-Watching the Phantom of the Opera-

I may have to tear up my elitist card. I'm enduring the latest Phantom of the opera movie. I feel obliged to, really. It was lent to me by one of my college age fans, in return for some research assistance.

Just doing my job.

It is, I imagine, exactly what a college freshman might consider a spectacular film, it being, I can already tell from the opening sequence, a moulon rouge style spectacle, influencing budding female filmmaker for years to come.

I, on the other hand, will probably fast forward through most of this.

Have to watch it, though. She might ask pointed questions, and I don't lie very well.

So consider my real-time notes:
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Okay, I understand why this movie appeals to her. She and the lead actress could use each other for shaving mirrors.
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The Raoul character has Fabio hair and stands up to drive a carriage. I bet he sits down to pee.
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Half-baked, and overdone at the same time.
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So many unnecessary horses. Jesus.
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Okay, some guy just did the robot.
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Favorite suspension-of-disbelief-moment:

The Phantom comes out on stage in 'disguise,' but Christine's boyfriend, the gendarmes, and a theatre full of spectators and actors squirm until HE HAS HER IN HIS ARMS AND SHE TEARS OFF THE MASK. Surprise! Even though the character he replaced was fatter, shorter, had a beard and a completely different voice, they were surprised?
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I know, Plot device. But ye gods.
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That's it! No more flashbacks, boats, or equine fetishes, and.. wait.. Schumacher directed?

I need a drink.