"Carburetors, man, that's what life's all about" -The Beach Bums.
"Phantom of the Paradise" is oft compared to "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" (1975) because they're both mid-70s rock musical reworkings of Gothic horror, and they're both cult classics. "Rocky Horror," however, is more of a theatrical event--adapted from the stage, rather stagy in its production and best experienced at midnight screenings where audiences dress up and participate. On the other hand, "Phantom" is a more purely--and postmodern--cinematic experience. It's much easier to appreciate as separate from an event. Although "Rocky Horror" is interestingly transgressive, the Gothic horror elements are more clever and developed in "Phantom," while also mocking the music business. The soundtrack in "Rocky Horror" may be more catchy, especially "The Time Warp," and it's an integrated musical whereas "Phantom" is a backstage one, but I consider that of secondary importance. "Phantom" has the added self-referential layer of the music by Paul Williams, who also plays Swan, who in the story steals the music from Winslow--in effect, stealing his own music. It reminds me of Jean Hagen's role of dubbing herself in "Singin' in the Rain" (1952). On top of this, Swan produces the music into a multi-layered opera of Gothic horror, which is what writer-director Brian De Palma does here.
Before specific references to literary sources kick in, the film seems like Winslow's nightmare in its exaggerated characterizations and illogical and fantastic narrative--kind of Kafka-esque. The introduction in the fashion of "The Twilight Zone," as narrated by none other than Rod Sterling, establishes as much. Throughout, there's inspired camerawork and production design. The use of a wide-angle lens, odd angles and the short doorways especially compliment the bizarre dream element early on, as do the campy characterizations. From there, it's mostly a reworking of Gaston Leroux's novel "The Phantom of the Opera," with specific references to the 1925 and 1943 Universal adaptations. "Faust" was always part of this story, as it's the play performed, except in lousy versions such as the 1943 film. De Palma makes this connection more self-reflexive by the inner play of the Faust rock opera reflecting the outer play of the lives of the characters in the main story--more so even, as the Phantom signs an eternal contract with Swan. And, within that story is the Faustian bargain Swan made, which is a reworking of another Faustian piece of Gothic horror, Oscar Wilde's "The Picture of Dorian Gray."
Thus, there's the ballad "Faust" within "Phantom of the Opera" within "Dorian Gray" within a Kafka-esque nightmare. And, for good measure, inside all of that is another Gothic horror story that shares similarities with "Faust" with the Paradise's opening act of "Frankenstein," which itself is designed like "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" (1920) performed by KISS imitators. To an extent, the themes of creation and performance and of men going to horrific lengths, for what else, a woman runs through all: Faust's deal with the Devil for youth and the affections of Marguerite, the Phantom's demands that Christine play Marguerite, Dorian Gray's wish for eternal youth and his demands on the performances of Sybil, the demands of the creature that Frankenstein create him a bride, and even the somnambulist Cesare's abduction of Jane in "Caligari."
Especially in "Dorian Gray" and "Frankenstein," as well as other Gothic literature, there's the spectre of the doppelgänger. Here, there's the doubles of Swan and Phantom, which serves as a bit of misdirection, with the Phantom haunting through his concealment, but this disguises the ultimate ruse of the Faustian bargain made by Swan, who like Dorian wished for eternal youth and received it at the expense of his doppelgänger image revealing his true decay by age and sin. For Dorian, it was his painting; for Swan, it's the mechanical reproduction of himself--an apt alteration for a film. De Palma and company include a mirror motif to highlight this theme, and Swan's initial deal appears as a mirrored apparition. I also like the use of a mirror for a secret passage--usually the domain of the Phantom in the movies, but here, it's for Swan. The revolving mirror shot that reveals the Phantom shadowing Swan entering the lair is a standout. Swan's secret is foreshadowed through his avoidance of his photograph being taken for anyone else to see. I was reminded of Dracula's avoidance of mirrors, and the press conference scene implies this by referencing Transylvania. The consequence of his bargain, however, is that he must endure witnessing his own decay from the array of surveillance he employs to capture his own representation--and not only visual. There's a sequence where we hear him listening to the distortion of his recorded voice, whereas the prior scene that this recording is of, it was the Phantom's voice that was distorted.
There are other cinematic, literary and musical allusions, as well. The sealed room recalls Edgar Allan Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado." The shower scene is a parody of "Psycho" (1960). The best such scene may be the homage to the long-take tracking shot from "Touch of Evil" (1958), which is referenced here in a trademark sequence by De Palma in split screen of two long takes while the film's best musical gag, methinks, is played in an imitation of The Beach Boys (of the quotation at the top of this review). Moreover, "Phantom" contains quite a few nice tracking shots, as well as the multi-layering of images via Swan's surveillance apparatus and the final TV broadcast--creating films-within-films in addition to the story's play-within-a-play structure. There may also be something to the bird motif (the Phantom's mask, "Swan," the dead bird logo); like the cinematographic image here, birds may swoop, and they may use both eyes either together or separate, like a split screen. Doppelgänger images.
P.S. Does the Phantom remind anyone else of Batman, especially Christian Bale's from the Dark Knight trilogy? The animal mask, the distorted voice, the sneaking around, the whisking of his love to the rooftop, and the way his cape flaps as he runs--he's a dead ringer.
"Phantom of the Paradise" is oft compared to "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" (1975) because they're both mid-70s rock musical reworkings of Gothic horror, and they're both cult classics. "Rocky Horror," however, is more of a theatrical event--adapted from the stage, rather stagy in its production and best experienced at midnight screenings where audiences dress up and participate. On the other hand, "Phantom" is a more purely--and postmodern--cinematic experience. It's much easier to appreciate as separate from an event. Although "Rocky Horror" is interestingly transgressive, the Gothic horror elements are more clever and developed in "Phantom," while also mocking the music business. The soundtrack in "Rocky Horror" may be more catchy, especially "The Time Warp," and it's an integrated musical whereas "Phantom" is a backstage one, but I consider that of secondary importance. "Phantom" has the added self-referential layer of the music by Paul Williams, who also plays Swan, who in the story steals the music from Winslow--in effect, stealing his own music. It reminds me of Jean Hagen's role of dubbing herself in "Singin' in the Rain" (1952). On top of this, Swan produces the music into a multi-layered opera of Gothic horror, which is what writer-director Brian De Palma does here.
Before specific references to literary sources kick in, the film seems like Winslow's nightmare in its exaggerated characterizations and illogical and fantastic narrative--kind of Kafka-esque. The introduction in the fashion of "The Twilight Zone," as narrated by none other than Rod Sterling, establishes as much. Throughout, there's inspired camerawork and production design. The use of a wide-angle lens, odd angles and the short doorways especially compliment the bizarre dream element early on, as do the campy characterizations. From there, it's mostly a reworking of Gaston Leroux's novel "The Phantom of the Opera," with specific references to the 1925 and 1943 Universal adaptations. "Faust" was always part of this story, as it's the play performed, except in lousy versions such as the 1943 film. De Palma makes this connection more self-reflexive by the inner play of the Faust rock opera reflecting the outer play of the lives of the characters in the main story--more so even, as the Phantom signs an eternal contract with Swan. And, within that story is the Faustian bargain Swan made, which is a reworking of another Faustian piece of Gothic horror, Oscar Wilde's "The Picture of Dorian Gray."
Thus, there's the ballad "Faust" within "Phantom of the Opera" within "Dorian Gray" within a Kafka-esque nightmare. And, for good measure, inside all of that is another Gothic horror story that shares similarities with "Faust" with the Paradise's opening act of "Frankenstein," which itself is designed like "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" (1920) performed by KISS imitators. To an extent, the themes of creation and performance and of men going to horrific lengths, for what else, a woman runs through all: Faust's deal with the Devil for youth and the affections of Marguerite, the Phantom's demands that Christine play Marguerite, Dorian Gray's wish for eternal youth and his demands on the performances of Sybil, the demands of the creature that Frankenstein create him a bride, and even the somnambulist Cesare's abduction of Jane in "Caligari."
Especially in "Dorian Gray" and "Frankenstein," as well as other Gothic literature, there's the spectre of the doppelgänger. Here, there's the doubles of Swan and Phantom, which serves as a bit of misdirection, with the Phantom haunting through his concealment, but this disguises the ultimate ruse of the Faustian bargain made by Swan, who like Dorian wished for eternal youth and received it at the expense of his doppelgänger image revealing his true decay by age and sin. For Dorian, it was his painting; for Swan, it's the mechanical reproduction of himself--an apt alteration for a film. De Palma and company include a mirror motif to highlight this theme, and Swan's initial deal appears as a mirrored apparition. I also like the use of a mirror for a secret passage--usually the domain of the Phantom in the movies, but here, it's for Swan. The revolving mirror shot that reveals the Phantom shadowing Swan entering the lair is a standout. Swan's secret is foreshadowed through his avoidance of his photograph being taken for anyone else to see. I was reminded of Dracula's avoidance of mirrors, and the press conference scene implies this by referencing Transylvania. The consequence of his bargain, however, is that he must endure witnessing his own decay from the array of surveillance he employs to capture his own representation--and not only visual. There's a sequence where we hear him listening to the distortion of his recorded voice, whereas the prior scene that this recording is of, it was the Phantom's voice that was distorted.
There are other cinematic, literary and musical allusions, as well. The sealed room recalls Edgar Allan Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado." The shower scene is a parody of "Psycho" (1960). The best such scene may be the homage to the long-take tracking shot from "Touch of Evil" (1958), which is referenced here in a trademark sequence by De Palma in split screen of two long takes while the film's best musical gag, methinks, is played in an imitation of The Beach Boys (of the quotation at the top of this review). Moreover, "Phantom" contains quite a few nice tracking shots, as well as the multi-layering of images via Swan's surveillance apparatus and the final TV broadcast--creating films-within-films in addition to the story's play-within-a-play structure. There may also be something to the bird motif (the Phantom's mask, "Swan," the dead bird logo); like the cinematographic image here, birds may swoop, and they may use both eyes either together or separate, like a split screen. Doppelgänger images.
P.S. Does the Phantom remind anyone else of Batman, especially Christian Bale's from the Dark Knight trilogy? The animal mask, the distorted voice, the sneaking around, the whisking of his love to the rooftop, and the way his cape flaps as he runs--he's a dead ringer.