Play And Movie Phantom Fanfic

 

In this story, I’m pitting the "movie" Phantom and the "play" Phantom not quite against one another, but definitely butting heads. You’ll see. Anyway, I obviously need a distinction between the two. So the "play" Phantom will be called Erik, while the "movie" Phantom will be called Gerard, after the man who played him. I’m not calling the play Phantom "Michael," (after Michael Crawford,) because Michael Crawford is the one true Phantom, despite what any "Oh, my God, Gerard is SO HOT!!!" people might say. Therefore, he deserves the title of the Phantom’s actual name.

Oh, one last thing, it’ll help greatly if you’ve seen the movie to follow along with what all I say in here. In fact, if you want to play the movie while reading this, I’m sure you’ll find it quite entertaining.

Anyway, on with the show!

 

Deep down in the tunnels beneath the opera house, had anyone been there to listen, they would have heard the swish of cloaks, the groan of a chair long since convinced no one would occupy the seat again, and . . . a DVD player starting?

Yes, indeed, our resident Phantom has heard of a director making a movie about his famous stunts and captures at the Opera Populaire. He couldn’t help but be curious, because rumor had it that the very songs he’d so often sung on the stage were to be integrated into this silver screen production. He couldn’t help but wonder if it would do him justice.

He pushed Play on the remote for the DVD player — technology never ceased to astound him — and the movie began.

"An old movie effect . . ." he murmured as he saw the ancient Raoul being wheeled into the auction house. "Interesting . . . "

In fact, he had no complaints about the items auctioned off, nor how the bidding was done. Though he found it curious that Madame Giry should want the Persian monkey musical box. It was no surprise to him that the box was still in working order. He’d meant it to last a lifetime. And one could never guess how long one would live . . .

But then, Raoul’s voice began singing, more of a train of thought than something to be said aloud.

"A collector’s piece, indeed. Every detail, exactly as she said. Will you still play when all the rest of us are dead?"

 

Erik leaned forward in his chair, pausing the DVD. "What? Where are the rest of his lyrics?" He began singing, in perfect pitch, the rest of the lines that should have been there. ". . .exactly as she said. She often spoke of you, my friend. Your velvet lining and your figurine of lead. Will you still play . . .?"

 

Erik shook his head and sat back in his chair. “Well, it’s only one thing. Surely no more than that could have been changed.”

He took up the remote and pressed play again. The auctioneer once again impressed him with his acting, especially during his description of “the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera — a mystery never fully explained.” And though he would never thought this could happen, as Erik saw the chandelier pulled back up to its former height and glory and the theater restored to its original beauty, chills ran up and down his spine.

He watched the carriage with Andre and Firmin pull up in front of the majestic building and remembered watching that same scene from a different spot. High up on one of the roofs of the Opera Populaire.

“What???” he exclaimed as the break in the orchestra never came. He paused the DVD player again and stood up. Pointing at the TV, as if the director could hear him, he shouted, “How dare you add to my original score?! That music was crafted out of the genius of my mind, how dare you think you can add upon that kind of effort, talent, and finesse???”

Erik raved for a good ten minutes, refusing to play the movie any further, until finally, he sat down at his organ and played through the introduction the correct way, cutting off when the opera that Carlotta and the rest were rehearsing would start. Then, sufficiently calmed down, he went back to the movie . . .

. . . And almost turned it right back off. For Carlotta was singing.

Erik simply covered his ears and muttered, “At least they got her character correctly.”

He knew he couldn’t keep his ears blocked, however. He wanted to hear Christine. He wanted to see the spunky little Meg suggest his angel for Carlotta’s replacement.

In the middle of the Hannibal scene, right after the ladies’ part, the scene cut to an image of a horse drawn carriage. A man, long-ish hair and a wide smile on his face, got out and began walking with who Erik knew were Andre and Firmin. Who was that long-haired lad? It couldn’t possibly be . . .

Erik cringed when Piangi began “singing.” He was thankful when the former manager interrupted them.

“Wait.” This DVD was being tested in its pausing capabilities. “Junk business? Scrap metal, whatever they want to fancy it up with . . . Then why was the chandelier not taken by them after I . . . after this Phantom knocked it down after Christine and that wretched boy declare their–” Erik had to choke past this word– “love for one another? It makes no sense that they would keep it. Unless they believed the Phantom truly had cursed the entire theater and all it’s objects.”

He finally continued and was not at all surprised to find that this long haired pussy-boy was indeed his hated nemesis, the Vicompte de Chagny, Raoul.

“Christine, he’s so handsome,” he heard Meg tell her friend. Erik spit on his floor. “Handsome isn’t everything, dear little dancer.”

Unlike the performance that he commented on later, the dancing in this rehearsal was exquisite.

Erik laughed out loud after the rehearsal resumed and Piangi was unable to climb onto the elephant, even with the attempted help of the strange little midget. There was a classic stage presence about that bumble that had to be included. He was glad the director had had the sense to leave it in.

Once Carlotta decided she “will not be singing!” Erik was thrown into confusion yet again. After a few more minutes of angry pacing because of the diva, he simply chalked it up to the fact that that’s what she was — the diva. Everything had to be, by her standards, perfection, and if it wasn’t, she would raise Hell. He couldn’t wait to see Carlotta cut down to size during the production of Il Muto. But he did laugh again when the old manager told Andre and Firmin what to do. “Grovel. Grovel, grovel.”

“Goddess of song!” he heard Firmin compliment.

“Bah! There is only one Goddess of song in that theater, and her name is not Carlotta, you fool!”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Erik listened. “The aria isn’t in Act Three. It was right after the line, ‘Hannibal comes!’ Carlotta was supposed to immediately start singing it, there was no break!” Sitting back in his chair, he muttered, “What next? Are they going to expose this Phantom to the entire

theater when he releases the backdrop to cease her wretched warbling?”

Erik watched as the backdrop was released — late. Carlotta was never meant to get past the word “heart.” Instead, it was only let to drop after she’d reached the word. And since when did only Meg announce in a hushed voice to Christine, “He’s here: the Phantom of the Opera?” All of the chorus girls were supposed to sing that, and either Andre or Firmin was supposed to sing, “Good heavens will you show a little courtesy?”

 

Nearly cheering when Carlotta left, Erik watched as Mme Giry came up with the letter for Andre and Firmin.

 

“There’s a reason they’re obsessed, my dear Firmin,” Erik murmured menacingly.

 

“His Operas House!”“Yes. My Opera House . . .”

 

“Christine Daae could sing it, sir.”

 

“Mme Giry? She doesn’t suggest Christine! Meg does and her mother backs her up! And yes, she’s a chorus girl! So what? She has the voice of an angel!”

“She has been taking lessons from a great teacher.”

 

“Thank you, my dear woman.”

“Let her sing for you, monsieur. She has been well taught.”

 

“Yes, she has. Heh. At least they didn’t give that line to Meg.” He could sense Christine’s hesitation, but knew she’d be wonderful. And once she opened her mouth, he knew he was right. Erik was glad to see that Carlotta wasn’t the only one they’d cast correctly. He watched the entire cast crowd around her in amazement and once again stood up, declaring, “Yes, look on in astonishment at the voice I crafted, mere mortals of the opera!”

“Ah, she truly is a vision of — What? She’s supposed to dance during this scene! Though how could she, what with that huge garment they have her stuffed in. And what is that? Is she holding a teacup? Why is her arm out that way? Yes, that’s right, put your arm down now.”

“There will never be a day when I won’t think of you!” Christine sang as the camera dropped down to the orchestra, a vent down below, and through another crack in the floor till finally it showed a very nice blue-ish lit shot of who everyone knew was the Phantom. The mask could just barely be seen and one knew he was listening to his angel’s voice, as one listens for a song from Heaven. Erik closed his eyes for a moment, in remembrance of his night, when he heard Christine for the first time assuming the diva’s role.

“Can it be? Can it be Christine?”

 

Erik’s eyes flew open. He heard Raoul’s obvious recognition. “He saw her then? Curses! She could have been mine, had I given her a different opening night!”

He got a small smirk when the spy of Carlotta’s came out and gestured how wonderful a reception Christine had received. Carlotta fainted on the spot. But when they next showed Christine, she was bowed before a candelabra in a dark, dank room, lit only by candles, with a stained glass window behind her.

“Where the Devil is she? Is that — That’s not her dressing room! And — What?! I do not say ‘Brava, brava, bravisima!’ I said ‘Bravi, bravi, bravisimi.’ And I call to her when she’s in her dressing room. This looks more like — They put a chapel into my Opera House!! How dare they?!”

He watched as Meg found her, on the alert for more changes. As if the ones he’d caught so far weren’t enough to put him on edge.

“ . . . I only wish I knew your secret. Who is your great tutor?” Meg sang.

Erik nearly had a seizure. He didn’t know how many more changes in the lyrics he could take. “Who is this new tutor . . .” he seethed through clenched teeth.

He listened as Christine spoke of her “Angel of Music” talking to her in the chapel whenever she went down to light a candle for her father. And how that same voice was always with her in her dreams.

“I was there in your dreams, my gorgeous vision, but I was never there in a chapel! What is this director trying to do to the image of the opera house and myself?! I specifically made it so that there would never be a chapel built! I would never speak to someone in a chapel, not even Christine! It was always in her dressing room. I appeared in a mirror. Do you see a mirror in that room? No! It’s all stone and stained glass.”

“Here in this room, he calls me softly, somewhere inside, hiding . . .”

“No, my dear. Never in that room did I call you.”

He simply observed as Christine and Meg, (oh, there‘s that teacup arm coming up again,) came back to her dressing room, not having any further complaints about their voices or the lyrics.

“He welcomes you to his Opera House –”

 

“I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost.”

“Oh, God in Heaven, you’re all obsessed.”