Less than a month after crossing the Atlantic, I found myself seeing The Phantom of the Opera three times on two different continents. Last month I attended the North American tour twice in San Francisco, and last week I finally experienced the production at His Majesty's Theatre in London for the first time.

I had been seeing The Phantom of the Opera at Broadway's Majestic Theatre for more than twenty years. Most Broadway theatres are tucked between tall buildings, so as showtime approaches the illuminated marquees and crowds gathering in front of the closed entrance doors create an impressive scene, while the buildings themselves rarely stand out. His Majesty's Theatre was different. Even its corner location made the building itself beautiful, and when I stepped outside after the performance, the illuminated façade was even more striking.

At first, the lobby and staircases did not seem very different from those of many other historic theatres. Then something amusing happened while I was browsing the merchandise stand. After debating what to buy, I told the staff member that I wanted a charm.

"Charm?"

"Charm! Your accent is beautiful. Would you say that again?"

"Charm."

That single exchange instantly lifted my mood and made me even more excited for the performance. The staircases and corridors that had looked rather ordinary only moments earlier suddenly seemed beautiful.

Yes, this isn't Broadway.

Having seen The Phantom of the Opera so many times on Broadway and in Korea, sightlines were no longer a major concern, and with plenty of seats still available, my colleague and I had reserved front-row seats well in advance. The orchestra pit lay directly in front of us without any protective netting, placing the stage remarkably close. Both the proscenium and the chandelier were covered with burlap, and as always, the first thing I did was look for the speaker system. Apart from the delay speakers suspended from the ceiling and the front-fill speakers near the stage, very little audio equipment was visible.

As the orchestra entered, I exchanged several smiles with the flutist seated directly in front of me. Once the conductor appeared and the auction scene began, it was immediately apparent that the sound had been engineered with minimal artificial reverberation, producing an experience remarkably close to natural acoustics. Every lyric was crystal clear, and the sound spread evenly throughout the auditorium. I had always admired this quality on Broadway, and His Majesty's Theatre proved equally impressive. I could not help wishing that Korean productions would rely less on excessive reverberation and bass-heavy amplification, allowing audiences to hear more performances with such natural sound.

The performance truly began as the chandelier numbered 666 lit up after Raoul's opening song. It was already suspended about four inches above the stage floor, and its design was noticeably rounder than the traditional elongated chandelier. Its flight path above the audience remained largely familiar, but the moment the drapery concealing the stage-level boxes descended to reveal elegant gold columns and delicate arches was executed far more precisely than in the North American tour.

The proscenium columns featured cracked surfaces instead of sculptural figures, and through the narrow gaps I could just make out the concealed speakers.

During the rehearsal of "Hannibal," unexpectedly it was Firmin, played by Martin Ball, who drew my attention the most. Without exaggerated gestures, he commanded the stage with quiet authority. In both "Notes" and "Il Muto," his rich bass voice was impressive, and he naturally slipped in ad-libbed remarks that acknowledged and enjoyed the full house.

Although the staging closely resembled the North American tour I had seen in San Francisco a month earlier, there were several notable differences. On the tour, the chandelier merely sparked and swayed without actually descending, there was no staircase leading up to the roof of the opera house, and the trapdoor through which the Phantom vanished after "Why So Silent" was also absent. It was a pleasure to see the trapdoor return in London, and from the front row I could even watch the Phantom position himself precisely before disappearing beneath the stage.

With the new orchestration, the percussion section had been removed, while three keyboard stations remained—one at the rear center and one on each side. Sitting directly in front of the woodwinds, I found the oboe especially beautiful. During the interval, however, I noticed that I could barely hear the violin even while the player was moving the bow. It made me wonder whether a selective microphone pickup system was being used during the performance. My curiosity only grew stronger after the curtain call, when I could clearly hear the conductor say, "See you tomorrow," followed by a musician joking, "Tomorrow, not now?"

At the end of Act I, as the chandelier fell during "Go!", it did not hit the stage floor immediately. Instead, it paused briefly just above the stage before lowering slightly. Less than a minute after the interval began, it was already being raised again, leaving little time to examine its mechanism. Many audience members filmed the process, and I did the same. Because the theatre clearly distinguished between the moments when filming was permitted and when it was prohibited, I found it surprisingly easy to relax and enjoy the performance.

The cemetery scene also differed from the North American tour. In fact, the West End production more closely resembled the 2023–2024 Korean licensed production. I was particularly impressed by the vine-covered travelator and the detailed cemetery gate. The gravestone was inscribed 1821–1870, which also made me wonder why the Phantom's father's dates vary from one production to another.

The performances of Raoul, Christine, and the Phantom were consistently solid. The Phantom's "Come to me, Angel of Music", however, sounded calm rather than hypnotic or spellbinding. I was somewhat disappointed by the fireball aimed at Raoul, but once the Phantom declared war and flames erupted across the stage, the heat and the smell of gunpowder reached even the front row, prompting several audience members nearby to begin coughing softly.

Although Colleen Rose Curran was performing as the alternate Christine, she became my favorite Christine among all the productions I have seen outside Korea. Her voice was clear, pure, and luminous—the kind of voice that made it easy to understand why the Phantom would become obsessed with her. When she finished "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again," I found myself cheering loudly without even realizing it.

Both the Phantom and Raoul also performed above average. This Christine, however, was portrayed as someone deeply in love with Raoul. During the rooftop scene she giggled like a young girl at his confession, and in "Masquerade" she playfully searched for him. As a result, her sudden sympathy for the Phantom and the kiss in the Final Lair felt rather abrupt. That said, this has long been one of the musical's inherent dramatic challenges. In contrast, the San Francisco production portrayed Christine as simultaneously fearful of, fascinated by, and in awe of the Phantom, making her emotional journey feel much more convincing.

Carlotta sang superbly, and Piangi's relatively modest build made the Phantom's warning for him to lose weight in "Notes" unexpectedly funny. Carlotta's infamous toad-like croaking was also remarkably convincing.

Perhaps because of the Phantom's vocal timbre, "Don Juan Triumphant" and "The Point of No Return" sounded somewhat lighter than I had expected. The physical interaction and stage movement between the Phantom and Christine during their duet, however, were staged far more sensually than in the Korean productions.

After parting with Madame Giry, Raoul did not leap off the travelator. Instead, he simply walked off toward stage left, a piece of blocking I had never seen before and found refreshingly different.

In the Final Lair, the ensemble's "Track Down This Murderer" rang out with remarkable clarity, and even the Phantom's very first cry of "Bravi!" was astonishingly distinct. It was yet another reminder of just how exceptional the theatre's sound system was.

After the curtain call, I spent about three minutes filming the Exit Music. Before leaving, I thanked the flutist with whom I had exchanged smiles before the performance. I mentioned that I always prefer sitting in front of the woodwind section and asked whether the sound projected well into the auditorium. He replied that it did. I also told him that, because I could feel the vibrations as well as hear the instruments, I actually preferred seats in front of the woodwinds and brass to those in front of the strings.

Perhaps because of the new orchestration, the sound was exceptionally clear, yet the overall impact felt somewhat less overwhelming. I may have been expecting the thunderous stage presence Hugh Panaro projected on Broadway in 2005, or the sheer vocal power and commanding charisma Julian Kim brought to the role in Korea. Compared with those performances, this Phantom left a more refined and polished impression.

Seeing The Phantom of the Opera in the West End had long been one of my goals. Yet once I finally achieved it, I realized that I was spending more time analyzing the production than simply enjoying it. Even so, experiencing this legendary musical in its original production at His Majesty's Theatre was, in itself, more than enough to make the visit worthwhile.