Universal Monsters: The Phantom of the Opera #1 — Advanced Review
- David Barclay
- 2 minutes ago
- 5 min read
Publisher: Image Comics / Skybound
Writer: Tyler Boss
Primary Artist: Martin Simmonds
Release: Issue #1
Format: Single Issue
Genre: Horror, Gothic, Literary Adaptation
Final Order Cutoff- 01/26/2026
Release Date: 02/18/2026
Where to Buy: Directly from Image or your LCS
Price: $4.99
Solicit:
SERIES PREMIERE THE HORRIFYING NEW VISION OF THE STORY YOU ONLY THINK YOU KNOW! After a series of violent crimes wracks the Paris Opera House, Christine Dubois’s career is in chaos. But the show must go on, and Christine will discover that no one—especially the mysterious voice whispering from the eaves—is what they seem. As an old friend returns to investigate these surprising attacks, Christine will find out there's no escaping... THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. The superstar team of Tyler Boss (You’ll Do Bad Things) and Martin Simmonds (Department of Truth) present the shocking new horror series of 2026 that will thrill Phantom of the Opera fans new and old with a twist no one will see coming!
Review
From the moment you open the issue, Universal Monsters: The Phantom of the Opera #1 makes one thing immediately clear: this is not a comic interested in familiar rhythms. It asks to be read slowly, to be revisited, to be experienced through composition and page turns as much as plot. It is deliberate, formally ambitious, and closer in spirit to a curated gallery exhibition than a conventional monthly. That choice works overwhelmingly in its favour.
Visually, the issue feels as though it has stepped directly out of its setting. The artwork evokes Renaissance and Romantic-era painting, with textured lines and carefully staged compositions that feel hand-rendered rather than digitally assembled. Panels frequently resemble framed portraits, each one weighted with intent. This is not surface beauty for its own sake. The layouts actively control how time passes on the page. Panel rhythm dictates pacing, silence becomes meaningful, and the act of turning the page carries narrative weight.
Several sequences stand out for their inventiveness. One extended passage uses reflections in a mirror as panels, folding dialogue and imagery into the physical architecture of the scene itself. Another stretches a woman’s eyes across multiple panels, creating a hypnotic, almost devotional intensity. These are not visual tricks. They are medium-specific choices that reinforce the book’s core concerns with power, obsession, and performance. These are moments that only comics could articulate in this way.
Formal Breakdown
The cover sets the tone with precision. A classic Phantom pose is instantly recognisable, but subtly reworked. The mask is held slightly away from the face, revealing the man behind it. It is a quiet but loaded choice, signalling that this is not simply a monster story, but an interrogation of identity, performance, and the cost of wearing a role.
Early on, an establishing view of the opera house filling with patrons situates the reader in a space defined by expectation and spectacle. The opera Faust is name-checked, an apt parallel that foregrounds the book’s interest in ambition, bargains, and consequence. From there, the opening movement relies on evenly sized, portrait-like panels that feel composed and restrained before gradually widening and breathing. The effect is architectural, rewarding attentive reading and re-reading.
The Phantom’s presence is introduced with restraint rather than bombast. He intrudes into the frame gradually, looming, watching, asserting himself through composition rather than spectacle. The dialogue maintains a convincing period voice without slipping into stiffness or parody.
One of the issue’s most arresting moments arrives in a full-page spread. A singer is elevated in the air while the Phantom hides above in the rafters, laughter echoing below. The overhead perspective and the suspended body are genuinely horrifying, not because of excess, but because of how calmly the image is staged. The silence after the reveal lingers.
The aftermath is handled with equal care. Panic, disbelief, and superstition ripple through the crowd, and the reactions feel grounded and human, particularly in the way people half-believe and half-deny the existence of a ghost. They cling to rational explanations that no longer quite hold.
As the issue progresses, the dialogue begins to assert itself more clearly alongside the visuals. Characters are established efficiently, their traits conveyed through implication and rhythm rather than exposition. This is an issue that trusts its readers and expects them to meet it halfway.
Another visual high point arrives when dialogue is embedded directly into a mirror within the room. Reflection and conversation collapse into a single compositional idea, reinforcing the story’s fixation on illusion and self-image. It is a reminder that here, layout functions like editing, shaping meaning through proximity and framing.
Christine’s grief and the loss of her parents are introduced with quiet restraint, grounding her ambition in emotional absence. What she wants is simple: to sing, to be seen, to endure. What she is willing to give up in pursuit of that goal begins to take shape here. The emotional distance created by the formal approach feels intentional rather than cold, mirroring Christine’s own containment.
The mystery sharpens when an inspector lingers on Christine’s name and a threatening letter demanding she leave Paris surfaces. From this point, momentum builds not through speed, but through convergence. Threads slide into place. The pressure tightens.
A later spread shows Christine struggling to sing, with colour used expressively to translate internal pain into something almost physical. Performance becomes labour. Endurance becomes expectation. Repeatedly, the issue underlines a central truth: Christine is valued not as a person, but as a performance. These moments land softly, but they accumulate weight through staging and visual pacing rather than overt commentary.
One of the most unsettling sequences frames the Phantom’s coercion through reflective surfaces, creating a claustrophobic, predatory atmosphere. The menace here lies not in threat, but in persuasion, a subtle distinction that makes the scene deeply uncomfortable.
The contrast between Christine singing and an inspector examining a dead performer is quietly devastating. Performance continues even as consequence is uncovered in parallel, reinforcing the book’s fixation on art persisting regardless of cost. Another unforgettable image pairs a death with the raising of the curtain, the colour choices bold and almost ceremonial, lingering long after the page turn.
By the closing moments, Christine’s acceptance of the Phantom as an “angel” feels tragically earned. The art and dialogue make clear how much she is willing to believe and surrender in order to perform. The issue ends with Christine and the Phantom reflected together, staring back at one another. The pact is implied. The tragedy is fully in motion.
Final Thoughts
Taken together, these choices form an issue more concerned with atmosphere than momentum. That will not be to every reader’s taste. Those looking for immediacy, rapid escalation, or conventional horror beats may find the distance challenging. But that distance is purposeful, and it is precisely what gives the work its power.
The creative team prioritises composition, panel rhythm, and thematic resonance over speed, trusting the reader to engage with the medium itself. The result is a comic that feels both timeless and daring, a reminder that horror in comics can be achieved through arrangement and silence as much as shock.
This is the kind of issue that lingers after it is closed, not because of a single moment, but because of how carefully it is constructed. If you are prepared to slow down and meet it on its own terms, The Phantom of the Opera #1 is a haunting, confident opening act.
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