[1] http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0293508/

I went a few days ago with my girlfriend to see the Phantom of the Opera in theaters. For those who quietly neglected to see it due to vague and haunting fears for their masculinity or for those who have never had the great fortune to see the stage version, see any of [2] several summaries, though this probably won’t make as much sense as if you were to see it (just rent it with [3] Terminator 2 and watch them back-to-back, you’ll be fine;) ). It must be noted foremost that this is a movie version of a screenplay (which was adapted from the book by [4] Gaston Leroux).

The Phantom is thought by the innocent Christine Daae, the story’s heroine, to be the “angel of music” her father promised to send her when he passed on. The Phantom has fallen in love with the young Mlle Daae and, more to the point, with her voice. Notice that it’s not necessarily the person of Christine herself, but that he lusts for her voice as his mouthpiece by which he can express himself—the darkness in himself—to the public who has reviled and mocked him but with whom he still yearns to connect.

So here we have the classic seducer: playing on the Mlle’s fears and insecurities after having lost her father, she nurtures her in such a way not as to foster mutual love, but rather a codependency on the father role he plays.

Perhaps most interestingly, Christine has to overcome her need for her father and her reliance on someone playing on that fear. So not only is the story about the choice of seduction over “true love,” it’s also a story of meeting someone as him/herself—as you are, in yourself.

I switch here to the personal pronoun because, indeed, that’s what makes the story so powerful: perhaps we can relate, to some extent, to all three of the main characters in some way. We have to overcome our own insecurities and parental needs to involve ourselves fully and healthily in a relationship; we likely all know what it’s like to feel so alone that the entire world seems to be smiling and alive while we brood, serenading ourselves to the “music of the night” (that is, at least, until a counselor or trusted friend has enough courage to slap you upside the head with a reality check and remind you life’s worth living); and we have all been in a position to help others overcome their fears, and perhaps have had to do battle for someone’s heart. Part of the tension of a relationship is the uncertainty involved and the conflict between solitude and communion within the relationship and with the world at large.

[5] http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0293508/

I went a few days ago with my girlfriend to see the Phantom of the Opera in theaters. For those who quietly neglected to see it due to vague and haunting fears for their masculinity or for those who have never had the great fortune to see the stage version, see any of [6] several summaries, though this probably won’t make as much sense as if you were to see it (just rent it with [7] Terminator 2 and watch them back-to-back, you’ll be fine;) ). It must be noted foremost that this is a movie version of a screenplay (which was adapted from the book by [8] Gaston Leroux).

The Phantom is thought by the innocent Christine Daae, the story’s heroine, to be the “angel of music” her father promised to send her when he passed on. The Phantom has fallen in love with the young Mlle Daae and, more to the point, with her voice. Notice that it’s not necessarily the person of Christine herself, but that he lusts for her voice as his mouthpiece by which he can express himself—the darkness in himself—to the public who has reviled and mocked him but with whom he still yearns to connect.

So here we have the classic seducer: playing on the Mlle’s fears and insecurities after having lost her father, she nurtures her in such a way not as to foster mutual love, but rather a codependency on the father role he plays.

Perhaps most interestingly, Christine has to overcome her need for her father and her reliance on someone playing on that fear. So not only is the story about the choice of seduction over “true love,” it’s also a story of meeting someone as him/herself—as you are, in yourself.

I switch here to the personal pronoun because, indeed, that’s what makes the story so powerful: perhaps we can relate, to some extent, to all three of the main characters in some way. We have to overcome our own insecurities and parental needs to involve ourselves fully and healthily in a relationship; we likely all know what it’s like to feel so alone that the entire world seems to be smiling and alive while we brood, serenading ourselves to the “music of the night” (that is, at least, until a counselor or trusted friend has enough courage to slap you upside the head with a reality check and remind you life’s worth living); and we have all been in a position to help others overcome their fears, and perhaps have had to do battle for someone’s heart. Part of the tension of a relationship is the uncertainty involved and the conflict between solitude and communion within the relationship and with the world at large.