"Oh, you did NOT just swipe from Jean Renoir you incompetent FUCK!"

After successfully avoiding it for many months, last night we watched the movie version of Phantom of the Opera.

Y'know, I can deal with Yankee Raoul. I can deal with pudgy, ineffectual Phantom who sings like Lemmy from Motorhead. I can grit my teeth through the gratuitous framing and padding. I'll gloss over Raoul buying a memento of his wife's insane psycho stalker serial killer ex for her grave. I'll quietly drive my nails into the palms of my hands when the Phantom's freakin' coolscary Red Death costume is replaced with an ill-fitting velvet leisure suit.

But why. the. fuck. did the director photograph the whole thing through the opera house's security cameras?

...then a hand poked out of the old well, and a horse committed suicide, and then it got weird.

I just saw one of the maintenance crew leap into a black and empty elevator shaft.

Apparently he heard those of us who were in the lobby shrieking, because we heard a muffled, "'m okay!"

This'll be good, old-fashioned nightmare fodder.