(Say it again, Sam.) I perk down when the Phantom appears and asks me ‘not to wreck the show.’ Why do people keep saying that? I perk up when raffish Sam comes in to wish me luck. ‘It has to be strong or the lights will wash you out.’ ‘Head still,’ says the make-up lady, as I object to the blood red colour she is applying to my lips. I feel I could be singing Springtime For Hitler instead. I twist my head away and a false eyelash intended for my left lid is stuck to my upper lip. ‘Oh, we all have to wear those,’ says Lyndsey, who doesn’t seem to mind anything.Īt quarter to seven - 45 minutes to curtain! - a make-up lady arrives. Still, I can always make up for that, as long as Don Corleone Philip is safely ensconced in the gentlemen’s dressing room. There seems no under- current of rivalry. They present me with a good luck card, and offer me tea and home-made scones. I envisage torpid females, twisting like fish within the weary walls of a too-small aquarium.īut the dressing room is spacious and lovely, with light bulbs around every pristine mirror, individual costumes hung and name tagged, and irrepressible laughter. I am told I am sharing with the ladies’ chorus. ‘Take me to my dressing room,’ I say, like Gloria Swanson. ![]() I don’t need to be a method actor to imagine a standing ovation.īy then it is 5pm and we break for an hour. I learn how to twirl in the scene where we act out a Don Juan opera and how to take a curtain call. It looks like a swimming cap covered in an oil slick. ‘It’s nicer than mine.’ I don’t like my Don Juan Spanish wig, either. ‘I want your costume,’ I say to a comely blonde girl. ‘We are a family,’ he informs me with gravity. I notice that the other cast members defer to him. Philip Griffiths, an imposing man with cobalt eyes and brows like the wings of an eagle, has been in the production for two decades - he plays two characters, including the auctioneer. It is a tribute to the quality of Phantom that many of its players have been in the show for years. Moreover, the professionalism and dedication of the cast would have impressed even Michael Curtiz, the maniacal Hollywood director who marched around his sets cracking a horse whip. Besides the glorious music, Phantom is real glamour, not the cheap glitz that passes for it today. I begin to comprehend part of the show’s extraordinary success. It has been moved up and down 50,000 times. The Phantom’s lair magically comes up from below, wound by handles, with slits in the stage opening to allow its eerie passage. Most sets today are operated by computers. Her Majesty’s Theatre was built in 1897 and is a listed building because of the quality of the Victorian stage work. ‘When we opened with Michael Crawford as the Phantom we wanted him to stand on the chandelier and then leap onto the stage,’ says Sam. Highlights include the marbled winding staircase, based on the real one in the Opera Garnier in Paris, a papier mache elephant, six 10ft high candelabras that rise from flaps in the stage and the legendary crystal chandelier, which drops down in the first act, dangling perilously above the audience. It is the most elaborate in London and was designed by Maria Bjornson, the fabled stage artist. He is speaking in a cello-baritone about the set. I prefer Sam, who has eyes like a questing panther. Besides I cannot imagine having a relationship with Simon, who is sweet, but not raffish. This sounds suspiciously like method acting, which Humphrey Bogart called ‘scratch your a**e and spit’. By imagining events in my relationship with Simon, my interaction with him on stage will seem more convincing.įine tuning: Members of the cast rehearse their songs with a musician The director, Sam Hiller, who is raffish and lean, tells me I can invent a back story. After such a brief courtship I am not sure he will grow on me. She is going to help me on and off stage. My swing is Lyndsey, 20, who has hair like a winter sunset. It transpires that I am the object to be pushed and pulled, however.Ī swing is theatrical language for a cast member who has to learn all the male or female parts in order to ‘swing in’ if someone drops out. ‘What fun!’ I exclaim, picturing a scene in a Fragonard painting. He adds that the net worth of the 260 costumes used in the show is £400,000 and that the wigs are made of real hair, costing up to £4,000 each.Ĭhristine, the heroine, who is played by Portuguese soprano Sofia Escobar, sometimes uses four wigs a night.Īfter I have been fitted, I am taken to the stage to meet some of the cast and find my bearings. Phantom is the ultimate in theatrical glamour.’ ‘That gown you are looking at cost £1,200 and the fur is real. ![]() ![]() ‘All our costumes have been specially made by a couturier,’ Rhys says. ![]() Run through: The cast give it their all during rehearsals for the show
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