It’s time for another installment of Victorian Snark Theatre 3000! And this time we’ll be discussing Phantom of the Opera (2004). As you guys know, I watch a lot of shitty long nineteenth century-inspired films with my good friends @VictorianMasc and Dr Douglas Small, so we decided to turn them into blog posts.
Previous posts on VST3K include:
–Vanity Fair (2004)
–The Man in the Iron Mask (1998)
–The Raven (2012)
–Fievel Goes West (1991)
–Little Women (1994)
–Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954)
–Calamity Jane (1953)
Warning for Spoilers and Lots and Lots of Swearing.
I should also note that we’re going to pick on Gerard Butler for being Glasgwegian, but we do so with extreme love: we all did our PhDs in Glasgow (where we met!), half of Douglas’s family is from there, etc. etc.
*as we put this on Amazon Prime*
Douglas: How does this have 4.5 stars?
VictorianMasc: Is it out of 10???
Gird your loins, this is going to be the campest thing we’ve watched since … Calamity Jane, which was literally fifteen minutes ago (even though these posts came out months apart).
We open on Paris, 1919
and are immediately introduced to this rachet-ass dusty old fancy fuck pulling his dusty old ass up to the opera house for an auction.
We all started saying ‘fuckin’ Raoul’, because that’s Raoul, the secondary lead, and he sucks.
We’re also introduced to Madame Giry at the auction, and considering she’s supposed to be at least 20 years older than off-brand Prince Phillip, she’s looking pretty damn good. She and Raoul nod knowingly at each other.
They auction a bunch of posters and props and shit, and THEN they get to this:
Douglas: HOLY HELL, KILL IT WITH FIRE! I was not braced for that, man.
Raoul–who, I would like to point out, NEVER SEES THIS MONKEY in the actual narrative of the film and presumably has no reason to be nostalgic over this, over all the items they’re auctioning–pays 30 francs for it.
I looked it up, and as best as I can tell, 30 francs is $6 in 1919 money, or about $89 in 2020 money. This seems like a lot for that shitty monkey!
VictorianMasculinity: Listen, that monkey is going to grant you some sort of terrible wish that’ll go awry. Walk away, Raoul.
But he doesn’t. Instead, Raoul gets all nostalgic and does the two things he does best:
END OF LIST
VictorianMasc: Christ, was he a victim of the Spanish flu? What is going on with this dude? He’s barely in his 60s!
Then they auction off the in-no-way-ominous Lot 666, which is a chandelier that once fell on the opera audience, killing many and burning the opera house down, no need to worry too much about it, we’ve wired it with electric light so nothing could ever go wrong again!
Ohhhhh, is this one of those auctions? The type that you only find on the dark web?
Anyway, they fire up the snazzy new, hopefully less murderous, chandelier and all of a sudden we’re BLASTED to 46 years ago by the power of color and electric guitar.
Douglas: You know, electric guitar: famously the most nostalgic of instruments.
VictorianMasc: *as Raoul* AUGH, my memories!
This film’s tagline should be ‘Poor in quality, but rich in bombast!’
Anyway, it’s 1870 now and we’ve gone into the fully-blown maelstrom of Raoul and Madame Giry’s collective memory, even though most of the film is set when neither of them are present in the scene.
Two new fuckwits have taken over the opera house, despite no experience of theatrical management, and also despite the opera being haunted by a pissed-off, horny Glaswegian. Y’all did NOT do your due diligence.
Young Raoul has become the opera’s new patron, and we don’t know why he’s driving his carriage standing up. Is that a thing? Between the very loud music, the poor theatrical business practices, and people standing up inappropriately in moving vehicles, it’s like we never stopped watching Calamity Jane.
Look, let’s get our grievances out of the way now: Patrick Wilson, who plays Raoul, is a very, very, very good musical theatre singer and it’s a shame he’s stuck in this thankless role. Raoul is the living equivalent of ‘flaccid’, and he’s been given my mom’s long bob from 1989, and we all hate him.
The star of the opera is La Carlotta, who is sold to us as a hellish, untalented diva, but the older I get, the more I realize she’s the unsung (heh) hero of the film.
VictorianMasculinity, who is a classical reception scholar, wouldn’t shut up about how much she wanted to see this production of Hannibal, and I’m inclined to agree, purely because of the very brave decision they made to paint all of the extras’ nipples gold:
We’re introduced to Christine Daae, a ballerina at the opera:
She recognizes Raoul because they were childhood sweethearts before her father died, and let me tell you, girl has some Daddy Issues™. But we’ll get to that later.
She tells her friend Meg Giry (Madame Giry’s daughter) that Raoul used to call her ‘Little Lotte’, even though that is not a traditional nickname for ‘Christine’. However, Raoul probably wouldn’t recognize her now.
Douglas: Oh, god, is Raoul one of those Werther fans? Because nothing is more nakedly arousing than The Sorrows of Young Werther. This fucking guy.
We also learn that Madame Giry is the ballet madame of the opera house, and she’s also the only one willing to commit to the film and do a fucking French accent.
VictorianMasculinity: Miranda Richardson is 100% playing chicken with her accent – is she gonna stop, or are the other actors going to start?
Carlotta gets pissy that the new owners are only interested in perving on underage ballerinas (fair), and bursts into tears that she’s not getting enough attention, threatening to leave the show.
Carlotta: The Embodiment of PMS
Also WHY DOESN’T SHE HAVE AN UNDERSTUDY???
The new owners grovel and beg her to sing the big aria in the show. Carlotta is briefly placated, until, in the middle of her song, she is completely cold-cocked by a falling set that was loosened by a mysterious presence.
All the ballerinas and stage hands lose their shit and start muttering about THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. This is supported by an ominous letter that flutters gently to the ground at Madame Giry’s feet:
Douglas: I’m calling bullshit. Look at the wax seal on that thing! That letter would have fallen like a fucking brick.
The letter is addressed to the new owners and it says, ‘Listen, fuckos, you may technically own this place, but let’s not forget who rules the roost: the Opera Ghost. Leave Box 5 empty for me every night, and also give me my salary or I’ll fuck you up real good’.
The theatre managers scoff at this (I would be absolutely shitting myself, but maybe that’s just me–a woman in full possession of her faculties), and Carlotta gets into a massive strop and leaves in a cloud of glitter and poodles:
VictorianMasculinity: I’m 100% siding with Carlotta on this one. Her costumes aren’t finished, she’s injured from unsecured sets. Where is the union rep?
But never fear, the show will go on! Madame Giry says, ‘Christine Daae can sing Carlotta’s part’. They give her a try, and she’s great! She goes from timid ballerina to full-fledged, Empress Sissi-lookin’ diva via a lens flare that looks like she’s on the Starship Enterprise:
Douglas: How can the Phantom hear this through eight floors?
VictorianMasculinity: *deadpans* Genetic mutation.
I personally wanted to see Christine pull off that goofy-ass Hannibal number we saw Minnie Driver open with, but I guess we only get this thoroughly un-Carthaginian Broadway song, so.
After her big ole showstopper, Christine avoids the after-party to go pray in the theatre’s (??) chapel and light a candle for her departed father. She is the WORST theatre kid I’ve ever seen.
Douglas: Is there a water feature behind that stained glass? Why does it look like they’re under the fucking sea?
Anyway, Christine starts hearing voices briefly, but before we can investigate this haunting or psychosis or whatever, she’s found by Meg Giry. Meg goes, ‘That was great, who taught you to sing like that?’
Christine says that right before her father died, he said she’d be protected by an Angel of Music. Because Christine doesn’t understand metaphor, she thinks there is a LITERAL Angel of the Bass Clef, or some such, who is following her around and teaching her how to stay on pitch.
I suppose this is complicated by the fact that she started hearing the Angel’s voice when she first came to the opera house at age seven (SEVEN! He’s been stalking and perving on her since she was SEVEN! And Carlotta said it’s escalated over the last three years, meaning when Christine was THIRTEEN). What a wonderful opportunity to explore power dynamics and traumatic childhoods and ‘great art but at what cost’–a shame they don’t touch on any of that in this film.
Anyway, Christine thinks it’s Daddy Ghost giving her voice lessons, and she and Meg sing a song about it:
Then Christine is presented to her (??) dressing room (I mean, Carlotta is coming back, but okay), where The Great Gatsby is happening:
Madame Giry gives Christine a red rose with a black ribbon attached–it’s from the Phantom and “he is very pleased with you”.
Oh my god, they’re gonna have such spooky sex.
Outside the door, Raoul is also trying to tap that ass. He shows up with flowers, and the new theatre owners ask if they can “present her to you.”
Douglas: *uneasily* Present her to you sexually? Is that the subtext?
VictorianMasculinity: That’s not really subtext. More like ‘pretty right on the money’ text. Aren’t you suppose to have a PhD?
He bursts into her dressing room and they have a sweethearts’ reunion, in which they talk about goblins and shit.
Christine INSTANTLY goes off about her Angel of Music theory and Raoul–a man with no concept of red flags–is like, ‘Oh, haha, you beautiful creep, I’m going to order the carriage and take you to dinner! We’re dating now!’
As soon as he’s gone, two very strange things happen: 1.) Christine changes into her best restaurant corset (Raoul is coming back, Christine, why are you in underwear?) and 2.) A mysterious hand locks Christine in her room under the pimp-tastic eye of Madame Giry:
We get some ominous shots of the opera house at night, where all the statues look sinister and the candles start sputtering out on their own.
VictorianMasculinity: Meanwhile, over in the giant boob warehouse
Douglas: I’m sorry, is the logic of this film asking us to believe that the Phantom has power over fire? Like he’s one of the Captain Planet kids?
The Phantom’s here, and he’s PISSED. Thus begins Douglas’s long night of repeating everything Gerard Butler says, but in a comedy Glaswegian accent.
He pulls Christine through her dressing room mirror (was he perving on Carlotta before, or …?) and we’re off with the THEME SONG OF THE FILM, written by a composer who lived to shred:
Victorian Masculinity: Bring on the weird Cocteau rip-off!
Except … this isn’t an enchanted opera house in the way Cocteau’s castle was supposed to be enchanted in the reality of La Belle et La Bete. So, I guess the Phantom just paid dozens of extras overtime to stick their arms through the wall. Hold your candelabrum higher, Kevin, your arm isn’t aligned!
I’m not going to lie to you: 2004 Gerard Butler is fine, and it’s not entirely because I first saw this film when I was going through puberty.
VictorianMasculinity: Good lord, no wonder Christine’s ‘sexually available eye shadow’ becomes more intense as the song goes on!
Inexplicably, there’s a horse! Which the Phantom puts Christine on for all of 10 feet, until they get to a boat.
Douglas: Does this journey end with a zip line straight into his bed?
We end up in his lair, which … look: he makes some bold decorating choices, let’s just go with that.
VictorianMasculinity: No one’s trimmed those candle wicks! This film is a feast of shit for all the senses.
At this point we had to take a break just to get away from the electric guitar.
Douglas: *sitting wearily back on the couch* Right, let’s get back to the mediocrity.
Then they immediately go into another song which is very innuendo-filled and very gropey:
The metaphor is so transparent it must be a metaphor for something else. It must be.
VictorianMasculinity: This is just a shit Dirty Dancing.
VictorianMasculinity: Is she just going to stare gormlessly at him this whole song? She’s not said anything to the Phantom. Politeness should dictate she says something and some point.
But alas, she does not. I’ll give this to her, no one does ‘blank stare’ quite like Emmy Rossum.
Then the Phantom shows Christine his weird little shrine to her, which includes some sort of unholy, uncanny valley life-sized Christine Wedding Barbie, and Christine does the first reasonable thing in the film: faint dead away at the sheer creepiness of it.
The Phantom carries her off to a weird bed:
Douglas: Auch, let me take you tae ma peacock! Also, ma bed’s shaped like a peacock!
And pulls some ugly-ass curtains down over her:
Douglas: Me girl’s done fainted. Looks like another night alone with me Irn Bru and me John Cocteau arms.
Meanwhile, in the ballerina dormitories, a stage hand named Joseph Buquet regales the girls with tales of the HIDEOUS Phantom and his evil magical lasso, using the opportunity to sexually harass some opera tarts.
Madame Giry shows up, gives him a well-deserved crack across the face, and says, ‘Really? Really? You want to piss off the dude who you know is dangerous and listens in on everything that happens in this opera house? KEEP YOUR HAND AT THE LEVEL OF YOUR EYES, or ya gonna get noosed.’
The next morning, Christine wakes up to the demonically possessed monkey and is like, ‘Da fuq happened?’
The Phantom is all, ‘Morning, how do you take your eggs? I can have one of the Cocteau arms whip you something up. Kevin makes a nice milkshake.’
Christine responds by ripping his mask off his face, because she’s a rude AF house guest:
The Phantom gets pissy and returns her to the opera house, where everyone is collectively losing their shit that the new star has disappeared. They’re more annoyed, however, that the Phantom has been hard at his letter-writing campaign, sending these dickish notes to everyone and their mother:
The Phantom is like, ‘Y’all, DID I FUCKING STUTTER? Here’s what’s going to go down: 1.) You’re going to stop casting Carlotta in anything, she sucks, 2.) Bitch better have my money, 3.) I’m going to keep ‘protecting’ Christine (with my penis) and Raoul can go fuck himself, 4.) This is my theatre and if you don’t follow my instructions I’m going to cram these notes so far inside your bodies that you’ll be coughing up wax for a week’.
The new owners, sick of being pushed around, are like, ‘Sorry, guy, we don’t speak dick *fingers in ears* lalala, can’t hear you!
‘1.) Carlotta’s going to be our star again, 2.) We’re not paying you shitfuck, 3.) Raoul is going to ‘protect’ Christine (with his penis), and 4.) this is our theatre, and you can piss off straight to hell! Bottom of the morning to you!’
They convince Carlotta to come back to the opera via a lot of ego-stroking and puppies:
Then we’re ricocheted into some Dangerous Liaisons-style opera set in fucking Candyland:
The extras, meanwhile, are having the lamest orgy I’ve ever seen, by just gently pulsating in the corner:
We zoom in on Carlotta’s voice-perfume, or whatever the fuck it is, and know that nothing good is about to happen as the Phantom replaces it:
Douglas: I’m sorry, does the Phantom just have identical bottles ready at hand?
VictorianMasculinity: Identical cut-glass bottles with giant gold atomizsers are part of his Phantom Utility Belt.
The Phantom then interrupts the song by bursting through a door up near the chandelier, and saying, ‘Are y’all deaf, or just stupid??? NONE OF MY INSTRUCTIONS HAVE BEEN FOLLOWED, YOU’RE GOING TO GET IT NOW. *evil laugh*
Douglas: *as the Phantom* Now back en ma wee hole.
Carlotta goes to get some of her voice perfume and resumes the song, except the Phantom has replaced it with walrus-juice or whatever, because she starts croaking and bellowing like a beached sea creature.
Everyone freaks, and sends Christine off to get ready to take Carlotta’s part, while the ballerinas cavort around with sheep to entertain the audience.
While all this is going on, Joseph Buquet starts poking his nose where it doesn’t belong:
The Phantom goes, ‘Sir, I have seen your death, and it is good!’ and catches up with him on the catwalk:
Buquet drops on the stage in the middle of the ovine ballet like the worst pinata in the world,
while the Phantom cape-swooshes and says, ‘That’ll teach you to throw shade at the 3/8ths of my face that isn’t incredibly handsome, you sandbag-dropping mother fucker’.
Everyone freaks out, and the new owners of the theatre try to calm everybody down by going, ‘IT’S AN ACCIDENT OR A JOKE OR SOMETHING.’
Yeah. That Phantom. What a fucking prankster.
Raoul and Christine flee up to the roof of the theatre, where they assume they’ll be alone.
VictorianMasculinity: GO OUTSIDE, go anywhere but inside the theatre!
Christine tells Raoul that the Phantom is basically an abusive boyfriend who stalks her and will kill as many men as it takes to get his way. Raoul says, ‘There is no Phantom of the Opera!’
Douglas: No Phantom? Who shouts at the audience, sends notes, and strangles perverts? Come on, Raoul! Either you’re an idiot or you’re gaslighting a 16 year old.
Me and VictorianMasc: He’s an idiot.
Then they sing the big love song of the film, because nothing is sexier to a woman than being told that all her concerns about her safety are just in her head:
VictorianMasculinity: Meanwhile, on the next building over at the Moulin Rouge, they’re having a much more pleasant rooftop song.
Little do they know the Phantom is listening to them from behind a big horsey statue:
Douglas: *as Glaswegian Phantom* I dinnae ken why, but something in ma DNA es telling me tae put a wee traffic cone on this horse statue.
When Christine and Raoul run off to have the world’s most vanilla sex (exactly 6 minutes, lights off, Raoul will leave his socks on), the Phantom vows revenge. Something along the lines of, ‘I murdered a stagehand for you, Christine. Why do you not reciprocate my love? Wait. I know what will do it: more revenging.’
Douglas: *as Glaswegian Phantom* This es a shite night. Ma chips and cheese are cold. Ma hen’s run off with a tosser.
Then the Phantom goes radio silent for the next three months, which shouldn’t alarm people in the theatre at all. But no, these people decide to resume the status quo (which the Phantom hated), assume that the Phantom has left the theatre for good after doing a little light murder, and that now is the perfect time for a giant masquerade ball:
Everyone dresses like an asshole and is born to hand jive, I guess.
There’s a song to go with it:
Christine and Raoul show up fooling no one with their SECRET ENGAGEMENT, which they will definitely keep a super duper secret with Christine’s giant ugly-ass engagement ring hidden in plain sight in her fucking cleavage:
Hurray for that ‘secret’ ring, because I swear to fucking God in French musical heaven, I haven’t seen anyone make a poor life choice in at least forty jesus-christing seconds.
Me: Christine doesn’t even have a mask!
VictorianMasculinity: Her whole face is a mask!
Anyway, a few minutes into the first dance, the Phantom shows up wearing a bright red outfit, all like, ‘LOOK WHO’S HERE, FUCKOS’, and I gotta be honest, he is in a room full of theatre types and manages to be the most Extra every time, which is no mean feat:
He says he’s been busy working on his new opera, a Don Juan knock-off. Christine is going to play the lead, Carlotta needs to fuck off, and Piangi (the lead tenor) is in sore need of some body shaming:
Douglas: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where’s all this heat for Piangi coming from? Gerry, we are from the city that invented the deep-fried Mars bar. You’re looking at the Ghost of Christmas Future, my friend!
He rips off Christine’s engagement ring necklace and disappears in a cloud of smoke down a trap door:
Raoul follows him.
Douglas: Down the opera anus we go!
We land in a pointless room full of a bunch of mirrors, and Raoul flails around like a baby until Madame Giry comes and rescues him.
VictorianMasculinity: Madame Giry is the living embodiment of the phrase ‘I leave you alone for five minutes’.
Madame Giry then explains the history of the Phantom: when she was a young ballerina at the opera, they took them on a school outing to a freak show. Look, it was a simpler time.
She saw one particular attraction called ‘The Devil’s Child’, which is really just this spooky-ass burlap-bag-ass kid:
He’s minding his own business, playing with a little stuffed monkey toy with cymbals–
Douglas: I’m sorry, but where did this caged child get miniature cymbals from? Fuck’s sake.
–and his … owner?? … comes in and starts whuppin’ on his ass for no damn reason. When the crowd leaves, Baby Phantom finds some rope and strangles the owner. Baby Madame Giry sees it, helps Baby Phantom escape, and she hides him in the basement of the opera, where he thrived like a goddamned mint plant.
Anyway, despite having no education or training in anything, the Phantom is a polymath genius. It leaves one to wonder why he’s hanging out in the basement of a theatre instead of, say, a university or a laboratory or a museum, BUT WHAT DO I KNOW. This is Edward Cullen going to high school for 100 years all over again!
Anyway, back in the present, Christine wakes up early and decides to go on a road trip, telling no one where she is. Good work, Christine. We find Raoul asleep in a chair, guarding her dormitory door.
Question 1: He’s the Vicomte of Fancypants. Why doesn’t he just move his girlfriend into a DIFFERENT PAD? She extremely does not have to work there! Get married and move to Monaco, you dumb kids. You have all the financial resources!
Question 2: Why would the Phantom not just kill Raoul, who is asleep and vulnerable at this moment. He’s already committed one public murder, I doubt another one will harm his conscience.
Question 3: Who are all the Phantom’s suppliers? Like, he has a lot of accouterments to accompany his Big Theatre Kid shenanigans, and I appreciate that he gets a salary from the opera house but, like, who is delivering this stuff?
This film has plot holes you could drive a truck through.
But I digress. We’re missing the main point, which is that Christine is about to get tits out for Daddy’s grave:
Okay, there are obviously a lot more prominent boobs in this film (lest we forget the gold-nippled extras), but that is still significant boobage for winter in a graveyard. There’s a whole fucking song about Christine Daae’s Daddy Issues™, if you want to see someone walk very slowly and boobtastically through a cemetery.
She collapses at the foot of her father’s crypt
and then the Phantom starts singing (because of COURSE he stalked her there) about how he’s definitely the spirit of her daddy, yep, definitely daddy–DADDY LOVES YOU, CHRISTINE!
VictorianMasculinity: What, 3 years ago he pimped out her dad’s grave just waiting for an opportunity to impress her? I guess I respect that.
Christine almost goes and boinks her Daddy-Phantom on a headstone, but Lord Cockblock shows up at the last second to throw some cold water on the situation.
GODDAMN IT, RAOUL, I WANT TO SEE SOMEONE GET BOINKED ON A HEADSTONE, LIKE MARY SHELLEY DID
He and the Phantom get into a sword fight, and the Phantom swooshes his cape around so much, I’m convinced he’s just trying to waft his pheromones.
Raoul wins the fight, but rather than killing the KNOWN MURDERER Phantom, he just pisses him off, leaves him in the graveyard, and allows him to continue whatever revenge plot he’s hashing.
But, hey Raoul has a plan:
1.) Immediately after the graveyard scene, he must have been like, ‘Right, back to work, Christine’.
2.) They’re going to stage the Phantom’s show–the super sexy one he’s written for Raoul’s fiancee, that he’s had months to plan and plot around.
3.) They’re going to bring in the fucking FRENCH MILITARY and when the Phantom’s on stage they can, like, shoot him. Even though Raoul could have killed him 5 minutes ago and didn’t.
VictorianMasculinity: So, your plan to capture or kill the guy famous for having secret trap doors is to bar the entire audience inside with him and the high likelihood of military cross-fire? And you’re telling everyone this plan inside the theatre, where you know he listens? My god, he and Christine are going to have the most vacant children known to man.
The night of the opera arrives. Honestly, I would ask for a refund if I walked in to see this. I don’t need my arias with a side of musket, thanks.
Piangi comes on and is like, ‘I’m the lead in this opera! My diet is going well! Everything’s coming up Piangi!’ only to go back stage and be murdered by the Phantom, for no other reason than the Phantom’s caught a bad case of Showgirls.
Douglas: Oh no! Little buddy! How was your diet going? We’ll never know!
The Phantom takes Piangi’s place, and I gotta tell you, the Phantom in this scene can get it. Christine’s own blouse keeps trying to take itself off whenever he sings.
Dang, son, if you just turned up the smolder and turned down the sociopathy, Christine would not care at all about the messed up half of your face! You wouldn’t be losing women to men with BOBS!
VictorianMasculinity: My god, Christine is easy to seduce. It’s like hypnotising chickens.
Meanwhile, Raoul, who has brought out the entire French military specifically for the purpose of shooting this tight-trousered asshole, instead just allows the Phantom to feel up his girlfriend (who is digging it) in front of all French society, while Raoul sits there and cries.
Oh, for God’s sake, Christine, go with the one who’ll give you the weirdest sex life–you clearly want to let your inner nasty off the leash.
The Phantom then starts singing Christine and Raoul’s love song, which is some weapons-grade pettiness right here. Christine takes the opportunity to rip his mask off and reveal what Douglas’s shrieked was a BACON FACE:
Douglas *incoherently shrieking from prosthetic makeup Hell* His face looks like bacon! Bacon! Face!
The Phantom truly has a trap door for all occasions, because he sends the chandelier plummeting into the audience, no doubt killing a bunch of people, and plunges Christine and himself into the basement.
Raoul chases them, remembering Madame Giry’s words: keep your hand at the level of your eye:
Better advice would be to keep your eyes on the fucking floor, because Raoul falls through yet another trap door. The structural integrity of this building is like Swiss cheese!
VictorianMasculinity: Ha! Your hand didn’t do you any fucking good, now did it?
The Phantom drags Christine down to his lair, puts her in that wedding dress he (?) made, and gives her a giant scolding and whines about how ugly he is. She says that she would probably have dated him regardless of his face, if he didn’t have such a piss poor attitude:
Douglas: God, his face isn’t that bad! He looks like he’s got conjunctivitis, or has had a bad reaction to shellfish. There was no need to put him in the Elephant Man mask and beat him with sticks!
Christine, girl, some advice: 1.) This guy will freak you nasty, 2.) This guy will further your singing career, 3.) This guy will let you work through some of your not insignificant Daddy Issues™, and 4.) If Raoul’s choice of engagement ring is anything to go by, the Phantom has a much better sartorial dress sense. I say: stay here in this weird cavern and do him like a crossword!
Then Raoul shows up and forgets for one hot second about keeping his hand at the level of his eye:
The Phantom gives Christine an ultimatum: you can go free, but I’m going to kill your boyfriend. Or he can go free, but you have to stay with me forever.
Christine goes, ‘Counter offer, how about we just make out for a long time?’
The power of her snogs make the Phantom’s heart grow three sizes, and he lets Christine and Raoul go free. She gives him her ugly engagement ring to ‘remember’ her by.
VictorianMasculinity: That’s reeks of, ‘Oh, gee, sorry, honey, I must have lost it! Can we buy another one … that I get to pick out?
Christine and Raoul gondola off to a real basic sex life, while the Phantom smashes some mirrors and plans a career change.
The opera house has burned to the ground, several people are dead, more are out of work, but I’m glad that the Phantom’s finally had a breakthrough in therapy.
In the future, Old Raoul visits Christine’s grave.
Douglas: Well, at least I have the monkey I never actually saw in the past which therefore has no significance for me.
But the Phantom is still alive and has also left an offering:
We got into a debate over if that ring would be stolen instantly, or if it’s too ugly for even thieves to want.
VictorianMasculinity: Raoul is so limp he’s basically a jellyfish poured into a waistcoat, and don’t let anyone tell you any differently.
Douglas *snickering quietly* Bacon face.
That’s all from us for a while–suggestions for films are always welcome!