Some music while you're looking at the pictures: The Phantom of the Opry.
The chandellier rises majestically before an amazed audience. Never before did any of them see such opulence! - Just, didn't it seem a bit bigger in the advertisements?
Maybe, if one used a rear-view mirror...?
Hey, there's Christine! What a beauty! Slim, tall, skin like alabaster! And her voice - phantastic! Phenomenal! Here, throw her a philodendron.
Not the pot!
Oh well, she was a bit stiff.
Hey, here's the phantom. Booh! What do you mean, don't booh? Aren't you supposed to booh the bad guy? He's not the bad guy? He's a tragic figure? He symbolizes a father's love for his child?
You know, I think I'll booh anyway. I've never liked literary criticism. Call it participatory theater, instead.
What a beautiful organ! I wonder who the donor was?
Just listen to the music. How sad.
How weird.
Well, if you were shut up in the basement, you'd be getting some strange ideas, too.
Poor Bouquet. What?
No, I don't mean those philodendrons. The fellow that got murdered by the phantom.
Why? Well, nobody likes a critic, do they?
The phantom sure loves that girl. Poor guy. Look into his soulful eyes. Listen to his beautiful voice. Christine still looks a bit stiff.
In fact, I think she hasn't moved all night!
Hey, its the end of the show! The phantom sure looks happy. Did she plight her troth to you?
You know - promise to marry you, and all that?
No? Then why the big smile?
Oh. The night is over, you've handed out all the candy, and now you get to go inside and have a lie down.