Salome is a disturbing story. While the biblical version is mercifully brief on details, both Oscar Wilde’s play and Richard Strauss’ opera based on it depict in great detail the psychological stages of Salome’s psychotic desire. Bruno Ravella's production for Irish National Opera doesn’t spare the gore. Not even Sinéad Campbell-Wallace's bewitching singing in the eponymous title role could mitigate the grotesqueness of Salome's final act. If anything, the beauty of her voice only served to emphasise the character’s monstrosity.
Ravella’s attention to detail is impressive: conceiving the opera as a clash between Old Testament decadence and New Testament purity, he cleverly showcases the theme of eros versus agape and the unleashing of violent power that comes with the former. His transformation of the opera from its biblical context to a more contemporary setting largely works; the trappings of power might have changed from robe to white-tie but these are mere externalities. The dynamics of Salome’s recently discovered sexual sensibilities and the concomitant power she can unfurl are ultimately more convincing in a modern setting than a biblical one. However, the reverse is true of John the Baptist’s staunch refusals of Salome’s advances.
Leslie Travers' designs are simple but effective. The main set resembles the inside of a bunker with a single door and a few vantage points, suggesting a prison rather than a protective space. In the middle a tree blossoms, suggesting life, hope, fruitfulness. At times, such as the appearance of Jochanaan, the walls lift, as does the tree, revealing a pool of water – shorthand for John’s baptism in the Jordan and used as such. During Salome’s Dance of the Seven Veils, she splashes in wild abandon, indicative of her id. Travers' costumes don’t distract: white tie for Herod and his guests; sandy-coloured uniforms for the soldiers; Salome resplendent in a yellow dress. Her white slip is so blood-stained at the end, one wonders whether it is salvageable for the next performance?
The quality of singing was remarkably good, but it was Sinéad Campbell-Wallace who stole the show as Salome. Possessing an extraordinary range, with her lowest notes still sounding clearly, she soared effortlessly in her upper register. Her diction was pellucid, her acting was convincing. At times, she coquettishly conversed with Jochanaan, at others, she was headstrong and wilful. Her repeated demands of “Gib mir den Kopf des Jochanaan” seemed like an eerie command of the insane. She brought a realism (and a disturbing verisimilitude) to her character that was quite believable. Her dance (choreographed by Liz Roche) is fairly tame but effective nonetheless, involving an excitable Herod itching to get his hands on her while she dances tantalisingly out of his reach. Salome's one concession is to allow Herod to unzip her dress to reveal a white slip.
Vincent Wolfsteiner made for a magnificent Herod: at once, lustful and demanding, he illustrated his character’s weak-willed shortcomings terrifically. His tenor possesses a fine dramatic and penetrating quality that was capable of withstanding the seething orchestral forces as he wheedled and bullied his way through the second half of the opera. Baritone Tómas Tómasson was equally impressive as Jochanaan, singing with noble purity, his deepest notes resonating powerfully. Imelda Drumm played Herodias as a strong character despite having lost influence with both her husband and daughter. There was good singing all round from the cast of soldiers, Jews and Nazarenes.
If the gore of the opera's plot shocks, Strauss’ score still fascinates with its glittering, sensual harmonies which give way to its dark, mordant undertones. Conductor Fergus Sheil was able to the harness the energy of the INO Orchestra and direct its raging forces to produce a massive sound, yet one which the singers were big enough to withstand. Salome is a difficult opera to stomach but this production is both musically and artistically rewarding.
