STAGE REVIEW : Second Impressions of the New Phantom

There are no new surprises in “The Phantom of the Opera” now that Robert Guillaume has settled comfortably into the title role.

A second visit reveals that he is making it sexier than it had been when he first took it over from Michael Crawford in May, battling a short rehearsal period and the unprecedented frenzy that had surrounded Crawford’s exit.

And, yes, there have been the inevitable letters received in this office from disgruntled theatergoers who insist there can be no other phantom but Crawford. But that’s both predictable and untrue.

Taking nothing away from Crawford, there have been xxxxxxxx

artists--in London and New York--who have played the role of the Phantom as well as Crawford even if, not having created it, they garnered no similar glory. Guillaume is certainly proving an equally worthy successor who is also attempting to give the performance a more subjective stamp. More, perhaps, than even he had intended.

As stated in The Times review that ran shortly after he opened in the show, Guillaume is an angrier, more anguished Phantom than Crawford had been. This has remained so. Paradoxically, there is less poignancy in the timbre of his voice, and (as an example) his reading of “. . . wandering child, so lost and helpless . . .” still sounds more like a grocery list than a love-struck statement.

But the performance is an intriguing series of trade-offs, in which the Phantom’s Svengaliesque control of Christine Daae (Dale Kristien, in full flower), as well as of the situation in general, is now coming through more clearly.

It is easier to see why Christine is at once attracted and intimidated by this Phantom. Her genuine display of compassion for him, the double kiss she gives him at the end when all terror is gone, is a gesture of great kindness unmistakably rooted in sexual attraction.

It provokes him to release her and her betrothed Raoul (Reece Holland)--in the Phantom’s only act of stunning generosity.

This undeclared but undeniable obsession of Christine’s helps get us through the one real credibility gap in this new “Phantom.” But not entirely. While there’s no question that one must suspend disbelief to sit through any part of this show (it is a fairy tale), the task is made harder by a curious decision regarding his disguise in Act II.

When the Phantom has pressured the owners of the Paris Opera to stage his opera, they, with Raoul’s help, decide to turn the occasion into a trap, stationing gendarmes everywhere, ready to pounce on the man at a moment’s notice. So when the Phantom, hooded from head to toe, substitutes himself on stage for the portly tenor (Gualtiero Negrini), the intention, outwardly at least, is for him to not be recognized.

Certainly not by the police. And yet Guillaume’s elegant hands, which he is required to use elaborately in the scene, are a dead giveaway--and it’s equally clear that the man under the hood is not portly. One might accept that Christine would guess who he was at once and go along with the game out of paralyzing fear, but it takes an awful lot of confidence in color- and weight-blindness to believe that Raoul or the police would be so duped.

This must be a choice on the producers’ and director’s part, but questionable. The argument in favor of it, one assumes, is that we should be able to transcend the evidence. The argument against it is that it unnecessarily forces a focus where it doesn’t belong, when the entire matter could be settled with minimal padding and a simple pair of gloves. A disguise, after all, should be a complete disguise.

This intrusion does the show--and the actor--a disservice, because, if Guillaume is to be commended for anything, it is for having taken this role and made it his own, without too much concern for those who have gone before.

His Phantom doesn’t whine. His Phantom has pride and rage, which are nobler, more troubling and more interesting emotions than others we’ve seen. Perhaps that’s why the audience at the performance attended gave him a standing ovation. When you’re watching a fairy tale, it’s nice to be shown that it can be more than skin deep.

At the Ahmanson Theatre, Music Center 135 N. Grand Ave., Tuesdays through Saturdays, 8 p.m., with matinees, Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays at 2. Indefinitely. $32.50-$50. Information: (800) 762-7666.