The story of an opera house haunted by a musical genius, who falls in love with a chorus girl and elevates her to stardom. It was a combination of schlock, syrup and superior showmanship, and it has haunted the musical theatre world ever since. The Phantom of the Opera is unavoidable, one definition of the art form itself; slick, populist and crashingly unsubtle, it nevertheless has a strange power to enthral.
This production, billed as a new iteration from producer Cameron Mackintosh rather than composer Andrew Lloyd Webber – the labyrinthine corporate negotiations that underpin a show of this magnitude would fill an episode of Succession – is no carbon copy of the original. Like Mackintosh’s recent revival of Les Miserables, it has been entirely redesigned and restaged. Some changes are massive, and massively risky; others are more a matter of emphasis.
Perhaps the riskiest alterations are to do with the set design. Original designer Maria Björnson has since died, and Mackintosh employed Paul Brown to come up with a different aesthetic along with simplified sets suitable for touring. The problem is that certain theatrical effects – the chandelier, the Paris Opera House staircase, the black lacquered lake lit by giant candelabra – have become iconic and are now part of the fabric of the show, as much key signifiers as the Phantom’s mask. To do away with them, or minimise their efficacy, threatens to destabilise the whole show.
It isn’t all loss, though. Downplaying the spectacle lets audiences focus on the central story; what remains is a taut psychological love triangle, brimming with lush musical numbers, in a production that has a strong sense of narrative urgency. Much has been made of the recalibration of the role of Christine (Amy Manford), formerly a waif-like ingenue led about by more powerful men, but here portrayed as a tough, if conflicted, heroine. Less deconstructed is the show’s attitude to disfigurement, which remains a dodgy reflection of the Phantom’s inner wretchedness. Not all of Phantom sits well with modern sensibilities.
The new cast are fantastic across the board. Josh Piterman is a swooning, distempered Phantom, strongly emphasising the character’s emotional torment over the sadism sitting under the surface. His primary motivation, at least initially, is an artistic one, and Piterman brings a brooding seriousness of musical intent – Beethoven by way of Lon Chaney. His voice is lovely, although on opening night it feels a little tentative and tremulous, especially in the key number ‘Music of the Night’. Blake Bowden, in the role of Raoul, is also excellent, his powerful and assured tenor giving the character an unusual gravitas. It would be fascinating to see the two actors alternate the roles, like shifting satellites orbiting the centrifugal force of Christine.
In that key role, Manford is a flat-out revelation. Having played the part in London and Athens, she has an astonishing command over its vocal requirements, often letting her gorgeous crystalline voice soar over the orchestrations. She is also excellent at internal conflict, her compassion and her sensuality competing with her need for security. Christine’s desire for “a world with no more night” is an impossibility, but Manford makes us understand how tied up it is in her grief and sense of duty. Like so much of the show, she is a haunted figure, pulled endlessly into the past.
The rest of the cast are terrific, from Andy Morton and David Whitney’s irrepressible rogues André and Firmin, to Jayde Westaby’s severe, tightly wound Madame Giry. Paul Tabone is a wonderfully blustering Piangi and Giuseppina Grech is splendid as a Gorgon-like Carlotta, all spit and spite. Her voice is magnificent, which makes the Phantom’s dismissal of it seem like sour grapes, or maybe artistic immaturity.
Björnson’s costumes are as opulent as ever, richly detailed and bursting with life and movement. But while Paul Brown’s sets (which are less gothic than late Victorian, heavy and lumbering) are occasionally effective – the cylindrical wall that splits in two to reveal the Phantom’s lair, or opens up like a doll’s house for the managers’ office, is ingenious – they don’t match the sheer scale and splendour of the original. They are almost stodgy, and awfully pinched and crowded on the cavernous State Theatre stage.
It is a strange, almost melancholy experience to revisit Phantom of the Opera, something that won’t affect newcomers, who are likely to love it. While we certainly haven’t outgrown the kind of musical theatre a show like this represents – the return of Mary Poppins in January alone testifies to that – we are over familiar with its reliance on effects-heavy spectacle. Giant coups de theatre, from Miss Saigon’s helicopter to Aladdin’s flying carpet, started dominating the art form as soon as that chandelier first fell onto the Phantom’s West End stage back in 1986. This new production is beautifully performed and sumptuously entertaining, but it feels haunted somehow by its own legacy.
The Phantom of the Opera will run until January 29, 2023. Tickets for the production are on sale now.