The Phantom of the Opera (1925)

I love silent movies: The boiling down of storytelling to mere visuals that must make one *think* sound: Conversation, screams, the crash of a chandelier. Brilliance under pressure. “The Phantom of the Opera” -– from the 1908 book and featuring Lon Chaney in the title role –- is near perfect. Either born with grisly disfigurements or badly burned after birth, the Phantom is a once-famous composer now forgotten, living below the Paris Opera House obsessing over bit signer Christine (Mary Philbin). He worships her. He sneaks into her room. He sends a chandelier crashing on the audience after the house runners refuse to punt their star for his goddess. This Phantom is no romantic, but a sick perv with a hideous face -– dig that makeup, a flayed skull with no lips -– hidden behind a mask that looks like that of a kindly friar. The best scenes have the Phantom crashing a costume ball dressed in a red, promising death to all, then standing on a roof like a demon, lurking, planning. The black/white cinematography goes green/red with inserts of blue and the unnerving color shock is like a blood shot from hell. A century old, this still terrorizes. A

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