Few films wear their fractures quite as elegantly as The Phantom of the Opera (1925). Though now revered as one of the great achievements of silent horror, its making was less a symphony and more a cacophony—directorial disputes, shifting visions, endless recuts, and one star whose iron will was often the only anchor. What remains is a beautiful Frankenstein of a film: stitched together from studio desperation, creative conflict, and a flair for the dramatic that defined Universal’s golden age.

A Phantom Director

At the heart of the chaos lies Rupert Julian, a theatre-trained actor and journeyman director whose name appears in the credits but whose influence over the final product remains… spectral. His clashes with Lon Chaney were legendary—Chaney, a fiercely creative force with a precise vision for his characters, often refused to take direction. On many days, Julian wouldn’t even speak directly to his star. Chaney, for his part, reportedly directed his own scenes, shaping the Phantom’s pathos and menace through sheer stubborn artistry.

Whether due to these tensions or his own shortcomings, Julian was eventually removed from the project. Universal scrambled to salvage the shoot. Enter Edward Sedgwick and Ernst Laemmle—each brought in at various stages to shoot new material or repair narrative dead ends. Sedgwick, known for his comedic work with Buster Keaton, tried to inject romance and levity into the film’s darker recesses. Laemmle, nephew of Universal head Carl Laemmle, became something of a patchwork foreman, attempting to unify divergent pieces into a marketable whole.

Cut, Recut, and Re-Resurrected

What emerged from this creative scrum was hardly a singular vision. In fact, multiple versions of The Phantom of the Opera circulated for years—each with different edits, intertitles, and even actors in key roles (notably Mary Philbin’s love interest Raoul, portrayed alternately by Norman Kerry or with reshot scenes from another actor in certain reissues).

The most infamous moment of this production patchwork is the film’s ending. Early audiences reacted so poorly to the original climax—where Erik dies quietly of a broken heart—that Universal commissioned a new, action-packed chase ending. Chaney, unsurprisingly, refused to return. His absence forced the crew to use stand-ins and quick cuts, adding to the jagged quality of the film’s finale. For decades, this dual-ending oddity haunted film restorers, and only recent efforts have brought some cohesion to the film’s various prints.

The Phantom Temple: Universal’s Monument to Cinema

Despite the chaos, The Phantom of the Opera gave birth to one of Universal’s most iconic achievements: the Paris Opera House set. Designed by Charles D. Hall, and built to full scale on Stage 28, the massive structure was a marvel of studio engineering—five stories tall with working elevators, staircases, and backstage corridors that would feature in countless Universal productions for decades.

More than just a backdrop, the Opera House became the architectural heart of the film, its labyrinthine design mirroring Erik’s twisted psyche. From the grand chandelier to the shadowy catacombs below, this set symbolised the collision of artifice and emotion—a stage on which the tragic grotesque could play out with operatic grandeur.

Universal’s marketing team leaned hard into this opulence. Pre-release promotions touted the realism and scale of the set, and Chaney’s grotesque makeup was shrouded in secrecy to fuel curiosity. When the curtain finally rose, audiences were not just watching a movie—they were stepping into a cinematic cathedral, built from horror and heartbreak.

• Saul Muerte

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