adaptation. They captured the best quality of the book — that the most prominent character in the story is dead the whole time. This one is coming to Broadway, hopefully in April.

 

Dracula

This is another musical that premiered on Broadway and bellyflopped. For good reason. Frank Wildhorn is a cool composer (if you don’t mind bombastic music), but he can’t find a good lyricist to save his life. His best musical was easily Scarlet Pimpernel because, guess what, he had a librettist with a brain in her head. Finally, Dracula found a home in Austria and Germany.

It’s a retelling of Dracula in the vein of Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula film. Dracula  is besotted by Mina; Mina struggles between her love for her husband and her passion for the Count. It’s definitely flawed — the story doesn’t really explain why Mina and Dracula fall in love, and transitions way too abruptly from Dracula wanting to be with Mina to him wanting to die. Coppola’s film had the backstory of Mina as Vlad Dracula’s reincarnated wife, but that’s never mentioned here. Still, despite this, it’s a gorgeous if melodramatic piece. That, and the Austrian production had every hot  German-singing musical theatre actor in it. Yum.

 

There are plenty of other musicals, but I don’t want to completely alienate all of my six readers.

Long story short, German musical theatre kicks ass. If you hate The King and I and think Broadway’s gone to hell, do yourself a favor and procure a copy of Elisabeth!

Made of Winning

To those who are wondering who the hell won the coffee, my apologies — I was tied down with exams and travel.

Getting back to the goods, the winner is…

Hannah @ I Read It In a Book Somewhere! Woo!

Hannah, please shoot me an email so I can send you your stuff! mimi[dot]honeycutt[at]gmail.com (trying to avoid spambots, sorry)

As for me, I’m back home, relaxing, making cookies, celebrating that I passed Law of Mass Communications, and catching up on Assassin’s Creed: Revelations.

I want to see Constantinople now!

Also getting my mom caught up on season 4 of Mad Men (and swooning over Don Draper). I’m seeing The Nutcracker soon with my dad. I’ve wanted to see a live ballet ever since Black Swan.

Will The Nutcracker have any of this?

I’m also finally getting around to reading Scott Bakker’s Prince of Nothing.

If you need a film that encapsulates Christmas, comedy, and the power of friendship, check out A Very Harold and Kumar Christmas. It’s popcorn-choking funny. And a few movies I’m dying to see:

  • Hugo
  • The Adventures of Tintin
  • War Horse
  • The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
  • Carnage

Happy holidays everyone!

 

Draußen ist Freiheit

I have a semester and a half left of college. I think is worthy of the classic Heathers line — ahem, the one about fornicating with a chainsaw.

And it kind of hit me. I’ve never really liked most of my classes at USC. I love USC itself and I love the community, but most of my actual classes have always bored me. I would much rather be at my internship. At University of San Francisco my freshman year I felt much more intellectually stimulated — I went to classes with a song in my heart and a skip to my step. Probably because of the small classes and the deliciously eccentric professors.

And skipping up Lone Mountain is no flighty whim

But that’s not to say I regret transferring. It just made me realize I was looking at this all wrong. I took up a minor that sounded interesting only to find it a worthless string of pop culture classes. Communication in the Entertainment Industry. Fun, no? Not when you know everything they discuss and it just takes time away from more stimulating activities.

Even the rampant sexism and borderline spouse abuse of The Honeymooners fails to move me.

The other day I was faffing about in my room, singing in German. Yes, I sing in German. No, I haven’t studied the language. I always wanted to but it never fit my schedule. However, I love German musical theatre. Tanz der Vampire, Elisabeth, Mozart…the list goes on. I know the German contained in the songs and I’ve been told my pronunciation’s pretty spot on, but if I listen to material I don’t know the context of, I understand maybe one word in five.

Elisabeth > 90% past and current Broadway

German is a gorgeous language — don’t judge it by Hitler speeches on the History Channel. Seriously, just check out this ditty:

So back in my room I’m gushing about my linguistic lust, my hatred for my minor, and my disillusionment with class. My roommate, a wise girl, answered back.

“You can always just drop the minor and take German.”

WTF?! I have a semester left! Heck no I’m not wasting all the credits I spent to come so close to getting the bloody thing.

“Yeah, a semester,” my roomie chided. “You can totally take German 101. Why stick with something you hate?”

Ich bin überrascht. I could drop it. Not throw in the towel, but cut my losses and do something I want for a change, instead of something I feel I have to do.

It’s also hard for me to just stop something. I bite down like a pitbull until something breaks my teeth. To give up because I’m in over my head is one thing. To end something just because I don’t want to do it anymore is entirely another. And for me, completely unnatural.

With an independent, devil may care joy I hadn’t felt in years, I strode forth to meet my destiny. A.k.a I called my dad and ran it by him. Turns out he’d dropped political science in college and agreed I should do what I want.

What I want.

That’s hard for me. I’m so use to doing what I should do that sometimes I have no clue what I really want to do. I feel pulls toward certain things — namely writing and storytelling. But when I think about what I want, I don’t see a road. I see a hazy object on the other side of an untouched valley. That thing involves writing. It involves the entertainment industry. But beyond that I haven’t got a clue. Maybe that’s ok. Effective war machines don’t plan things out like clockwork; they put themselves in positions where they can easily react and advance.

Yeah, somewhere past the Christmas ornament castles

Life’s an adventure so it doesn’t bother me. But sometimes I wish I knew what I wanted before I let slip away, like New Zealand. As they say, good judgement comes from experience, but most experience comes from bad judgement.

So I chucked out the chess board. I emailed my adviser to be sure I wouldn’t mess up my credits by dropping the minor. I wouldn’t. Hurrah.

German it is then. Draußen ist Freiheit — outside is freedom. Sometimes you just have to say to hell with it, seize the bit in your teeth, and bolt. Woo, yay for feeling don’t careish.

London, I Love You

Or perhaps London, main tumko pyaar karta hoonwo ai niik houd van jou; minä rakastan sinua; je t’aime; ich liebe Dich; amo-te; aš tave myliu; or mai tumse pyar karathi hun.

I heard all these languages while tromping around the City of Fog. Houston and LA have diverse populations but they have nothing on cities like London. Old cities. Cities with real history that have seen centuries of blood, death, work, and love.

Sometimes, walking through South Ken, I’d picture Victorian London. Then in another part of the city I’d spot a Roman wall and remember those classy Victorians were just a breath before my time.

Little do they know the Playstation is just around the corner...

Enough with the metaphysical. London is a kickass city. Standing in line to see Thor, I realized just how prettier people sounded there, Cockney accents and all. Of course, London’s just like most big cities. Plenty of people are fat, overworked, stressed, and gripe about everything from politics to potato prices. But London is a magnificent city. A few things I’m already missing…

  • Feeling completely safe walking home alone at 2am
  • 20 kinds of potatoes to choose from
  • Being able to get anywhere with public transportation…in a timely fashion
  • Being able to walk to most places
  • Great turns of phrase like “proper [insert whatever],” “Bob’s your uncle,” and “alight for [insert destinations]“.
  • Pretty accents
  • A real respect for just chilling in a cafe to read
  • Amazing Indian food
  • People with good fashion sense
  • Snakebites
  • Jeremy Kyle, the more badass version of Maury.
  • Endless theatre options with cheap tickets
  • Being only a few hours from my BFF from high school
  • Delicious weather
The last one may make some people pause. Guess what? The stories about London being a city of fog and rain are bull. It rains more than in Los Angeles…but LA is a freakin’ desert. As I’m from Houston, I was surprised it didn’t rain more. The cold was not nearly as bad I feared either. Any city in the Northeast is far colder. Unfortunately I acclimated. Houston’s taking some getting used to. As I’m rather a porker now, the heat’s a bit fiercer. 
Most of all I miss my London peeps! I had way more fun hanging out with Aisha, Caitlin, Jess, and Alison than some of the folks I came with.

That said, I’m being harsh to my schoolmates. I couldn’t have been the most interesting person to hang out with, given my bouts of depression and moodiness that plagued me for a good chunk of the time. I probably would have done far more otherwise, but wallowing in self pity and non-menstrual PMS has a funny way of cutting into fun time and making you about as adventurous as a WASP-righteous granny. 

I wish I looked half that good when I get the blues.

Anyway, back to London. Here are a few things I’ve noticed are not true about London:

Not the plat du jour..but where the hell are the peas?!

  • Everyone eats fish ‘n’ chips, all the time. No, people I ran into seemed to eat curry and hummus all the time.
  • London food sucks. No more than any other country. If you go to crappy restaurants you get crappy food. I had some lovely fish ‘n’ chips, pies, and haggis. For good food in London, check out Chris Pople and Malcolm Eggs‘ blogs.
  • English people always have tea and scones. Nah, biscuits — aka cookies — are the more common choice. Smart Brits, given my dislike of scones (which I had proper incarnations of and still disliked).
  • English people have bad teeth. Eh, some do. But plenty of Americans do too, we just slap our kids in braces quicker, as mine did. As a Weston A. Price supporter, I think a lot of it comes down to London having similar eating habits as America. Genetic momentum ftw.
  • Crappy weather. Naw! It’s sunny a great deal of the time. And when it’s overcast, it’s still rather pretty. It was cold when I got there but nothing crazy. I never saw any notorious fog either. Which made me sad, as I’d love to pretend I was in a Gothic Victorian romance novel.
My last few days in London were spent with my dad and stepmom. Well, first Aisha and fetching James saved my butt by helping me drag my suitcases from my flat to my hotel on the other side of London. Then Aisha and I roamed South Kensington, popped through some fun shops, and had a hug-filled goodbye on the bus.
Then I beat it up to my dad’s room and half beat the door down. I’m a daddy’s girl, after all these years of fights, rows, and bad report cards. Thing is, my dad’s seen London. Multiple times. So I had the task of finding places he had not been to. First stop was Borough Market, one of my favorite places in London. We shared a half-pint of raw milk, snacked on cheese, and sussed out sugar-free chocolate. It was nice just visiting my favorite places one last time.

Can't believe I got this shot at a curry house.

Not my dad's choice of eats. But he was a good sport.

My dad also succeeded in dragging me to Mass at the Church of the Immaculate Heart of Mary.  An exceedingly rare event, but I was willing on account of the history and beautiful interior. The Mass was in pretty Latin and the priest had a nice accent. He was pretty adamant we were stupid sheep, which I don’t argue with. I still feel no compulsion in religious situations but I can respect it. Anyway, we headed to Simpson’s right after, and dined on solid proof that English food can be delicious. It was a lovely few days.
So without ado, a few of my favorite spots in London…

The Natural History Museum has some verrry interesting exhibits. This was part of the Sexy Animals exhibit.

And as this blog still clings by a thread to its food roots, here’s a shortlist of my favorite restaurants:
  • Tayyabs — authentic Pakistani food
  • Cinnamon Tree — delicious London Indian food
  • Moro — glorious food based on the 15th-century fusion of Spanish and Moorish culture

    Roast kid!

  • Caravan– creative general menu and fantastic coffee

    Coconut French toast with rhubarb!

  • Inspiral Lounge– yummy vegan food and great atmosphere. Even my carnivorous dad loved it

    Right at home in pot-ridden Camden

    That ice cream is badass

  • Byron– these hamburgers kick ass. My stepmom was in love with the courgette fries

    There's a fun old-school vibe.

    I need to replicate that caper sauce.

    Corgette fries, aka zuchinni fries. I dislike most fried stuff, but England has a few fried things I like. I'd love to make these in my oven with coconut oil.

  • The Icecreamists — best ice cream in London. Yes, they were the shop with the Baby Gaga ice cream. I recommend their Sex Bomb flavor. I promise you won’t start raping pigeons.

    Right behind the Adelphi Theatre

    Nomnomnom

    Cute service!

    A chocolate-covered sex bomb? *note to self: do not make a joke that might be considered racist*

  • Amorino — yummy gelato. Get the Nutella one
  • Simpson’s in the Strand — for kickass English food when you want to feel luxurious
  • Aisha’s House — ok, this place is strictly invitation only, but it’s the best Indian food in town!
Was London as exotic as I wanted my study abroad destination to be? Not quite. I did want to go to New Zealand. But London offers something different. It’s a great bridge to an older, more cultured world, and a gateway to the rest of Europe. Anyone with a respect for history should hit it up.
Finally, I end with a small list of stuff you absolutely have to do if you ever go to London…at least the off-the-beaten-path random stuff.
  • High Tea at The Orangery. If you want High Tea but don’t want to get all dressed up, hit up this lovely place at Kensington Palace. No reservations and it’s very casual — but still an awesome afternoon tea.
  • Get out of the city and visit Bath, Brighton, or even Scotland. The UK’s a vast land.
  • Score free food at London’s many food expos. Natural food, allergy-free food, gourmet food — food shows are everywhere. Get on the press list and you can get in for free. It’s a fun way to try new products and get a free meal’s worth of goodies.
  • Visit a farmers market. The Islington Farmer’s Market is lovely and not too touristy. It’s great just to visit and get a feel for older times. It just feels different than an American farmers market, but still familiar.
  • Try Indian food! Most of it isn’t authentic Indian…but London Indian food is in itself unique.
  • Explore the theatre scene. London has the best collection of theatre in the world. Yes, better than Broadway.
  • …and hit up the Stage Door afterward. Most actors are lovely people and are more than happy to chat for a second. Even actors who are normally walking down red carpets.

John Owen-Jones and I, outside Her Majesty's Theatre. He is an awesome Phantom!

Yeah, London’s awesome. I think, just to be an annoying ponce, I’m going to keep my fries and chips and my chips as crisps. Unless it would screw up a restaurant order.

Love Never Dies

So apparently people like it when I save them money and pawn off culinary parlor tricks. -takes note-

Next time, my dears. Don’t worry, it’s not a morbid self-reflection essay either. But we are taking a trip down Cultural Imperialist Boulevard.

The other night I saw the sequel to Phantom of the Opera, Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Love Never Dies.

Andy’s got balls. Or ego. Musical sequels never go over well. Could anyone imagine a sequel to Les Miserables?

But Andy also sits on £750 million, And Phantom is at least a $5-billion-franchise. So those cajones have some support and Andy’s noitorious for his passive-aggressive ego. From the get-go, most Phantom phans were outraged at a sequel. It was supposed to be based on the book (commissioned by Andy) The Phantom of Manhattan by Frederick Forsythe, wherein there are lovechildren, clown suits, and Raoul getting shot in the testicles. Fine literature there. Silly Gaston Leroux for not thinking of it.

It could always have been worse.

So how’d it do? Read on, my angels. Disclaimer: due to the nature of this review, consider it spoiled. All ye who don’t want to hear how Christine has her windpipe torn out by a circus dwarf and how the Phantom is diagnosed with OCD, close this browser now. Or go watch Game of Thrones.

Popping off the bus, I realized I’d landed in the wrong place. Goddamn you tfl.gov.uk! In need of navigational assistance, I flagged down a nice-looking guy who looked like he spoke English. I was born with horrifically direction skills but excellent asking skills. I could totally talk the Lucky into telling me where he hid his Lucky Charms.

This dude happens to be heading in the same direction so we forged ahead, sharing tales of wizardry and daring-do. Or  the diversity of American accents and the epicness of Brazil during Carnevale. Parting ways we traded numbers. A drink with my name on it is a few days in the future. A nice start to the evening.

Curtain comes up and it’s some hot chick wandering around a music room. Wait, it’s just the life-size Christine doll. With upgrades. The Phantom, played by Ramin Karimloo, sings about his pain over Christine’s 10-year absence. Considering he was a lot older than Christine in POTO and approximately 50 years old in the book, this swank 60-year old mantoy is quite a catch.

This kind of song proves the ability of an actor to lift a piece. The lyrics are appalling:

“And years come, and years go, time runs dry
Still I ache down to the core
My broken soul, can’t be alive and whole
Till I hear you sing once more!”

Rule for Tragically Romantic Antiheroes: You lose manly points when you point out your broken soul. Suck it up and earn your emo outbursts. Pussy. But someone when Ramin hits those big notes, he’s able to lift it onto (slightly) more substantial shoulders.

Moving on. The Phantom (aka Erik from the novel) has set up shop on Coney Island, namesake for the Houston-based hot dog chain and America’s first amusement park.

Of course he had help from Madame Giry, who in her spare time as a ballet mistress studied business and entrepreneurship. Meg’s the star burlesque dancer and has developed a wee crush on the Phantom.

Freakshow, opera house, what's the difference?

At the tender age of 20-something, Meg has learned how to bring home the bacon.

But any plans for coquettish seduction are dashed when Christine shows up in New York to perform for Oscar Hammerstein!

Erik has also found a trio of sexy freaks who keep Coney in high fashion

This time around, Christine’s a mommy. Her kid is 10-year-old Gustave and her hubby is still Raoul…but this isn’t the white knight from the original. Trade “I’m here, with you  beside you, to guard you and to guide you…” to “Blah, let me pour myself a drink and moan about my gambling ruining our finances and goddammit Gustave stop playing the piano!!”

Anyway, you know what they say about men getting more impatient as they get older? Same here. Raoul’s barely out their hotel door when the Phantom struts in through the window.

"Yo...I see you upgraded the dressing gown."

What follows is Andrew Lloyd Webber’s gift-wrapped Thank You to all the Erik/Christine phans who have helped POTO earn $7 billion. In the following song we learn…

- Christine and Erik had a one-night stand the day before Christine’s wedding
- There was, ahem, touching, embracing, kissing, catching, and taking,  all “Beneath a Moonless Sky.” Because moonlit skies are for idealists.
- But then Erik realized this was way too out of character so he got the hell out of Dodge before Christine woke up.
- Because this musical is essentially a giant fanfic, Erik’s way touchy-feely. Remember “Music of the Night” and the almost-but-too-scared-to-really-get-close Phantom? I guess he watched too much American television.

"Yay, just like old times." "What old times? Last time all you did was creep around behind me and show off your creepy mannequin."

Still, this song is pretty intense onstage, due to the skill of the actors. You really do feel the tension and passion and yes, it’s pretty hot. It just feels out of character. That is, until Christine points out she can’t just waltz off with him. Then he threatens to kidnap her child unless she sings once in his show. Geez Erik, you really know how to woo a girl.

I will say, the music is quite pretty. But just that, for the most part — pretty. There is none of the discordant beauty of Sondheim or the nuances of Kander & Ebb. The libretto is where things take a nose-dive. Somehow Glenn Slater and Ben Elton thought it was clever to rhyme “That idiot Raoul” with “I’ll kill that drunken fool.” Elton used to write Black Adder. Where did the magic go?

Anyhoodle, Christine shows up at the venue and runs into Meg and Mme Giry. Whoa-hoh, shit just got real: Meg’s pissed Christine’s stealing her lead and Mme Giry is pissed Christine’s there at all.

"You're a wife!" "And you're a stripper!"

Mme Giry creeps around and snarls about the unfairness of it all. As we come to learn, she and Meg smuggled Erik to America, helped him buy a sideshow, and were his steadfast friends and helpers as he built Phantasma. And now that Christine’s here, they have been replaced. Man, what a bat…except she kind of has a point. If Ramin Karimloo weren’t so charismatic of an actor, the Phantom would come off as a proper jackass.

During all this hubbub, Erik’s three awesomely-costumed freakettes lure Gustave up to his penthouse. Even if Erik complains he can’t write music anymore, his inventor skills have gone through the roof. His house is made of awesome. The setwork is gorgeous. When the Phantom’s impressed with Gustave’s not weirded out by all his automatons and gadgets, we launch into the rocky number “The Beauty Underneath”

The music box got bigger...and deader.

It’s as out of place here as the title song was in the original. And it rocks in its own silly way. You have mechanical skull-faced gorillas, skeletal automatons, Medusa chandeliers, and Ramin getting to show off his upper register. It’s a technical marvel and the song is really neat.

Alas, Erik’s made a few leaps in logic. Or else the book writer just thinks the audience is stupid. The Phantom guesses that Gustave is his lovechild because he’s 10 years old and can play the piano. Uh…didn’t Christine marry Raoul the day after their shagfest? Does Erik think they just played pattycake on their wedding night? Oh but wait, Gustave is MUSICAL! Because Christine and her father are totally not famous musicians. I guess it’s just because Gustave appreciates “The Beauty Underneath.”

Our lovely rock number ends on a bumpy note, as the Phantom removes his mask and wig. ‘Cuz everything turned out so well last time anyone saw him maskless. Gustave screeches his head off and runs to Christine who’s just popped by. Thank God he covered up the life-sized Christine doll.

This is one of the few times in the musical where Erik acts anything like his old self. He cringes and scrambles away, once more a shunned monster. And grabs Christine by the throat and orders her to fess up.

Ok, so now Christine doesn’t have to sing, but she promises she will because Erik’s throwing a “my son hates me!” pity party. Erik then vows to give his fortune to put Gustave through college, pay for his braces, and let him shop at Whole Foods.

As the Phantom, Ramin Karimloo is amazing and arrests your attention. But the writing of the Phantom is ridiculous. There’s so much of a self-righteous tortured romantic hero slant to the staging and libretto that it makes no sense. He’s mad at Christine for not mentioning Gustave…when he left her in the first place? He’s portrayed as victimized but good person, but he’s not a nice guy. Yet everyone just bows and pets him.

Also, I don’t agree with this sweeping romance angle. If it’s going to be there, it needs to be much more subtle and nuanced. Because the whole time Erik’s moping over Christine, he’s not talking about her. He’s talking about her voice. Never “aww, I miss my pretty opera smuffin.” It’s always “I miss your music! I want to hear you sing again!” Granted, I always thought this was an interesting part of the original. Until the final scene he always seems more in love with the idea and sound of her — and the chance he could be happy — than Christine herself. Which makes the whole thing so friggin sad when he lets her go.

Not the Phantom 99% of the time.

What would have been more interesting (and less retarded) would be if all his scheming and blackmail was shown as wrong, but that Christine was still inexorably drawn to him.

Later, as he’s singing about having a son, he’s going happy-loony. Yes, lunacy, welcome back ol’ girl! Show him excited over his newest obsession! Oh wait…that would make him quasi-villainous again. So Erik leaves to do whatever he does on the weekends. I bet it’s golf.

But in the shadows Mme Giry has been watching. And she’s pissed.

Tonight's performance of Mme Giry will be played by Mrs. Danvers.

Woo, intermission and potty time!

Curtain rises. Raoul’s getting smashed at a bar. As he asks for more booze, he begins to sing “Why Does She Love Me?”. This is the saddest song in the show. In fact, the character I feel most sorry for in the show  is Raoul.

The dude just can’t win. He walks off with Christine at the end of the original and everyone hates him because he’s too good and too classically heroic. Now he’s a  broken alcoholic gambler who knows how far he’s fallen.

This song is really sad. And really gives him some depth. He can never understand her music and knows she outshines him in talent. He was her consolation prize on account he wasn’t a crazed murderer. And now he’s not even the gallant man he once was.

Scratch "Love Never Dies." I redub it "Raoul Suffers On."

Our sad little soliloquy is interrupted by Meg, who pops by for coffee after a morning swim. Meg mentions the dock by the bar is a common suicide spot, where people walk off once they have nowhere to go. Oh and BTW, Raoul in Christine should really get the hell back to France, since Erik’s totally not going to let Christine go after he hears her sing again. Meg scampers off to practice her routine.

Wait, speaking of crazed murderers…holy crap the Phantom’s switched places with the bartender!

“Not afraid of me, you say?”

And David Thaxton, who plays Raoul, is awesome. He seizes up like someone took a crowbar to his back. He’s terrified.

As far as characterization, this is the best scene in the show.

The Phantom’s snarky, cruel, and utterly in control. Raoul’s scared to death and you can see him remembering their last encounter when Erik’s noose was around neck. He’s shaking as he stands.

Seems like the Phantom’s reconsidered his get-out-of-jail-free card for Christine. He does something that Raoul can’t help but jump to — he makes a bet. If Christine sings, she stays with him. If she walks, she and Raoul go home, all debts paid. “Devil Take the Hindmost.”

The face of the dude who almost broke your neck has a sobering effect.

Raoul gathers his tattered courage and agrees. The Phantom taunts him with Gustave’s parentage. As they circle each other like a wolf and hound, Raoul takes a drunken swing at him. And Erik grabs him in a choke-hold and shoves him into the counter. This part is so tense my neck was tingling. Erik steps back, hold out his hand in agreement and Raoul spits at it. Erik snaps forward and drags him by the neck up to his toes.

Karimloo isn’t a particularly tall guy. Thaxton is a quite tall guy. But Karimloo’s also a boxer and beautifully muscled. Of course the clothes hide the musculature, but the coiled power he exudes is palpable. And it totally works as Erik holds up Thaxton, reiterating his demands, before slamming him back onto the counter. Mocking to the last, he straightens Raoul’s collar and leaves.

Now here’s song I was in some ways very interested to see. Because wowzers, this song has gotten more phan flack than any other. You’d think ALW wrote a song praising the Nazis.

It’s called “Bathing Beauties,” and it’s Meg’s big striptease…uh, number.

As much as I agree with a lot of critiques, this isn’t one of them. People have gotten their panties in a wad because the song is supposed to be terrible. It’s a satire of a cheap vaudeville number and it does it annoyingly well. Remember the operas from the original POTO? Same here.

Clothed once again, Meg’s totally psyched she rocked the house. Of course the Phantom had to be watching that showstopper! But Mme Giry has to earn the Decade’s Worst Mom award and tells her the Phantom’s chilling out with Christine in her dressing room. Meg sobs, Mme Giry rants, and all is woe.

Until we pop back to the dressing room where Christine’s dolling herself up for her concert. I guess she’s tiring of obsessive musicians and alcoholic husbands, because she tells Gustave they will take a vacation, just the two of them, after her show.

Raoul strides in, finally looking like a dashing Vicomte. Christine thinks so too and there is sweet reminiscing of old times. Gustave leaves and Raoul begs her to forgive him and vows to make things right. And to come away with him on a ship bound for France. It’s a really sweet moment. And sad too; it’s clear Christine does not love him the way he wants her to, but she still cares deeply for him. It’s this one big glimmering moment of what might have been. Raoul departs.

Of course Erik’s not going to let anyone one-up him on declarations of love. And he’s got a gift.

"Stay with him and you won't get flashy jewelry anymore!"

And so they sing a reprise of and gee Erik you think you could be excited about something other than Christine’s singing?

The next scene, from a technical standpoint, is very, very cool. Christine stands centerstage, deciding if she will sing. Raoul and Erik wait on either side. As they sing a reprise of their bar song, the stage rotates. It’s a great effect.

Unfortunately the “glorious aria” is kind of limp, despite Celia Graham’s awesome vocals. If by any chance “Love Never Dies” sounds familiar, it’s because ALW plucked it from an earlier show of his and changed the lyrics around. Oh well, at least he’s only ripping off his own music this time. Puccini’s family won’t need to go bonkers again.

Besides the vocals, the only thing that makes this song interesting are her lovers in the wings. Halfway through, Raoul shakes his head and walks off. Christine chokes up in mid-song as she sees him leave, but the Phantom makes a gesture and she composes herself for the epic (and very very high) finish.

The Phantom looks he had his own climactic finish and can’t wait to hear her sing more. But Christine’s more concerned more about a letter from Raoul. He’s gracefully bowed out.

"Little Lotte, I beg you – forgive me ... *insert adorably sad farewell note* ... May your angel of music watch over you now, and give you what I wish I gave you, somehow. Yours, with regret."

They turn to leave… but oh damn, where’s Gustave? He couldn’t have just wandered off. It must be kidnap! Of course Erik blames Raoul but his freakettes swear Raoul left alone. Wuh-oh, Mme Giry! The freakettes bring in Mme Giry. Nope, not her either. It could only be… Meg!!!

Our delicate, sweet little ballerina has gone a little nutty. To the pier!

The Phantom’s guess was right. Meg’s holding Gustave at the suicide pier, about to jump in and take him with her. As the gang arrive —

Oh noes! Meg has a gun! And she reveals…dun dun dun!…the only reason Mme Giry had enough money for Erik to build Phantasma was because she whored herself out and put their backers on their backs. And alllll she wanted was the Phantom’s approval. Letting Gustave scramble back to mommy, she turns the gun on herself. Ah, ok, everything’s cool. Erik and Christine leave with Gustave and Meg blows her brains out.

Except that’s no way to end a melodrama. Instead, Erik has a heart to heart about knowing what it’s like to feel rejected and ugly. He’s makes progress, the gun’s coming down, and he’s using his hypo-voice skills to calm her. Until he mentions, “We can’t all be like Christine.”

WTF? Erik of all people should know what NOT to say to a rejected loony. Seriously, what the hell?

“Always Christine!” Meg wails, waving her arms in sorrow. Too bad she’s still holding the pistol . Which of course goes off. Which of course hits Christine.

Somehow Meg survives long enough for Mme Giry to drag her off to find help. Why Erik is not tearing her throat out right now I’ll never know.

It irritates me that this could have worked with better plotting and characterization and decent lyrics. I could buy Meg developing a fixation with the Phantom, as her mother was his only friend. I could buy her harboring jealousy for Christine. Considering the reputation of ballerinas at the time period, I could even believe she’d turn to whoring. But she doesn’t even have a real solo. Beyond some chatting with Pimp Mama Giry, we never see anything that hints she’s about to crack up.

I thought she just had a feather allergy.

Meanwhile, Christine’s going down like the Titanic. Which means slooooowly. Gasping for breath she tries to tell Gustave who his real father is. Gustave races off in terror. Smart kid — are we sure he’s not Raoul’s?

A few minutes of dueting later and Christine dies in the Phantom’s arms. There is much woe, a keening “NOOOOO!”, and much sad sweepy music.

Gustave returns, holding Raoul’s hand. Just why was Raoul so close to a pier known for suicides, hm? Raoul sees Christine and the light goes out of him. As he approaches, the Phantom turns and begins to walk away. For once he looks almost ashamed. Raoul sinks to his knees beside his wife and Gustave throws himself into his arms.

Gently Raoul pushes him away, their foreheads still touching, and says something softly. Gustave pulls back and follows the Phantom. As Gustave lightly touches his back, Erik turns. His son gently hugs him. As Raoul weeps over Christine the curtain falls. It’s pretty damn fine last few minutes.

So was it worth all the wrath of the phans?

In some ways, yes. The lyrics are shoddy and the story is silly. The Phantom really gets shafted. In the canon he’s sneaky, manipulative, crazy, and very broken. Yet these flaws are always laid bare. They aren’t hidden behind some attempt to make him into a tragic hero. The Phantom’s also not a whiner. If he’s pissed he’ll go drop a chandelier, not sit and moan for three songs about it. He’s a paradoxical mix of defanged and jerkified. As good of a performer as Ramin Karimloo can rise above it, but that’s no excuse for a weakly written role.

Raoul gets a similar treatment. Thaxton is amazing and makes you pull for him, but the role does not provide all of the bang he gets out of it. On paper, Raoul comes across as a dumbass too. No wonder Christine wants to grab Gustave and go on a vacation.

Then of course there’s Meg and Mme Giry. I’ve read enough good fanfiction, rare as it is, to believe a lot of plot directions and character pairings can work…with a lot of character development and planning. Yes, even Erik/Raoul can work. But it takes development.

Musical theatre, when done properly, can capture an entire character in a song. That’s the power of music that’s virtually impossible to transfer into the written except by the most talented or the most fortunate twists in the English language. Take Sweeney Todd‘s “Epiphany” — you don’t need any more than that to see his motivation and feeling for the rest of the musical. You don’t need as much time to develop characters in a musical because it can be done in a few songs. But it does take talent to find the exact words, the correct flourish of music, and somehow connect them.

Love Never Dies has a disjointed feel. Like the musician and lyricist came up with their own material and smashed it together in the end. The characters are roughly drawn and it banks too heavy on a senseless love of empty melodrama.

But did I have terrible night at the theatre? Gods, no!

The music itself is catchy and has some interesting moments. When they aren’t covered up by crappy lyrics. There is a lot of neat stagecraft and acrobatics. And as I’ve raved, the cast is stellar. And there are times when good acting and music come together to create some magical moments.

I was not with the group that decried the possibility of a Phantom sequel. I was just very wary, and for good reason. I’ve read good fanfics, so why not a good musical? But it takes a lot more care to write a good musical. Care that was not always given.

Though there was care in crafting the glass unicorn!

Because I am a good girl I got my mom the CD. But I wouldn’t say it’s the must-see show in London, not by a long shot.

What is interesting are the previews for the upcoming Australian production. From what I’ve heard there are a lot of changes. I’d look out for it. Maybe someone will see it as more than a cash cow and do justice to the canon.

Phantoms Inside My Mind

Guess most of my readers aren’t film or book fans. Sorry to dissapoint, but all ye foodies will have to wait a little while before you see what I’m stuffing in my craw. I was going to post about the epic Chocolate and Coffee festivals last weekend that Aisha and I attended. But I don’t think linearly, so I’m not bothering to post that way either.

The other night I saw the musical Phantom of the Opera.

I have a love-hate relationship with this musical. To the extreme. To the sibling rivalry, Marmite, David Lynch level of love-hate. But I’ve never  told anyone precisely why.

But first, the actual performance. The reason I agreed to go was because a friend wanted to see it. Also, John Owen-Jones is playing the Phantom. You can see why this would excite me:

And now you can hear why:

Garoooowwl.

Of course, because this is my kind of luck, we arrive at the theatre only to find that the roles of the Phantom and Christine will be played by their standbys.

“That ok?” my friend asked.

I blame Aunt Flo… I felt like crying. But my buddy really wanted to see it. So we got our tickets, had dinner, and made it back to the auditorium.

Phantom is a show that has to be really, really well-acted for me to like it. Otherwise I’m snickering at the melodrama, cringing at the weak characterizations, rolling my eyes at some of the trite lyrics, and in general being a cranky bitch.

I had my first surprise: the Christine was good! Played by Tabitha Webb, this Christine actually made me care about her. That’s saying something.

In the libretto and book, Christine’s a terribly written, vapid character. Part of it is because Andrew Lloyd Webber was inspired by Sarah Brightman (his wife and the original Christine) when he created the musical. Brightman is an amazing singer, but her expressions are limited to Happy Chipmunk and Slightly Miffed Chipmunk. Ergo, not much complex writing in her part.

Though I'd be a happy chipmunk too if I got to hold hands with sexy Steve Barton (RIP).

But the beauty of musical theatre is that a talented actress can add subtlety through body language, inflection, and expression. A lot of Christines just don’t put anything extra into it, making her just a step above Twilight‘s colorless Bella. I say step above because the musical Christine was based on a good character in the original Phantom novel by Gaston Leroux, and she has some good musical moments.

Tabitha Webb rocked it. First during her first solo, where Christine sings her opera debut. In some of her songs, Webb gives the character a quality I can only described as joyfully manic and glazed over.. She digs into Christine’s emotions, namely fear: she cries and squirms away after the Phantom goes bonkers on her, she scrabbles and sobs at Raoul when he basically asks her to risk her entire future to help them capture her stalker. And at the end, when she does grow a spine, she’s still terrified…but with enough steel to stand between her man and the dude who just slaughtered an opera singer and dragged her down to his lair.

I met Webb at the stage door and she was adorable. And a total pixie! Such a big voice came out of that tiny girl. She rocks!

But don't mind me Tabitha if I steal that dress off you.

Now, onto the character everyone (especially preteens) goes nuts over. The Phantom. I was pretty pissed I wasn’t going to see John Owen-Jones. Then I heard Scott Davies‘ first line: “Brava…brava…bravissima…” Holy shit! It was slightly raspy and kinda creepy.

The Phantom is a complex character. On the one hand, he’s a middle-aged, hideously deformed psycho who’s traveled the world, built torture chambers, and garroted people for fun. He’s also a musical genius and a master architect with all the emotional development of a 14-year old. And he’s obsessed with his young ingénue.

A lot of Phantoms focus way too much on the childish aspect. A lot of them defang the Phantom and make the audience wonder why Raoul doesn’t give him a haymaker and haul Christine back to his castle. Others, however, make him too slinky and sexy and forget that the character is so broken and unsocialized. Even then, there are a ton of ways to play the Phantom. Some go more elegant, others go more crazy, others go high-functioning autistic.

Personally, I like my Phantoms on the creepy and pissy side. It moves me more. I also find them more attractive. Yeah, I’m sick.

So I got excited when Scott Davies first spoke. When “Phantom of the Opera” started, I was smiling. When it got to “Music of the Night” … EEEE!!!

“Music of the Night” is supposed to be the Phantom’s vocal seduction of and passion for Christine, but through the blocking, it also reflects his own insecurity. The way actors like the original Michael Crawford have sung it puts me to sleep. It’s pretty, but if I’m being seduced, I shouldn’t be falling asleep. Davies was the perfect blend of seductive, creepy, and  insecure.  He really knows how to use his hands…no, not in the guttery way. More in the “Gah my idealized love is in my arms I have no idea what on God’s green earth to do with her” way. Yum.

"Let your darker side give in"? Mhmkk!

Gary Mauer, who I saw onstage a loooong time ago, also gives a fantastic “Music of the Night”:

I also loved how Davies handled the final scene. A fantastic, compelling mix of madness, fury, and a deeply broken soul. The show was really well done. The ensemble had a great amount of interaction, even with the orchestra. Afterwards, I popped by the stage door. Davies was so kind in person. I love meeting cool actors.

Now, despite this long diversion, I will explain a bit my love-hate relationship with the show. As for the stage musical, well, that’s the musical theatre snob in me being picky. Some of the pyrotechnics haven’t aged well. It could be stronger lyrically, and have better character development. It needs a really good cast to offset the melodrama.

But the movie is where I get cranky. I’m not against “alternative” interpretations. I am against shallow interpretations that barf all over the original work. And I mean the original original: Le Fantôme de l’Opéra, par Gaston Leroux. Here’s a few things about the book Erik:

- Yes, he has a name. It’s Erik.
- He’s over 50 years old.
- He has a hideous deformity
- He’s traveled the world and has endured decades of cruelty.
- He’s as much of a gentleman as his madness will allow.
- As much as he wants control over Christine, he’s pretty dang freaked out by her.

These get toned down to some degree in the musical, but they’re there. It’s the skill of the actor that unlocks the depth of them.

How does that equate with this?

I guess the Phantom got stage fright and asked his buddy Zorro to fill in?

When director Joel Schumacher looked at the story, I feel like he didn’t see a tale of obsession and tortured love; he just saw something he could make young and sexy, and seemed not to realize that sensual does not always equal sexual.

Way hotter anyway.

The film was pretty, but coldly so. I’m no fan of Emmy Rossum, who played Christine. I  love Gerard Butler to pieces, but I felt the direction was so bastardized even he couldn’t make it work. While I liked his voice, I disliked it in the context of the musical. Christine really does think the Phantom’s a celestial angel sent by her father. If I heard that voice coming out of my mirror, I’d either call 911 or ask it to coffee…not sit there quasi-hypnotized and take music lessons.

But you guys know me. I consider adaptations seperate from each other. My “hate” segment of the love-hate bit goes back a bit further. I’m OCD, I get on kicks, and I live vicariously through events because I feel like I barely live. Back in high school, when I was more into the musical than I am now, and the film was coming out, yeah I was way too OCD. I’d slack off from homework to browse forums; I’d photoshop wallpapers during class; and you’d probably expect to find some Hey Arnold-esque shrine in my closet. So when the movie came out and I disliked it, I was pretty bummed.

But the silly swatted dreams of a fangirl don’t cover everything. Another aspect of Phantom that riles me are many of the fans. Quote from a YouTube vid: “I wish I could share the Phantom’s pain! Christine’s so ungrateful!”

Ungrateful for not desiring a psychotic stalker who screams at her and has a life-sized Christine doll in his house? I don’t get the Christine hate.

Another: “I would have picked him over Raul any day, even if he did kill peole. He doesn’t know any better after all. He’s just lonely.” I’m not even gonna touch that one.

I see exactly why people sympathize with the Phantom. I do too. We’ve all been there — feeling unloved and unvalued. And, to a young girl, being ignored is just as painful as being rejected. But the naive silliness of preteen phangirls annoys me. Not wanting someone who wants you isn’t a crime. I’ve been on both sides of that shtick, and it’s a raw deal either way.

I also get miffed at the random hate towards Raoul, Christine’s lover. I see him constantly referred to as a pussy. Why? He braves a freezing underground lake for her and, when about to be strangled to death, begs Christine to let him die so she won’t have to marry a psycho. Yeah, total pussy. Poor Raoul, whose biggest flaw is lame-ass character development…even Andrew Lloyd Webber picks on him in the sequel, Love Never Dies.

But the biggest reason, the one I get a bit squirmy even mentioning, is that the story hits a few raw spots for me.

We’ve all felt rejected at some point. Story of my life. But what rubs me worse are the obsession and self-destructiveness of Christine and the Phantom. Those hit a little too close to home. When it’s performed right, the song “Wandering Child” sends chills down my spine, even though most consider it romantic.

Basically, Ms. Daddy-Issues Christine has gone to her father’s grave to sing about needing to move on. The Phantom appears atop the mausoleum (not hiding out like in the film) and sings to her. Christine begins looking blissfully possessed and walks toward her crazed, lovelorn stalker, until Raoul gatecrashes.

People tell me I think too much. I know I think too much. But when I don’t think, I tend to do stupid, self-destructive things. Blech. “Wildly my mind beats against you…” “You resist but the soul obeys.” Gah, shaddup.

But the line near the end that always gets me is this: “This haunted face holds no horror for me now. It’s in your soul that the true distortion lies.” Ouch Christine, that hurts. Melodramatic, hells yes, but I’ve always had the feeling there’s something about me that eventually pushes most people away. It’s there, regardless of all else, and I have no friggin clue what it is.

When I see a lot of people leave a good drama, they appear tired and emotionally spent. I’m not. I’m bouncing down the street. What a relief when someone else deals with all the drama going on in my head for once. Catharsis — screw child psychologists who dismiss it.

If tickets are cheap, I might see the crappy-looking sequel, Love Never Dies. Just so I can properly rant about it.

Anyway, coffee and choccies soon. And really yummy lentil stews.