When New York last saw the Phantom, a little more than two years ago, he was fleeing an angry mob, having been outed as a murderer, a sexual predator, a fiend with callous disregard for large lighting fixtures. But few men stay canceled for long.
Mesdames and messieurs, the Phantom is back. He has moved less than a mile uptown, to a recently renovated residence just south of Central Park, and he is entertaining most nights of the week, formal dress required.
“Masquerade,” created and directed by Diane Paulus and conceived and produced by Randy Weiner, her husband, is an immersive version of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “The Phantom of the Opera,” staged six times a night across several floors, as well as a basement and, weather permitting, a rooftop. A haunted house, a fan edit and at times a decent cardio workout, it sacrifices much of the songs to atmospherics. (Then again, that was always the way of “Phantom.”)
It speaks well of Lloyd Webber that in recent years he has sanctioned radical reinventions of his megamusicals, like a delirious, ballroom-inflected version of “Cats” that played Off Broadway in 2024, or Jamie Lloyd’s spare, sleek, screen-heavy Broadway revival of “Sunset Boulevard,” which won three Tony Awards in June. Still, it’s absolutely wild that he allowed his greatest hit to be reinterpreted as a Knott’s Scary Farm dark ride. (And more than allowed: With Paulus, he has written a few new lyrics.) This “Masquerade” is silly, frustrating, ethically dubious and frankly thrilling. Also, it briefly tried to kill me.
“The Phantom of the Opera,” a work of bombast and romance based on Gaston Leroux’s 1911 novel, premiered on Broadway in 1988. Frank Rich, writing in The New York Times, called it “as much a victory of dynamic stagecraft over musical kitsch as it is a triumph of merchandising uber alles.” Well, there’s truth in merchandising. When “Phantom” closed in 2023, it had played nearly 14,000 performances. That’s a lot of music, a lot of nights.
For better and for worse, “Masquerade” is “Phantom” remixed. Many songs have been truncated, as has the book, and much other music added. The chronology owes more to the unloved 2004 film version, as does the interpolation of a ballad, “Learn to Be Lonely,” that played over the movie’s credits and probably should have stayed there. The cute, elegant merch is new, as are the added and often uninspired lyrics. (“Enter my mind/Which I think you will find/May be one of a kind.”)
But the story and characters are much the same. In brief: For some years, a ghost has besieged a Paris opera house. That ghost, a musical genius with a facial deformity, becomes obsessed with a chorus girl, Christine Daeé. He lures her to his cellar lair, where he tutors her in singing. Later, he writes a lead role for her, much to the excitement and chagrin of her suitor, Raoul, a vicomte. Catastrophe ensues.
When it ran on Broadway at the Majestic Theater, “Phantom” could seat more than 1,600 fans a performance. “Masquerade,” by contrast, allows just 60 per performance, roughly 360 a night. An advance note from the box office urges attendees to dress their best in black, white and/or silver (with comfortable shoes, please, which explains why I paired a strapless gown with Reeboks) and to come with masks, though lace ones are provided.
At the two performances I attended, those fans were vibrating with excitement — in line, in the elevator, in a beautifully appointed room where a violin soloist plays the overture. The rest of the music is recorded, which makes the “Masquerade” a more intimate affair than the Broadway version, (intimacy is tricky when 27 orchestra members are in attendance), but also less acoustically exhilarating.
The doors then open to the Phantom’s “private masquerade” and for the next two hours, audiences are whisked up and down to various locations in and around the opera house. Unlike the long-running immersive show “Sleep No More” (Weiner was a producer of the American version, which recently closed), audiences take a prescribed path through “Masquerade,” with little time to stop and explore.
Maybe this is best. The sets, developed by Scott Pask and designed by James Fluhr, are sometimes elaborate and sometimes, as with plastic candle wax drippings, chintzy. They are also adorned by artwork by the likes of Bob Dylan and Marina Abramovic, though I’ll confess that in the whirl from room to room I did not notice.
That whirl is often breathlessly exciting. Sometimes too breathless. Because of a glitch during the second performance, I was briefly in a crush at the top of an escalator, surrounded by panicked guests. A minute later a door was opened and panic subsided. Was this the work of the Phantom? (I was subsequently assured that the glitch had been addressed.)
And yet, I can happily admit that it is wonderful to be in arm’s length of the boat, to be taken by the hand by Christine or Madame Giry, to race in anticipation of what the next room might hold.
Usually it holds a man in a half mask. “Masquerade,” even more so than the original, makes this the Phantom’s show entirely. We are here, a greeter tells us, to be guided through his “darkest dreams.” There is a ballet set within his workshop and an extended flashback reveals his time in a circus sideshow, a sequence used to explain and expiate his crimes. It’s all very sexy, provided you are comfortable excusing the bad behavior of powerful men and decentering the experience of a woman deceived.
Christine, a character who only makes sense if she is either narcotized or pathologically naïve, is rendered even less legible here. It’s a shame that Paulus, who directed a Broadway revival of “1776” starring female, transgender and nonbinary performers, couldn’t find more space between the notes to explore Christine’s circumstances or to dress her in more than a negligee. What of her ambition? Her desires?
Both Christines I saw were excellent, particularly the winning and extremely youthful Anna Zavelson, and the Phantoms were skillful, too. (I saw Kyle Scatliffe, a resonant baritone, opposite Eryn LeCroy; Jeff Kready opposite Zavelson.) Yet, at times, the performances seemed superfluous. This is vibes-based theater.
Still, on its very many levels and for most of the assembled audience, “Masquerade” works. At the close of the final scene people all around me sobbed. Was this relief at our escalator rescue? More likely it was compassion for the Phantom’s tragedy. My eyes stayed dry. I don’t know about you, but I am tired of being made to care why bad men do bad things. The Phantom already has all the best tunes. Does he really need our sympathy, too? Either way, the music of the night plays on.
Masquerade
Through Nov. 30 at 215 West 57th Street, Manhattan; masqueradenyc.com. Running time: 2 hours 15 minutes.
Alexis Soloski has written for The Times since 2006. As a culture reporter, she covers television, theater, movies, podcasts and new media.
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