I’ve seen more than a dozen musicals — The Wiz, Hairspray, Dreamgirls, Grease, even the oldies like Carmen Jones and Cabin in the Sky. And yet, I continue to believe that I don’t particularly like musicals. Or plays for that matter. Which explains why I’d never seen a real-live Broadway show until last month, when I went to check out The Phantom of the Opera.
It was never my intention to see a musical I only had passing knowledge of from a Goosebumps book. Especially not one with “opera” in its title. I was sort of tricked into going when my cousin asked if I wanted to accompany her to a Broadway show after getting tickets from her school. I figured, “Sure, I could use some culture.” She hadn’t told me which show we would be seeing, so I automatically assumed it was going to be something cool like Hamilton or Wicked and that we’d have great seats. That was my vision: box seats at Hamilton.
Wrong on both counts. Our tickets were for rear mezzanine and it was for Phantom of the freakin’ Opera. Despite my initial disappointment, I decided to go anyway — after a fair bit of time spent mentally preparing to be opera-ed for two hours and 30 minutes.
They’re opera-ing! Everyone is opera-ing!
We arrived just as the lights were being dimmed and were assisted in finding our nosebleed seats, which were literally at the center of the very last row. I must admit: I was scared. Not because of the phantom, but because except for the attendant’s teeny-tiny flashlight, it was pitch black back there with no handrails. I’m no architect, but it would seem like the one place that would need handrails was where seats are so high you could eat a star.
As I walked up the red, carpeted stairs, my heart began hammering like I was a first timer at CrossFit. I was certain I was going to miss a step, fall and die before I had a chance to clear out my browser history. I’m a terrible person, so I told my cousin to go ahead and walk to her seat first. While she made her way, I made a quick pact with God that if he steadied my clumsy feet, I’d attend church on Easter.
The only “pro” to our seats was that they allowed us to see how beautiful the Majestic Theatre was. It was every bit grand and opulent as you would expect for a place with Majestic in its name. Even though I was waaaay up there, I was still able to see and hear all the action. But I couldn’t make out the faces too well, which was a bit disappointing. I was very much hoping to see just how nightmarish the Phantom looked without his signature white mask.
For anyone needing a refresher, the musical is based on Gaston Leroux’s 1909 French novel of the same name. A genius opera composer goes crazy after his face gets disfigured and then roams the hallways of Paris’ Grand Opera House because he now has a face that even his mother loathes. He becomes obsessed with a chorus girl, Christine Daae, and demands she gets bumped up to lead in all the plays or everyone dies.
Note: This is not the best romantic ploy ever devised and probably wouldn’t go over well in 2016.
As mentioned before, I’ve never seen a Broadway show before and was interested to see how some scenes would play out. I just really had no idea about the scope and scale of Broadway. So my mind was blown to bits during a particular scene that called for characters to travel to a secret lair by boat. By boat? How Sway?!
“Never thought I’d be on a boat, it’s a big blue watery road!”
The boat thing worked. Awesomely, I might add. What made the scene amazing is how it really did look like Phantom was rowing his way home. The stage floor was shrouded in billowing fog that was later pierced by scores of candles which seemed to pop up out of nowhere.
“What is this sorcery?!” I thought to myself.
The boat’s movements were fluid and seamless as it traveled the “lake,” leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that there really is a lake in Majestic Theatre. The scene’s incredible settings paired with the lead’s booming voice, and the theme song’s haunting organs all made for a terrifying experience. I was convinced a real phantom was going to come out any minute and go marauding through the theater — which would be fine, because he’d be exhausted by the time he got to the back row.
After the boat scene, panic began to set in when I looked at my phone and realized I still had 90 minutes left of this thing. Not that the show wasn’t entertaining, but sitting in a cramped seat with my legs pleading to be stretched isn’t my idea of fun. Add the fact that I was sitting in a spot where I felt trapped and unable to escape, and it’s a recipe for high levels of anxiety. This is precisely why I don’t like going to places where I don’t get to choose my own seating. Nothing makes me feel more nervous than feeling trapped. That and drunk white men. And because the show was on St. Patty’s Day, I’d already dealt with the latter.
To combat my sweating, worry and elevated heart rate, I took a couple of sips from the grossly overpriced bottle of water that I’d purchased in the lobby. Not too many sips, though, because I knew there was no way in Dante’s Inferno that I was going to get up out of my seat and walking down the dark stairs to use the restroom. I’d already cheated death once, I wasn’t about to go double-or-nothing.
During intermission, the lights came on and, rather than stretching my dead legs, I remained seated and instead pulled out my phone. This was a bad call. I believe I reached peak millennial right around the time I texted my friends with selfies from angles that made me look like I was searching for a signal in the woods.
By the time Act Two rolled around, I was second-guessing my decision to continue on. I wanted to hightail out of that place and get some fresh air, but stayed because, again, too dark and no handrails. I focused on the show and ignored my legs screaming louder than any actor on stage.
After a few years of this, the curtains went up. I’d made it through the second act — which I’m pretty sure is harder than anything the phantom ever had to go through. I stretched, yawned and safely made it down those unsafe steps.
To conclude: Despite the crappy, cramped seats, the NYC-priced bottle of water, the sweating, and the near panic attack, I enjoyed the show and will probably see another Broadway musical in the future… But only if I’m able to pick out my own seats and there are more boats on stage.
