(Photo: Agnese Zeltiņa | Files.fm.)

I’m not generally given to elaborating on opera plots; preferring for the audience to discover them for themselves, even where the outline of the tale is fairly well known. Alas, I feel somewhat compelled to at least superficially proffer some brief abridgement of “Salome,” if only to illustrate and accentuate the bizarre, outlandish and frequently bewildering current offering of Richard Strauss’s famous opera, at the Latvian National Opera and Ballet.

According to Jewish priest, scholar, and historian Flavius Josephus (AD 37/38), Salome was daughter of Herodias and stepdaughter of Herod Antipas, a ruler, (tetrarch) of Galilee, in Palestine. In the Biblical telling, according to the Gospels of Mark (6:14–29) and Matthew (14:1–12), Salome danced for Herod at a festival in return for anything her heart desired. She demanded the head of John the Baptist on a silver platter, the prophet with whom she had become entranced.

OK. So far, so crazy…

Oscar Wilde, (never one for avoiding decadence), wrote his one act tragedy based on this tale only with added spice, where the King Herod lusts after his stepdaughter, Princess Salome, under the baleful glare of his wife, Queen Herodias. Salome, meanwhile, falls madly in love with the imprisoned prophet Jokanaan, (John the Baptist), who vehemently rejects her advances, declaring her to be the daughter of “Babylon and Sodom,” refusing to even look at her on account of her being the daughter of  the “sinful & incestuous Herodias.” She then returns to Herod before acquiescing to his pleas for her to perform a provocative dance, promising her all manner of wealth and possessions if she will do so. She then performs the “Dance of the Seven veils,” before eventually procuring the dismembered head of Jokanaan which she proceeds to passionately kiss.

So far, so crazier…

Wilde’s play was actually banned in the UK until 1931 due to laws prohibiting the depiction of staged biblical characters and was instead premiered in Paris in 1896 whilst the author was incarcerated. The work, written in French, was later translated into German and became the main libretto for Strauss’s opera. With its heady themes of religion, sex and slaughter, it shocked opera audiences from its inception, not least proving difficult for some of the artists to actually perform the material as written.

Conversely, some audiences saw it a progressive move away from the austerity of the Victorian era and into a more enlightened 20^th Century. It has, of course, subsequently become a stalwart in the operatic repertoire, along with numerous recordings being made.

Still, ravishing music aside, it’s something of a unique curiosity, one might opine; somewhat difficult to bemuse audiences of the present day one could confidently assert.

Unless you should happen to experience the current offering in Riga.

I’m all for allegory and exploring new ways of presenting old themes, so long as they make sense. And, sadly, on this outing, it just does not.

Stage Director and Set Designer Alvis Hermanis is a celebrated artist, having been involved in many critically acclaimed productions in his home country of Latvia and elsewhere. But it is impossible to fathom what he was aiming for here or what message he wished to convey.

Firstly, the backstop stage setting is a replica of the famous “wailing wall,” or western wall, in Jerusalem. On entering the theatre, a number of Jews, (as they are described in the program) are already praying, rocking to and fro at the wall. As if to remove any doubts, a drop-down video screen is showing what purports to be a LIVE streaming of  the actual western wall where further praying and gathering is taking place. These praying Jews remain with their backs to the audience throughout the performance; with the exception of the rather salacious “Dance of the Seven Veils,” where they all turn round and watch. There’s a whole can of worms here relating to potential blasphemy and religious mockery which I am NOT going to open, suffice to say I consider Hermanis to be on thin ice here.

Princess Salome in this production is none other than Amy Winehouse. No, really! Not, OBVIOUSLY, the Camden Town diva herself, sadly departed in 2011, but a clear facsimile, replete with beehive hair, sheer black stockings and sultry, sulky, teenage attitude in abundance. (The program notes actually include a photograph of the real Amy Winehouse and confirm that she was the influence for this production). Again, I know Winehouse was a Jewish singing icon, but other than that, I fail to see the relevance of her inclusion and her reincarnation here feels purely gratuitous.

Jokanaan, (John the Baptist), however, get’s a makeover that is, (ostensibly at least), literally out of this world. A long, narrow, rectangular construction of bright fluorescent tubes descends from the sky, as the prophet rises, via a trapdoor, on to the stage, as a…ROBOT. Not an actual automaton but the performer; bedecked as a Stormtrooper-like Star Wars character.

The video screen throughout augments this weirdness with regular artificial intelligence generated images depicting fantasy art versions of the stage characters, and JESUS himself, recreated as an android, part flesh, part machine.

Alas, when it comes to cans of worms, these inferences pale into significance when it comes to the famous “Dance of the Seven Veils.” It has been postured that this dance was the original precursor to the striptease, the “seven veils” referring to the layers of garments being removed while the dance is performed. Historically, most sopranos have refused to perform the dance, relying on an actual dancer to enact that part of the opera. Here, Hermanis elects to have the dance performed by seven dancers. Completely dressed in the burqa, (presumably meant to be the Haredi Jews, the Haredi burqa sect), the girls perform a routine somewhat reminiscent of synchronized swimming, allowing glimpses of their scantily clad bodies to be revealed before removing their burqas to reveal shimmering, spangly underwear. Throughout this dance, (and beyond), the video screen displayed a large variety of AI generated women, all topless, with perfectly created breasts, cycled through like some tacky, glamour shoot portfolio.

I could not help thinking that this opera would not travel well in many areas of the world, including elsewhere in Europe, where outrage and demonstrations may well have curtailed its run.

The opera concludes with Princess Amy, sorry! SALOME, writhing around, cradling the voluminous, long electrical wires hanging from Jokanaan’s decapitated head, now suspended from a hook, where she cradles and rocks the bunched-up wires as if an infant. Meanwhile young children enter the stage accompanying MORE robots, seated in wheelchairs, to witness Salome being executed by the reappearing, descending fluorescent tube structure from the ceiling.

Oh yes! Hermanis wins the crazy stakes alright. Confused?? Me too! And I make no apologies for it. Several members of the audience left early in the performance, and when the lights went out at the cessation of the performance, there was a long silence before the first smatterings of muted applause from the audience. True, when the artistic team took to the stage after the performers “curtain calls,” there were some enthusiastic cheers and bravos; but I genuinely felt them to have been a mixture of the cast support team and some audience members who felt that they had failed to grasp some hugely significant message and didn’t want to be embarrassed by appearing to have done so.

ANY plaudits due were surely owed to the deserving cast who, in the main, sung proficiently. Austrian soprano Astrid Kessler was a replacement for the original Salome. The role has to be one of the most demanding in the repertoire, sung in a difficult tessitura and requiring an almost constant stage presence and energetic performance. Kessler seemed to have this in mind as she made what I considered to be a tentative approach in the early rounds, before coming into her own and delivering a powerful “Ich habe deinen mund geküsst” at the end which, despite the ludicrousness of the staging, managed to be both moving and evocative. Further, she gave a convincing portrayal of a spoiled teenage brat.

Belgian tenor Thomas Blondelle takes the role of Herodes, giving a fair portrayal of the leering, lascivious step-father. He sings with a pleasing bright, polished tenor instrument, at his best when making entreaties to Salome to be rewarded anything other than her gruesome request.

Latvian Mezzo-soprano Zanda Švēde sings as Salome’s mother, Herodias, and does so with a rich, seductive timbre. She also possesses great presence, not just because of her vividly colorful costume here.

Latvian bass-baritone Egils Siliņš easily stole the vocal prize in the men’s stakes, as the humanoid Jokanaan. From below stage, in his “cell,” his sonorous voice emanated easily and embodied the puritanical prophet well with his rich, resonant tone. He also encapsulated well how an artificial-intelligence-created John the Baptist might conduct themself, perhaps one of, if not the ONLY credible, viable tenets of this staging.

Raimonds Bramanis is one of the leading tenors of the Latvian National Opera and he sings the role of Narraboth, Salome’s ardent admirer. His fine, clarion tenor rang throughout the theatre well, but he over-hammed up the role with melodramatics, quite possibly to qualify the absurdity of his suicide after his increasing despair over his obsession with his femme fatale.

Conductor Mārtiņš Ozoliņš does a fine job with Strauss’s score and the orchestra are exemplary.

“Salome” has, historically enthralled and shocked audiences in equal measure. There have been performances that have employed the use of explicit sex, maniacal characters and apocalyptic settings. But this production lacks any cohesiveness or true, tangible message. Moreover, I cannot see how it is NOT deliberately contrived to shock or, possibly even offend those of a number of different religious persuasions.

In my conversations with many artists, it is frequently relayed to me that they have concerns about the direction many modern performances are taking. Rather than giving the audience what many believe they want to see and hear, some directors appear more interested in being provocative and sensationalist; far removed from the composer’s original visions and intentions, and the polar opposite of what the audience want to experience.

I would, respectfully, submit this production as primary evidence in support of those assertions.