^ "Yes, Dorothy... Now you are mine," Andrew thought to himself. He dared not utter the words for fear that they may be used against him as evidence in court at a later date.
Not to be needlessly cruel, but merely looking at Andrew Lloyd Webber gives me the chills. His face looks like it was drawn on an empty balloon that was only blown up to three quarters its capacity. Unfortunately, the only way to distract people from its rubbery hideousness was to stick a couple of distracting moustaches above his lifeless eyes. But I can't hold that against him, it's not his fault I'd rather jam a fork in my cornea than have to witness his unnervingly menacing smile ever again.
What I can hold against him is his shameless love of money. "Over The Rainbow" was bad enough. There was something clearly quite wrong about seeing Webber residing over young, impressionable women and casting judgement on them from his throne of perversion. Coupled with Graham Norton's presence, the entire thing was effectively an exercise in making the creepiest family-orientated show possible. But now, the Webber machine has seen it fit to make a sequel to his acclaimed "Phantom of the Opera" musical. This would be all well and good if the storyline to "Phantom of the Opera" was his to sequelise. But it's not. It's Gaston Lereox's.
Now, I don't necessarily mind the musical of Phantom of the Opera, but suffice to say it was a complete bastardisation of the original novel, somehow transforming it from a bleak tragedy about a hideously rapey stalker kidnapping a singer in to a proto-Twilight tale of romance and beauty coming from within. It was a vaguely similar story at least and both had closure in their ending. But it's as if Andrew just wasn't happy enough with sullying Lereox's legacy enough. The fact that he has written "Love Never Dies" just goes to show that anyone's creative product, no matter how brilliant it may be, is at risk of being regurgitated time and time again by those devoid of their own ideas in the interest of milking the decaying udders of a half-dead cash cow.
P.S. I realise I'm actually very late with this complaint, but it had been quietly bubbling inside of me for a good few months before I was able to articulate my pretentious rage.
P.P.S. I just found out that at around a decade ago, Paul Stanley of KISS starred in a production of "Phantom of the Opera". I really hope he was wearing his Starchild make up for it.