In the film, Carlotta is inexplicably allowed to perform despite the fact that the 19th-century Parisian bourgeois that goes to the opera hates her singing. The story should be familiar to anyone who’s come to New York since 1988: When Christine (Emmy Rossum) upstages the diva Carlotta (Minnie Driver), thanks to the help of the mysterious Phantom (Gerard Butler) who haunts the Opera Populaire, her childhood sweetheart, Raoul (Patrick Wilson), woos the girl and, in turn, incurs the wrath of the Phantom.

Fans of Webber’s musical can rejoice, then, because it’s a testament to the faithfulness of Joel Schumacher’s film version of Phantom that it stands toe-to-toe with the original stage version in sheer awfulness. Like overpriced costume jewelry, this tacky Broadway version of Gaston Leroux’s 1910 novel-with its soulless histrionics set to music and pedestrian lyrics Hilary Duff could have written during a bad break-up (sample contrivance: “We never said our love was evergreen”)-seems to appeal to the same people who like Celine Dion and Meatloaf albums.

Quite possibly the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life, Andrew Lloyd Webber’s The Phantom of the Opera represents everything that’s wrong with much of today’s musical theater.

The phantom of the opera 2004 sex