One of the minor characters in Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera is at the center of a small, but important, debate: was the Siren a separate character from Erik?

Leonard Wolf's translation of the text raises this question by pointing out Erik's confused grammar. Here is the relevant passage, from the Persian's narrative after Erik returns to the house, dripping wet:
"There was a heavy sigh followed by a cry of horror from Christine. Then we heard Erik's voice speaking to Christine in the personal form of address. 'I beg your pardon for showing you a face like mine. What a state I'm in. It's the other one's fault. Why did he ring the bell? Do I ask passersby what time it is? He won't ask that of anyone anymore. It's the siren's fault." (p. 280)

Wolf's footnote reads, "First Erik blames the other one, then the siren. Since Erik is the siren, we are left in some perplexity. Whom is Erik blaming?"

I never considered the implication that the siren is a separate entity, and I don't think Wolf's reading this correctly. For me, Erik's "other one" is Philippe--it's his fault. He's the one who rang the bell, after all. Later, blaming the siren, he is pushing the responsibility off on his other self, as a child might blame an imaginary friend. After all, when the Persian is almost ensnared by the siren's voice, it is Erik who emerges from the water: "'All of a sudden, two monstrous arms emerged form the water and grasped my throat and dragged me irresistibly down into the gulf. Certainly I would have been done for had I not had time to utter a cry that allowed Erik to recognize me." (p. 263) Erik then goes on to proudly demonstrate his trick of breathing through a reed--a trick the Persian calls "the trick of the siren."

If anything, I would venture that the siren--apart from being yet another shadowy figure of the Opera's underground--is Erik's feminine half, his anima (thank you, tkp). He is constantly referred to as having the voice of an "angel," though Raoul notes at the dressing room that it "did not belong to a woman." (142 p.) This doesn't entirely leave out the possibility that Erik can sound enough like a woman to warrant the siren description--especially when singing through a tube.

It has been argued that the Andrew Lloyd Webber version includes the siren(s) in the title song, the voices who sing "He's there, the Phantom of the Opera" as the Phantom takes Christine across the lake. However, in the libretto in my possession (the one in the George Perry book), these singers are merely listed as "Offstage Voices."

Like the shade, I believe there's room for interpretation of everything we see in the Phantom's domain. But I believe that as written, the siren and Erik are one and the same. For me, Erik's appropriation of a dangerously seductive mythical creature is even more interesting as an aspect of his own character, rather than a separate one. But I will open the floor now to your own observations and theories.

Acquired from lizbee

Fannish friends! Languishing in your archive are posts of great justice loveliness - meta, fic, icons, random babblings that you suspect may have been written by the LJ fairy while you were sleeping. Some of your current flist may never have seen them. Some might be horribly embarrassing to you now. But don't be shy. Share 5 posts (or whatever random number you fancy) from the back catalogue of your LJ.

This is Phantom-centric, since it's my only consistent fandom.

some of you may recall my strange affair with the Phantom of the Opera..., in which I whinge about why I'm getting back into a fandom I don't really belong to anymore. From January 2006. Early days, for me and LJ.

A Persian-centric snippit of fic I never completed, and haven't used, but which I find interesting... This really needs to go somewhere.

The horribly titled Maniphesto, which I guess addresses my first post.

Commentary on my fic "Shades", as requested by tkp.

And, for good measure, Le Grand Phantom Friending Meme of 2007.

I need to write more meta. Oh, wait, or that book.

Does anyone remember when I mentioned that "my" Persian was Alexander Siddig?

I just heard (from Habitual Flippancy on DevArt, if this has been announced elsewhere online I just haven't seen it yet) that he's the Persian in the Big Finish audiobook.

I'm seriously over the moon with joy. And I'm ordering it right now despite the fact that I really shouldn't be buying myself presents.

How often does something like this come true? Now, if only it was visual...

x-posted to mazenderan

Sometimes I troll amazon.com for published fanfic, just to read the reviews. This is my favorite so far:

Le Fantome, by Brigitta D'Arcy

The Worst Phantom Book Out There!, April 22, 2006
A Kid's Review
I checked on every single website for books, even the used ones, and I couldn't find this book. Finally, I came to amazon.com and saw there was one in the used and new section. I instantly purchased it and couldn't wait for it to come in the mail. When I did, I read it and was sadly disappointed.

I'd heard one bad review for it before I got it in the mail, but I didn't listen because I am always open minded to every Phantom book out there. I can tell you now, I should have listened to that wise person. Le Fantome is not a Christine/Erik spin-off or anything like that. It's not even something for Raoul phans. It's about Erik dying and then his spirit goes into the future where the Broadway Phantom of the Opera is playing. And just because he sees one random woman crying for him, as well as everyone in the theatre, he instantly decides that she's the one for him.

But that's not all, either. Briggita D'Arcy tries to convince you the ENTIRE read that her book is true and that she saw this all in a vision. She probably did see this in a random vision..when she was high on cocaine. Even before all the chapters, she writes that this may seem supernatural/ sci-fi, but it is based on fact. In the Porlogue, she repeats that the book by Gaston Leroux was absolutely true, but he wrote it all wrong and now she had to write a book portraying the real story. Her version of what she thinks happened in Erik's earlier life and life with Christine, along with where he lived, didn't even match up to Gaston Leroux's story. Gaston Leroux has facts and specific details and explains real streets and rivers in Paris. Briggita D'Arcy just said "he walked along some street" or something like that.

Then the woman that was supposedly "the love of his life" is being stalked by the spirit of Erik. And it's in her point of view (and this is actually something the author had the woman write, even after she was spirited off to the spirit world with Erik). The strange thing is, the writing is exactly like the author's style and she never gives her name because it's "Erik's story".

While Erik stalks her, she somehow feels his presence and knows that it's Erik. My whole point is, this plotline was really crappy and a waste of time. The writing was even crappy. Throughout the entire book, I felt like I was choking on words and the descriptions were horrible or far-fetched.

Please, anyone considering to buy this book, place that thought completely from your mind. This book is the worst Phantom book out there. I hope this helps.

So much more entertaining than the actual books.

That is all.

First of all, anyone with an interest in Phantom of the Opera should run right over to tkp's journal and read her thinky thots on Dario Argento's version. It may come as a surprise, but I really love this one. Most of what I love about it is enumerated in her list. I know a lot of POTO people avoid this film on principal ("He's not even ugly! I heard there's rat!sex!") but despite its rather appalling features there's something really interesting about it, too.

So go read. I can't believe I live with this girl. Life is amazing.

In other news:

Rupublican candidates as Buffy Characters

For all you librarians out there:

AACR2: The Movie

Because they're silly, I've saved up all my Phantom of the Opera-related sightings for one post.
( Erik is everywhere )

I've made a little thingy you can put up to advertise/link to The Fifth Cellar:



Feel free to take and put up anywhere you like. Or if you think it sucks and want me to/want you to make a new one, let me know that, too!

Thanks for all your support so far. I really like where this is going and I'm overjoyed to have good Phantom fic to read!

Here it is, folks! Page 2, as fast as I can get it.
( dun dun dun! )

As you may know, tkp now resides at whatever-we're-calling-my-house. You may not know that she is a secret Phantom of the Opera fan. Inspired by Mr. Daroga's high school collaborative comics, we decided to do a little experiment: each of us will draw a page of a comic about "ourselves" going back in time and landing in Phantom (like a real bad!fic!) and leave the word bubbles open for the other to fill in. And we do it one page at a time, so there's no planning and no telling where it'll go.

Here's page one.
( Read more... )

I am pleased and proud to announce the opening of The Fifth Cellar, a new, all-inclusive Phantom fiction archive. Our goal is to create a home for all types of quality Phantom fiction, searchable by canon, characters, and many other genres and story types. It's in its infancy, so feel free to make suggestions, but most of all I hope you join and post and review others' writing.

I know there have been a few archives before this, and you've probably posted your fic other places only to have it disappear. Please consider this my vow of commitment to this project and to making a good archive fun. All kinds of stories are welcome!

Please join us.

x-posted everywhere

Most of what has to be said about Darkness Brings the Dawn: Erik’s Story has already been put forth eloquently in this Amazon.com review. I don’t actually have an explanation as to why I took it upon myself to page through the entire thing--but for you, my dear readers.
( Once again, I take on this burden to spare you. )

For years, I considered the 1983 Hungarian tv-movie of Phantom of the Opera to be unavailable. I hadn’t exhausted every avenue, perhaps, but it had proven much more difficult to find than any of the others. This is for two reasons. One, that it is only available on DVD in PAL format.

Two, that it is very, very bad. Not even the good kind of bad; and it’s marred even further by the inclusion of some actual dialogue from Gaston Leroux, shoehorned into a completely unlike plot and character.
( the review )
( every photo here could be labled: YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG )

8-inch felt dolls, made on commission by cesario of doll_shop. Now I have my very own Persian, and a Phantom with swoopy hair. He reminds me of David Lynch. Kind of.

I'm so excited! Now, where to put them...

Remember Soap? Remember when Robert Guillaume played the Phantom?



Remember how I'm the funniest person ever?

metalmyersjason's prompt: Erik/Carlotta pairing taking place in a theater in San Francisco in the early seventies

"What are you doing here?" The voice dripped venom—or was it acid, what the kids were doing now? Either way, it was a voice she'd hoped never to hear again. She rolled her eyes and her head to look over at the speaker. It was dark, here in the flies, but she could make out a dark outline and those unmistakable gleaming eyes.

"I might ask the same of you," she said tartly, and self-consciously smoothed the front of her much-outdated skirt. She just couldn't seem to adapt. Well, to the clothing styles, anyway.

His pale fiery eyes narrowed. "Erik is here to listen," he said, "and you're in his spot."

"Your spot?" she echoed. "I was not aware that the Fillmore was offering season tickets to backstage."

"You know what I mean!" he growled. He gestured down to where roadies were stacking Marshalls and adjusting cymbals and racking guitars. He noted with a pleasure he felt every time that Hendrix's old Strat was there. If only he could still play. Being a ghost, a real ghost, had its advantages—like constant access to the best music—but it came with some drawbacks, too.

Such as running into people he'd much rather not. Carlotta was still glaring at him. Had she lost weight?

"No, I do not!" she was insisting. "I was here first."

"You ought to have read the papers more closely," he sneered. "The Monkees broke up a year ago."

She looked away. Really, he was insufferable, and it made no sense at all for them to end up here, in the same theater, after all this time. "I am herrre to leesten to the music!" She hated how the accent came out when she was irritated. "And I warn you, if you try any of your tricks tonight, you will have me to answer to!"

Erik shut his mouth quickly and stared at her. She thought she could almost read disbelief on that blank face. "Erik would not dream of it," he growled. "You commit blasphemy to suggest it."

She rolled her eyes again. "Oh, please. We are both far too old for such drama. And we are incorporeal, so there is enough room for all. We don't need to be enemies anymore, do we? Since I am not on the stage?"

They both looked down. Flo and Eddie—or was it Eddie and Flo?—were arguing about harmonies or something, and the proper sequence of events when violating a donkey. The crowed had filled up the auditorium, and the lights dimmed. With a last look at Carlotta, Erik set about ignoring her and enjoying the concert. There was, in reality, nothing he could do. The crowed roared as the main attraction came out and slung his guitar around his neck. The most incredible noise wafted up from below, as full of device and technique and passion as any opera.

But Carlotta could still here Erik when he muttered, "Erik cannot believe you're here for Zappa, too."

[Stef--you'll have to tell me if we are still friends, after this.]

stefanie_bean's prompt: Gerik and Christine pushing the pram on a walk through the park.

He hadn't quite remembered the feeling of the sun on his face. Oh, he'd thought about it, thought he could recall the sensation, the sense-defying smell of it, but he'd been wrong. But one of the joys of knowing he was wrong was that to know that, he had to experience it.

Which was what he was doing. He'd promised her he'd be her husband, her man, in every sense of the word. They went walking on Sundays; they dined, though mostly privately, at nice restaurants; they even slept in the same bed. Like sunlight, it was everything he'd dreamed of but somehow different. Richer. Everything about her enchanted him. He insisted on pushing the pram, because it left her free to punctuate whatever silly tale she was telling with those delicate hands, and lean over to smell roses, and to take his arm every so often, like a real wife.

He didn't even mind, really, that the eyes which gazed up at him from the pram weren't his. Neither was the nose, or the toes, or (thank heaven) the face. He did not begrudge Christine her baby. He'd railed about it at first, of course, but in the end her happiness was more important. It was a little extra mess, another mouth to feed, but Christine's eyes lit up so when she cooed at it, as she did now, trailing along the side of the pram. And in truth, Erik had become somewhat attached, even if he had tried, and failed, to give her the motherhood she so wanted.

He reached down into the pram to lift the delicate creature out. Their eyes met, and Erik knew it was as much his as hers, and that fate had merely set a different course for them.

"Come on then, Duchess," he said, and smiled at the feeling of her tongue on his hand. Dog ownership was a new responsibility, but he felt up to it.

I've been too lazy to write up the things I've been meaning to talk about. No idea why; there doesn't seem to be a pattern informing my LJ posting. As in, I don't seem to post more or less often depending on how busy I am. It just varies independently.

But I've done a few things that I'll show you.

First, a scene from Leroux's Phantom of the Opera, just before the Persian is pulled to a potentially watery grave:

bosom of the waters by ~my-daroga on deviantART

Next, a lovely cat!macro! Inspired by... well, Kate taking over this book last night:



Lastly, a stupid "comic" I made using my flickr account and bubblr. Unfortunately, you'll have to go to the site, since the embedded version won't work with LJ:

Dogfight by l_aurens

[Post inspired by PRI's The World]

Warning: Some images in the links contain disfigurement and may be disturbing

Gaston Leroux could not have known that mere years after the publication of Phantom of the Opera, an catastrophic event would occur that would make real the horrific visage he'd imagined. I speak, of course, of World War I, and the soldiers confronted with new weapons that left many with gunshot wounds to the face.

The new issues of Smithsonian Magazine has an article (images) on the subject of the "Masks for Facial Disfigurement Department," where doctors and artists worked together to create new faces for soldiers whose disfigurements the populace had no context for. People, unless they'd perhaps seen some traveling sideshow, had never seen faces like these. Neither had the patients. Mirrors were forbidden in the wards, because men who managed to catch a glimpse of themselves were inconsolable. Nurses were screened and trained not to betray any hint of repulsion. "They're watching you very closely," a head nurse is quoted as saying. In one town which contained such a hospital, benches were painted blue to warn townsfolk that any man sitting on one of them might possibly be difficult to look at. This was as much to protect the patients as the general populace.

While surgery (Project Facade is an amazing site with photographs and case studies) had limited effectiveness, the "Masks for Facial Disfigurement Department" created masks out of "visiting card" thick copper that hung off the face via glasses around the ears. They were then painstakingly painted to match the patient's skin tone and to minimize the metallic look. The masks were, of course, expressionless and served only a cosmetic function, granting no assistance to men whose jaws no longer worked properly for eating or talking. However, from letters sent by former patients, the masks appear to have granted these men at least the illusion of normalcy: "Thanks to you, my wife is no longer repulsed by my appearance; as she had a right to be," one wrote. Very little is known about what happened to these men after being fitted for masks which were, in the end, only illusions, and would wear thin and break one day.

It strikes me that this is the clearest notion of what Erik might have looked like had he been alive in Leroux's time. I look at these operations, these masks, and see his dream of looking "like anybody else"--cold, expressionless, immobile faces that, despite the obvious discomfort, allow one to go out without being screamed at. Allow one to keep one's wife from blanching at your appearance. I have no doubt at all that these circumstances were in the minds of many watching Lon Chaney in 1925; indeed, his Phantom forgoes the black (or white) featureless mask for one very similar to those shown in the Simthsonian article. "Real life phantoms" or not, this is a fascinating story that is just now coming to light.

[x-posted to my journal and phantomfans]