FADE IN:

EXT. OPERA POPULAIRE. DAY.  (1919)

We have faded into black and white film, grainy and bleak. 
Establishing shot of the opera house (matte shot).  The air is dank, the
building grey and crumbling.  There is very little activity in front.  A once
glorious monument shunned by the modern world.  We MOVE closer;
we take in statues with limbs missing, the great chipped pillars. 
A lackluster sign reads "Public Auction".  We continue to close in; the
stairs leading up to the main entrance are filthy.  The place seems
abandonned.  We HEAR the noise of traffic; klaxons, horses but, as we
MOVE closer towards the open main doors we then Hear the
AUCTIONEER'S GAVEL.

AUCTIONEER (O.S)
Sold.  Your number, sir?
Thank you.

INT. OPERA POPULAIRE. DAY.  (CONTINUOUS SHOT)

In one movement, the camera glides through the main entrance into
the deserted hall revealing the vast, cracked stairway leading up to
the various levels of the foyer, scarred by a terrible fire long ago. 
There is rubbish everywhere.  Dust floats through the shafts of grey
light coming through the broken windows.

AUCTIONEER (O.S)
Lot 663, then, ladies and gentlemen:
A poster for this house's production
Of Hannibal" by Chalumeau.

PORTER (O.S)
Showing here.

We continue to move up the stairs, through a set of doors…

INT OPERA POPULAIRE. DAY. (CONTINUOUS SHOT)

…into the stalls of the auditorium.  The seats are torn, even uprooted
and piled on top of each other.  Shafts of daylight cut through the
darkness from traps in the leaking ceiling.  At the far end of the
stalls in a clear space, we see a DOZEN PEOPLE grouped around THE
PORTLY AUCTIONEER on an improvised podium.  Next to the
AUCTIONEER stands a PORTER holding the poster for "Hannibal"; a diva,
"La Carlotta", holding a severed head.  The BIDDERS are mainly seedy,
dusty men in heavy coats; junk dealers.  There is one old woman,
MME. GIRY, who stands a little apart.  She is dressed in black, her hat
covered in black veiling, like a widow.

AUCTIONEER
Do I have ten francs?  Five then.  Five I am bid.
Six, seven.  Against you, sir, seven.  Eight. 
Eight once.  Selling twice.  Sold..

The blow of the gavel echoes around the space.  The AUCTIONEER
unsuccessfully tries to cover his disdain for the JUNK DEALER.

AUCTIONEER
to Monsieur Deferre.  Thank you very much, sir.

The contents of the opera house are being auctioned off.  We see
statues, some covered with huge canvases, there are boxes, trunks,
props and opera memorabilia.  MME. GIRY remains stoic, mysterious. 
She turns and sees and old MAN (RAOUL) in a wheelchair being
wheeled in by a NURSE.

AUCTIONEER
Lot 664: a wooden pistol and three human skulls
From the 1831 production of "Robert le Diable"
By Meyerbeer.  Ten francs for this.  Ten, thank you.
Ten still.  Fifteen, thank you.  Fifteen I am bid.
Going at fifteen.

MME GIRY watches as RAOUL approaches in his wheelchair.  He looks
up and sees her.  There is much unsaid between them, bearers of dark secrets. 
The GAVEL ECHOES AGAIN around the hall.

AUCTIONEER
Your number, sir?  Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen:
A papeir-mache musical box in the shape of a
Barrel-organ.  Attached, the figure of a monkey
In Persian robes, playing the cymbals.  This item,
Discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in
Working order, ladies and gentlemen.

PORTER
(Holding it up)
Showing here.
(He sets it in motion)

The simple yet haunting tune plays as both RAOUL and MME. GIRY
stare at the musical box.  It has great meaning for them both.

AUCTIONEER
May I commence at twenty francs?  Oh come,
Come, ladies and gentlemen.  Fifteen, then?

MME. Giry  raises her hand.

AUCTIONEER
Fifteen, thank you.

The NURSE raises her hand
.
AUCTIONEER
Yes, twenty from you sir,
Thank you very much.

MME. GIRY
Twenty-five

AUCTIONEER
Twenty-five on my left, thank you madam.
Twenty-five I am bid.

Again the NURSE raises her hand.

AUCTIONEER
Thirty?

MME. GIRY stares at RAOUL, her expression seems to soften.  She
realizes how much this means to the sickly, old man.

AUCTIONEER
Selling at thiry francs, then.
MME. GIRY looks away.

AUCTIONEER
Thirty once, thirty, twice,
(gavel down)
sold for thirty francs.
To the Vitcomte de Chagny.  Thank you, sir.

The box is handed across to RAOUL.  He thanks MME. GIRY
with his eyes, then studies the papier mache monkey.

RAOUL (V.O)

A COLLECTOR'S
PIECE INDEED........
EVERY DETAIL
EXACTLY AS SHE SAID.......

SHE OFTEN
SPOKE OF YOU, MY FRIEND
YOUR VELVET LINING
AND YOUR FIGURINE OF LEAD

WILL YOU STILL PLAY, WHEN
ALL THE REST OF US ARE DEAD?

We cut to the AUCTIONEER as he resumes:

AUCTIONEER
Lot 666 then, a chandelier.

All attention turns to a mammoth chandelier resting on the floor of
the auditorium covered in canvas.  Eerie music creeps in.

AUCTIONEER
Some of you may recall the strange affair
Of the Phantom of the Opera; a mystery never
Fully explained.  We are told, ladies and
Gentleman, that this is the very chandelier
Which figures in the famous disaster.
Our workshops have repaired it and wired
Parts of it for the new electric light,
Perhaps we may frighten away
The ghost of so many years ago with a little
Illumination.  Gentlemen?

The PORTERS whip off the canvas.  The AUCTIONEER switches on
the chandelier.  There is an enormous flash and the thunderous organ
OVERTURE begins.  The CHANDELIER, immense and glittering, begins
to rise above the stalls.  At the same time, a gust of wind whips up the dust
and rubbish of the auditorium, blowing away the years of neglect.  As
the chandelier rises, we INTERCUT with the faces of GIRY and RAOUL. 
The years are falling away; their features and skin are clearing:  their
eyes are brightening.  And our film, we realize, is steadily GAINING
COLOUR.  The gas lights all along the stage come on.  The red velvet
seats are restored, the marble and the statues gleam, the paint
glistens.  The winds of time are restoring the once magnificent
theatre.  The chandelier is still rising, rising.  We are now in FULL
TECHNICOLOR.  The date is 1880.