The last time I watched The Phantom of the Opera, I was seated at a balcony three stories up, viewing the stage sideway. By the end of the three hours show, I left the theatre (that was in Singapore, probably nine to ten years ago), my neck was cricked, I had a splitting headache and my impression of the show was, needless to say, far from good.
Tonight, I sit seven rows from the stage. If I crane my neck a little, I can see the bassoonist polishing her instrument, the pianist flexing his fingers. When the show starts I see, vividly, how the chandelier rises to the ceiling, and the ballet dancers take the stage.