The Point of No Return - Phantom Of The Opera



DON JUAN (PHANTOM - behind the curtain)

Passarino - go away!

For the trap is set and waits for its prey . . .

(PASSARINO leaves. CHRISTINE (AMINTA) enters. She

takes off her cloak and sits down. Looks about her. No-

one. She starts on an apple. The PHANTOM, disguised as

DON JUAN pretending to

be PASSARINO, emerges. He now wears PASSARINO's

robe, the cowl of which hides his face. His first words

startle her)

DON JUAN (PHANTOM)

You have come here

in pursuit of

your deepest urge,

in pursuit of

that wish,

which till now

has been silent,

silent . . .

I have brought you,

that our passions

may fuse and merge -

in your mind

you've already

succumbed to me

dropped all defences

completely succumbed to me -

now you are here with me:

no second thoughts,

you've decided,

decided . . .

Past the point

of no return -

no backward glances:

the games we've played

till now are at

an end . . .

Past all thought

of "if" or "when" -

no use resisting:

abandon thought,

and let the dream

descend . . .

What raging fire

shall flood the soul?

What rich desire

unlocks its door?

What sweet seduction

lies before

us . . .?

Past the point

of no return,

the final threshold -

what warm,

unspoken secrets

will we learn?

Beyond the point

of no return . . .

AMINTA (CHRISTINE)

You have brought me

to that moment

where words run dry,

to that moment

where speech

disappears

into silence,

silence . . .

I have come here,

hardly knowing

the reason why . . .

In my mind,

I've already

imagined our

bodies entwining

defenceless and silent -

and now I am

here with you:

no second thoughts,

I've decided,

decided . . .

Past the point

of no return -

no going back now:

our passion-play

has now, at last,

begun . . .

Past all thought

of right or wrong -

one final question:

how long should we

two wait, before

we're one . . .?

When will the blood

begin to race

the sleeping bud

burst into bloom?

When will the flames,

at last, consume

us . . .?

BOTH

Past the point

of no return

the final threshold -

the bridge

is crossed, so stand

and watch it burn . . .

We've passed the point

of no return . . .

(By now the audience and the POLICE have realised

that SIGNOR PIANGI is dead behind the curtain, and it is

the PHANTOM who sings in his place. CHRISTINE

knows it too. As final confirmation, the PHANTOM

sings):

PHANTOM

Say you'll share with

me one

love, one lifetime . . .

Lead me, save me

from my solitude . . .

(He takes from his finger a ring and holds it out to her.

Slowly she takes it and puts it on her finger.)

Say you want me

with you,

here beside you . . .

Anywhere you go

let me go too -

Christine

that's all I ask of . . .

(We never reach the word 'you', for CHRISTINE quite

calmly reveals the PHANTOM'S face to the audience. As

the FORCES OF LAW close in on the horrifying skull,

the PHANTOM sweeps his cloak around her and

vanishes.

MEG pulls the curtain upstage, revealing PIANGI'S

body garotted, propped against the bed, his head

gruesomely tilted to one side. She screams.)

TRANSFORMATION TO:

REVERSE VIEW OF THE STAGE

(POLICE, STAGEHANDS, etc. rush onto the stage in

confusion. Also: ANDRE, FIRMIN, RAOUL, GIRY,

CARLOTTA and MEG)

CARLOTTA

What is it? What has happened? Ubaldo!

ANDRE

Oh, my God . . . my God . . .

FIRMIN

We're ruined, Andre - ruined!

GIRY (to RAOUL)

Monsieur le Vicomte! Come with me!

CARLOTTA (rushing over to PIANGI's body)

Oh, my darling, my darling . . . who has done

this ...?

(hysterical, attacking ANDRE)

You! Why did you let this happen?

(She breaks down, as PIANGI's body is carried off on a

stretcher)

GIRY

Monsieur le Vicomte, I know where they are.

RAOUL

But can I trust you?

GIRY

You must. But remember: your hand at the level of

your eyes!

RAOUL

But why . . .?

GIRY

Why? The Punjab lasso, monsieur. First Buquet.

Now Piangi.

MEG (holding up her hand)

Like this, monsieur. I'll come with you.

GIRY

No, Meg! No, you stay here!

(to RAOUL)

Come with me, monsieur. Hurry, or we shall be too

late . .



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