I know I promised not to talk about myself, but in this one case I'll make an exception. Before you wander off unknowingly into the abyss that is my Phantom obsession, I think you deserve to know how I got here.
It began the summer of 1992. My mother had gotten tickets in New York City to see the show. Alas, fate had it in for us, and a horrible car trauma kept us from our destination. (No one was hurt, save for a pair of broken hearts) In consolation, my father agreed to take us to Toronto to see the show there. We got tickets for the show on July 28th, 1992, and as they say, the rest became history.
Although I knew the novel, and had the soundtrack, I was in no way prepared for the grandeur and glory that the experience was in reality. Sometime during the course of the performance, I looked down to find my heart gone. I would never really be the same. The show, and the actor (Jeff Hyslop) inspired us so, that Mom and I stayed another night, just so we could see it again. I had no idea how greatly it had seeped into my life, until the next year when we made the pilgrimage to New York, finally completing what we had orginially set out to do-Phantom on Broadway. (New York is a whole other love afair I'll digress...)
Slowly, but surely, I collected keepsakes, autographs, posters, paintings, books, movies, you name it. If it had the man in the mask, I had to read it, hear it, soak it in. It's difficult to explain why, even in its simplicity. Maybe because I was born with my own physical "setbacks", I fell in love with the story. Maybe because of the beautful talent of the performers, and the glorious stage work, I fell in love with the art. Maybe because of its ablility to make you lose yourself for a time, and capture your emotions like nothing else in the world, I fell in love with the experience. Maybe it's all of these, and more.
I've often been asked if I believe the Opera Ghost really existed in flesh and blood, over a hundred years ago. Well, every story has some basis in reality, doesn't it? Whether or not Erik really haunts the Parisian underground remains to be seen. The fact is, that true or not, the idea of the characters lives within us all. We have our masks we hide behind. We have deformities that aren't always as simple as a scarred face. We have teachers whose lessons we never really appreciate until they're gone. We become torn between relationships. We are driven, inspired, passionate creatures, all seeking the same thing-love.
Love, they say, is an addiction. After over seven years, 10 Lloyd Webber shows (5 in Toronto, 3 in Cleveland, and 2 in New York), 2 Kopit/Yeston shows, 2 stage plays, five novels, and a dozen or so movies. I've gotten to know Erik and Christine well. Most importantly, though, through them, I've gotten to know myself. I've realized what my own masks are, what my own music sounds like, and who or what reveals my face to the world. And still, even after all this, I laugh, and cry, and feel exactly the same, at every part in the show, or the book, or the movie. Except, maybe I'm just a little bit more aware.
I don't pretend to be the foremost expert on the subject, like a lot of people do. Countless people have seen the musicals scores more than I have, or met far more actors, or memorized many more books. I believe it's not the quantity, but the quality. I don't begrudge others. Hopefully, it touches them the same way. I know that in the experiences I've had, and the people I've met have made an indelible impression on my life.
To Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Arthur Kopit & Maury Yeston, Susan Kay, Charlotte Vale Allen, the actors and actresses, writers and dreamers, and to Erik and Christine--Thank you for inspiring me, and all of us to seek the beauty, hope, and passion in our lives, even if only for a little while.. For every note, every word, every beautiful face, I'm grateful.... Thank you. ~Christina.
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To "The Fifth Basement"
My Phantom Page
To my Jeff Hyslop Page