I read somewhere that this is the worlds longest running musical (something like twenty-five years). Well, twenty years after choosing to see Phantom on Broadway instead of Les Mis., I found myself sitting next to one of my favorite people in the world, staring squinty-eyed at the stage. Minus the coccyx, weakness from current ailment, and the man's head filling the entirety of the center stage -- it was perfect.
After watching the seamless changing of endless sets of intricate, elaborate, and large design I wondered that set design teams have yet to demand a shout-out in the play billing. Seriously people, this was a labor of love pulled off within a hairs breadth of disaster by people who knew what they were doing. It was amazing.
I had never before heard Fantine's songs sung with so much angst, bitterness, and raw emotion. She was incredible. I cried and cried.
When the single remaining swear word rang through the theatre (my friend tells me they censored the show more than usual), I chuckled at the nervous laughter that rippled around me. I wondered if audiences of other cities even noticed or if it was the mostly likely majority religious group feeling embarrassed that the word was called out in a public performance like that and no one was excommunicated.
Now that I've seen it, I know why it's been around so long. We aren't a culture of revolutionaries anymore. We don't, as a general rule, collectively shun someone for a stealing a loaf of bread or for mothering children out of wedlock, but we know it happened once and could again. We know there is still the possibility of become a self-righteous Javert, favoritism among children, unrequited love, causes we feel passionate about that no one supports us on. Victor Hugo knew people and, whoever wrote the musical adaptation knew how to break a persons heart with a song.
Unforgettable. Thank you, Rachel.
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