Love Never Dies, Andrew Lloyd Webber's unanticipated sequel to The Phantom of the Opera, debuted to decidedly mixed reviews in London, though not viciously bad enough to make theatergoers in America anticipate a campy disaster. In this case, the general response seems to be a shrug.
Despite being the continuation of arguably the biggest musical hit of all time, almost no one seemed excited by this project. Even hardcore fans (who dub themselves "phanatics") complained it was a bad idea.
Taking place ten years after the original, Love is set in Coney Island, where the Phantom calls himself Mr. Y (!) and runs an extravaganza called the Phantasma. (See how awful that is? They were so close to genuine disaster.) Naturally, he tries to lure Christine back into his clutches.
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Between The Godfather and The Sopranos, representation of mafia in the media has been straighter than a bow and arrow in a meat locker. I mean, sure, there are the warm, familiar cheek kisses between the Made and unmade and the link, but never has the Italian stereotype been characterized as anything other than particularly, well, geigh.









