The Phantom of the Opera: or, the house that won't clean itself
2009-07-01
Musings on The Phantom of the Opera, rainy days and romance.
Scattered showers fall on the wild, windy day. The grey clouds loom low. A perfect day to be indoors. To get some work done.
I hate housework. I find it mind-numbing and dull. I’d much rather be anywhere but here, in my run down rental house folding the same clothes, washing the same dishes, picking up the same toys.
The thing that keeps me going is to listen to something distracting. Pod casts, preaching CDs, the radio. Anything to get my mind off how bored I am ironing the uniforms and taking out the recycling.
Today, I choose a CD I haven’t heard for a while: The Phantom of the Opera, the movie soundtrack version. The movie version of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical. Ah, it’s brilliant. I reminisce on how wonderful it was, over a year ago, when I fulfilled one of my life long dreams: to see The Phantom of the Opera stage play. They were showing it in the city and we managed to get some VIP tickets. I must’ve spent half my time there crying, the other half smiling so wide that I think anyone around me might‘ve thought I was crazy. Except that they were all smiling too – well, all except the noisy lot sitting just near us trying to work out what was going on. Otherwise, from the Muslim woman in her beautiful formal headscarf, to the suited Indian family behind us, we were all very joyous to be there. It was so achingly beautiful.
The memories fill my mind. I forget about the washing. I circle closer and closer to the stereo. In the end, I sit down and forget the housework. I’m sitting there, mesmerised. I find myself imagining that beautiful world portrayed in the musical. The curiosities, horrors and unique culture of France’s opera, and ballet – with a healthy dose of circus freaks – some century or so ago. And that tragic romance – where there can be no completely satisfying ending. The beautiful Christine, who meets again her childhood love Raoul. The broken Erik, the opera ghost, who loves Christine and helps her release her talents… but who, in rage, unleashes fury and terror and murder on the opera house.
It’s so exciting and glorious. What would it be like to be the woman over whom great battles are fought? The intensity of love that would drive Erik to madness, and drive Raoul to great courage and daring in seeking to rescue his fiancée from a murderous ghost? There is the heartbreaking song as Christine stands before her father’s grave and laments his loss. The recapturing of hope when Raoul says he will love her forever. The tormented Phantom singing that he also loves her. It is so dark, yet so colourful. Tragic, beautiful, romantic.
At that point, one of my children walks into the room. Seeing me on the couch, he asks, “What are you doing, mummy?”
I suppose he is wondering why I am all teary eyed. I snap back to attention. “Nothing much,” I reply. “Just tidying up.” I sigh. Time to come back to reality. Dishes to wash. Clothes to iron. Toilets to scrub. Bins to empty. Excitement, adventure and romance will have to wait for another time.
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