over the weekend i had time on my hands to watch a favorite movie.
again for the nth time.
5th, 6th... i dunno, it might have been the 8th time.
phantom of the opera, the movie adaptation of the webber-hart musical.
i didnt like it at first, except for two songs that became my early favorites.
the last time i watched it was summer last year.
it sort of grew on me.

i dont know how others look at the story.
but i look at it as a story with three corners.
or three sides if you will.
a classic love triangle with a morbid twist.
beautiful singer-dancer christine is mesmerized by the phantom of the opera.
she fell for his musical brilliance, despite his disfigured face, mysterious ways and twisted values.
the phantom is in love with christine in a selfish way.
i didnt like that, but there it is.
then raoul the dashing young aristocrat enters the picture.
naturally, christine and raoul fall in love.
the phantom hurls himself into an ultimately tragic and self-defeating path of destruction.
in the end, he realizes the futility of it all, and surrenders to his fate.
naturally, christine and raoul live happily ever after.
the script requires it.
it's written in the stars.
they are made for each other.
they deserve each other.
the phantom fades into the mist of obscurity.
a beautiful fairy tale with a tragic twist.

i loved the story then, even if i didnt particularly identify myself with any of the characters.
i didnt know what aspect of the story magnetized me to watch it again and again. and again.
this weekend, it finally hit me.
the phantom's story felt like my life story.
i felt the parallels. again and again. and again.
except that im no musical genius,
i dont like the phantom's murderous modus operandi,
and i dont look anything like gerard butler.

but now i see there's a more ridiculous twist.
i'm not even the phantom of the opera anymore.
i'm now the phantom of the soap opera.
a soap opera that goes on and on and on and on...
the only rest is during the tv commercial breaks.
i'm the 3rd act that never plays out.
i'm the character that got left out.
i'm the side-story that got sidelined.
the silent phantom shit of a sugary soap opera.
sweet fucking jesus.

then last night, i made a life-changing vow.
i refuse to be a phantom.
whether of the opera, or soap opera, or cesspool opera.
i remembered che in evita.
that's one cool dude i really liked.
he had a running commentary on the juan-evita peron love story.
he had witty comments on each aspect of the tragicomedy of argentina's most famous lovers.
he had no emotional stake on any character.
he was a cold-blooded observer with an acerbic humor.
his comments were invisible to all except to the viewer.
he was a perfect carrier of streaming cerebro.

that's it.
i'm gonna be a phantom che.
or so i said last night.

but then...
i had second thoughts this morning.
who the fuck is going to listen to a phantom che nowadays?
everybody swoons when the dashing juan peron sweeps evita off her feet.
everybody loves it when the dashing lothario takes off with the ravishing calista.
everybody suspects how the story will all end.
but they are thrilled by the magical moment of romance.
who the fuck is going to listen to a phantom che nowadays?
and what the fuck am i thinking.

what the fuck.
phantom che... wtf...
the scheme isn't worth my time.
che is dead. i know it.
i had stared long enough at his unseeing eyes.
long live che... in the movies, in books, in shirts and patches.
i will follow che's path in other ways.
but i will never parody him with a phantom che that haunts silly soap operas.

next weekend, i will watch the two musicals again.
the phantom of the opera and evita.
i will enjoy the love stories
for whatever they're worth.
i will shed tears of joy and sadness, as the case maybe.
and i will laugh at my own silliness
as well as that of the whole melodramatic world.
such is the tragicomic shit called life.
yours and mine.