NEW YORK — What drove Salome to such extremes of revenge? Even as a tale from antiquity, the spurned princess who demands the head of St. John the Baptist on a silver tray is puzzlingly horrific. The new Metropolitan Opera production by Claus Guth of Richard Strauss’ opera, Salome, that opened April 29 generated answers in an edge-of-the-seat Dance of the Seven Veils, Salome’s currency to manipulate King Herod.
No superficial garment-shedding there, but a choreographed history of sexual abuse, whether real or attempted, as revealed by six younger versions of herself. Nothing was graphic, but the point was clear. Overall, this production shook the opera out of its usual status as Wilde’s lurid take on a Biblical tale and made it new, immediate, and relevant. Brilliant? Maybe. Awesome? Definitely. Simplistic? No, though I’m still processing the experience.
The whole package introduced significant complications that not everyone liked. Performers were cheered by this first-night audience, but Guth’s creative team had a smattering of boos. Though he has a long European resume, Guth was directing at the Met for the first time, and it’s important to say that this was not the work of some random provocateur. The production reflected an earnest, well-conceived viewpoint that wasn’t necessarily enjoyable but genuine.
Typically, the use of language from the original Oscar Wilde play (very much preserved in the opera’s libretto) is a dramaturgical guide: Salome and Herod speak in florid similes suggesting the dream states in which they live, while Jochanaan (St. John) and Herodias speak straightforwardly from a more grounded reality. Here, that rhetorical separation, so crucial to the narrative, was clarified by the two-level set design by Etienne Pluss. Herod’s court was the Victorian mansion from the 1999 Stanley Kubrick film Eyes Wide Shut, treating the Met audience to a languid, exclusive, super-upscale sex club in which anything was permitted — a viable analogue.
Silver trays, foreshadowing the platter on which Salome ultimately demands the decapitated head of John the Baptist, were in abundance. So were towering statues of hybrid creatures with ram horns — symbols of fertility and domination. Video patterns projected onto the floor created rippling instability. The muted color palette, almost like a black and white film, was interrupted only by the deep-red full-length gown worn by Herodias.
In a coup de théâtre, stage elevators took Herod’s mansion up to the fly space, the barren basement below being where Jochanaan was kept and where his confrontation with Salome unfolded in relative privacy from the rest of the court. But the usual one-way sexual dynamic in Wilde’s play — Salome fetishizing his body — ran both ways. Jochanaan was seen writhing in a sexual frenzy and drawing himself close to her while spewing his vehement rejections. At times, Salome moved away from her object of obsession. Both were saying “no” while saying “yes.” Has Salome met the love of her life amid impossible circumstances? If so, was demanding his head — in a feat of twisted logic — the only way she could possess a part of him?
The singers were surprisingly game for such a concept. Baritone Peter Mattei, now 59, demonstrated great agility in one of the most animated Jochanaan portrayals I’ve seen. Elza van den Heever navigated many symbolic costume changes, from a protectively buttoned-up appearance in early scenes to later donning symbolic ram horns as a sign of victory. And, of course, changing into something more fluid for the dance (often the Achilles’ Heel of Salome productions), which began in a well-drawn magic circle often associated with acts of sorcery.
Not so sympathetically, singers tended to be positioned midway in this exceptionally deep stage set, working against their being heard amid Strauss’ frenetic orchestral score. Mattei communicated his character’s deep convictions but with occasional quivers reminding you that he was a person before being a recognized saint. Van den Heever coped by staying pretty much in her chest voice, which downplayed the character’s girlish rapture better conveyed in more floating tones. My guess is that she will be a more nuanced presence in subsequent performances.
As Herod, Gerhard Siegel missed a lot of the role’s conversational qualities amid a consistently emphatic vocal projection, while Michelle DeYoung, in the potentially scene-stealing role of Herodias, was often placed even farther back in the set than other principal singers.
Was conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin partly at fault for not holding back the orchestra? Probably, though it’s hard to argue with his underscoring details of the Strauss score that contributes so masterfully to all characterizations. The explosive inventiveness of this youthful opera was usually — and breathtakingly — apparent. These epic characters, as molded by Strauss, wield such spiritual and political power that their actions can rupture their universe.
The Metropolitan Opera production of Salome is repeated May 6, 10, 13, 17, 21 and 24. For information and tickets, go here.
