Over the years, I’ve collected and read a large number of movie filmscript books. These usually contain (in addition to the complete filmscript) a production history and lots of photographs (usually copied from inferior grayscale sources, yet intriguing just the same).
The last title from my backlog was about the making of THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA in a book by Philip J. Riley. Although this silent film is one of my favorites, I long held-off beginning it for multiple reasons. Foremost among them is that I think it is the largest one of its type. I was going to be reading this for a while. In addition to that, there was the “small print” issue impacting easy reading. Most of these books have one script page per page of the book. This one mostly contained two per page. In addition, there were also items in the Appendix that I was certain I’d need a magnifying glass to read (and this was indeed the case for one of them).
However, Riley’s THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA was by far the best of its type that I’ve ever read.
For many years, film historians and collectors have been debating what went on behind the scenes of the 1925 production. I had a version in my collection that I watched for many years before I discovered it was from a 1929 reissue that had music, sound effects, and dialogue sections added … but that was available in a silent format only. I will never forget the evening that I saw a screening of the 1925 version on a murky, 16mm print from a collector at the Cinevent Film convention. I was startled by the many alterations that ranged from Carlotta’s Mother in the 1929 version actually being Carlotta herself in the original release to the unmasking sequence with a different angle. I later discovered that this collector’s print was missing about 30-minutes of subplot footage that really didn’t harm the story by its absence.
I’ve read several books about Lon Chaney’s THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA through the years, but none of them had as much information as this one or such a treasure trove of details that were completely new to me. I could easily cover 13-pages or more with “finds” that intrigued and excited me.
When it came time to “struggle” with the small print, I felt a little bit like an archeologist unearthing an incredible artifact. Yes, it was slow going, but it was always worth the effort. (And I found out what was in those missing 30-minutes.) One item was an amazing analysis of Gaston Leroux’s style of writing, including why he resorted to italics in places. In fact, the writer of the article found a theme link that crossed a number of Leroux’s books when he employed that font.
Finally, the entire 5-part article from “Liberty” magazine about Lon Chaney’s life (written by Adela Rogers St. John) was included. Yes, the grey lettering added to the reading difficulty (as did two pages that were transposed), but I couldn’t believe the depth of the work. This wasn’t the typical “celebrity bio” piece, but a delightfully detailed explanation.
An unexpectedly brilliant discovery occurs near the beginning of the book. Riley admitted that he had been an ardent admirer of the movie. Quite by accident, he made the acquaintance of Mary Philbin who portrayed Christine in the show, and who had spent many years steadfastly refusing to grant interviews about it. After months of cultivating a friendship, Philbin (on her own) started relating to Riley about how Lon Chaney had subtly given her instructions to show her to the best advantage during the scene when the Phantom abducts Christine. I had just started the book, and I realized that this tidbit made it worth every penny of the purchase price.
Some years ago, I bought a collectable Souvenir Program from a 1999 showing of the 1925 version of the film. I’ve been saving it to reward myself upon the completion of Riley’s book, and I’ve started enjoying it today. It’s an absolute treat!