The Phantom of Oz, Installment 4
Plus a bunch of chandelier crashes, and a disappearance
Hello! Welcome to Installment #4 of my weekly serialization of The Phantom of Oz. If you missed earlier chapters, you can read Installment #1 here, Installment #2 here, or Installment #3 here.
We’ll start the book in a minute. Since this chapter is all about The Crash, I thought I’d treat you to a couple of my fav chandelier crashes. The first one is kinda amazing, especially since it was filmed in 1929 (love the terrified crowds). The second one, filmed in 2004, is over-the-top dramatic, in a good way.
I’ve added a couple more chandelier-drop video clips at the end of the chapter, including one with a mysteriously vanishing chandelier. Now, on to chandelier drops, drama and mystery!
Chapter 4
It Came down with a Smash!
“Move!” I knocked Candy to the ground, shoved her under a seat, and scrambled underneath the one next to her. Just in time. The ceiling let its load go with a shriek. People screamed and glass shattered and shards of light scattered in the darkness like flames.
Then silence, except for the tinkling of glass, like a macabre music box.
I turned my head. Candy’s eyes were inches from mine, huge with fear. I tried to ask if she was okay, but the plaster dust that filled the air clogged my throat. All I could do was cough. Candy must have understood, though, because she nodded. I pushed myself out from underneath the seat and got to my knees. I quickly checked myself. Nothing hurt, nothing bloody.
The shock wore off, and the crying and howling began. I found my voice. “You okay?” I asked again.
“Yeah,” Candy said from beneath her seat. “But I don’t think I can look.”
I didn’t want to, either, but I did. People might need help.
Emergency lights had turned on, shining through the dust as through a fog, and illuminating what looked like a bombed-out theater from World War II. Above us, where the chandelier had been, a jagged hole yawned black against the painted blue sky, its edges scorched, as if by lightning. Hanging wires snapped and sparked, and smoke curled toward the balcony. Smoke? There wasn’t any fire. And that smoke…it almost looked alive…
“Hey!” Several black-shirted techies jumped off the stage and ran toward us. People covered in white dust rose like ghosts from the wreckage, their eyes streaked with black from stage makeup and tears. The auditioning munchkins and their mothers stood in a tight group center stage, the moms trying to keep their kids from looking too closely
The chandelier had fallen directly over our little group. The Tin Man gingerly lifted his head from where he lay embraced by a ring of the chandelier. “I always hated this costume,” he said, banging a fist on the metal robot costume that ensconced and probably saved him. “Until now. I think I’m okay.”
“Everyone else okay?” I said. The stage manager stood frozen in the nearby aisle. I’d never seen a stage manager unnerved before. Unflappability was one of the hallmarks of their trade. “Maybe we should take a roll call or something?” I said to her.
“Yeah. Good. Good idea. Thanks.” Then, loudly, to the cast, “Say ‘here’ when I call your name. Dorothy?”
“Here.” The actress stood up shakily. She brushed white powder from her hair; it floated around her head like a mist.
“Scarecrow?”
“Here.”
Cast members stood one by one, and felt themselves, as if making sure all their limbs were intact. Everyone seemed to be okay until...
“Wicked Witch of the East?” Nothing.
“Normina, Wicked Witch of the East?”
No reply, just a pair of red and white striped socks sticking out from under the remains of the chandelier. We carefully pulled the chandelier off the witch. She didn’t move.
Then, a groan.
“She’s alive!” someone said.
“I called 911 as soon as it happened,” the stage manager said. “Help should be here soon.”
“It looks like part of the chandelier is underneath her,” a techie said. “Should we do something, maybe move her off it?”
“I don’t think we should move anything else,” I said. Amazingly, except for a twisted leg, the witch didn’t have any obvious injuries. “In case there are internal injuries.”
Behind me, a little girl began to cry. Another child joined her. Then another. For a moment the only sound in the theater was crying.
Then a voice. A small voice. “You know what happened, don’t you?” said Madison. “You’ve all seen The Phantom of the Opera. It was the Lady in White who did this. The ghost tried to kill us.”
A flash, and we all cringed, looking up at the wires dangling from the ceiling. Another flash. And another. They didn’t come from what was left of the chandelier.
Babette stood amongst the glass and splintered seats, taking flash pictures. Then she held out her cellphone at arm’s length, made a horrified face at the camera, and took a selfie.
Watch next week for Installment #5!
More chandelier crashes!
The West End sorta-spacey chandelier:
An amazing tour production crash:
And…well, what do you think of the 1943 film version below? The pace doesn’t really work for me (you could argue it was a slower-paced time but that 1929 chandelier fall clipped along). Plus, where does the chandelier land? It looks like it hits the stage, but between 03:17 and 03:20, the chandelier disappears, only to reappear in the foreground later, looking like a sparkly jungle gym, completely devoid of menace. Seems like a big missed opportunity to me.
And for those of you who geek out about this stuff as much as I do, here’s a behind-the-scenes story about the inspiration and work that went into the chandelier for the Andrew Lloyd Webber Phantom: