Evan Zimmerman
Persistently attending the Met Opera has taught me the worth of a manufacturing that each has a studying of the opera and may use the medium of the stage to articulate it. Claus Guth, making his Met debut after many years of high-profile work in Europe, has this rarified capability, and he has staged a Salome with an assertive interpretation of the opera, if not a groundbreaking or notably complicated one. Fortunately, his forged is provided to deliver the nuance and energy Richard Strauss’s masterpiece deserves after almost ten years’ absence from the Met Opera stage.
Guth’s Salome is a narrative about youngster sexual abuse, and his emphasis is on his heroine’s inside panorama and psychological improvement. Fittingly, set designer Etienne Pluss has constructed a grim and gloomy Victorian mansion, a basic haunted home—a time-honored allegory for a troubled psyche.
The home, Herod’s palace, hid glimpses of spectral presences and aberrant sexuality inside its austere and windowless partitions; projections (by Roland Horvath, often known as rocafilm) that periodically despatched the partitions into freaky, seismic shivers, fingers that emerged from partitions to grope on the forged, males in animal masks who stalked in a pack after a nude dancer.
However essentially the most expressive specters have been the ghosts of Salome previous, a coterie of kid performers who doubled Elza van den Heever’s Salome. The youngsters haunted Herod’s home and Salome’s psyche, ghosts of the childhood he took from her.
Evan Zimmerman
The kid doubles have been an uncanny and efficient means of speaking Guth’s tackle Salome—particularly, that her blood-thirsty fixation on Jochanaan shouldn’t be deranged sadism however a product of the form of sexual violence that usually begets extra sexual violence. Within the Dance of the Seven Veils, van den Heever’s Salome-Prime revealed a succession of Salomes, one per veil, in ascending order of age, every dancing a pas-de-deux with a Herod stand-in that staged extra explicitly the abuse evoked by the ghostly presence of the kid.
One would possibly argue that Strauss’s opera already allegorizes youngster sexual abuse—that, in actual fact, the Dance of the Seven Veils is already an outline of incest and sexual assault, even when not presenting bodily contact between Herod and Salome. An actual cynic would possibly even be tempted to look at her opera staging bingo card, to see if she has “silent youngster double” between “nude dancer” and “fog machine.”
Certainly, Guth’s psychological studying of Salome was considerably reliant on literalizing the opera’s subtext—however at the same time as I personally want my Salomes just a little extra enigmatic, I don’t begrudge Guth his didacticism. It was tastefully deployed, for one factor, with solely very occasional moments of groan-worthiness such because the opening sequence by which, absent an overture to stage, a music field melody and whistling wind sound results to soundtracked a efficiency by a baby Salome.
It was properly blocked, for an additional, with a constant vocabulary of gesture, used to appealingly clarifying ends. As Jochanaan prayed, for instance, Salome started to imitate the ritualistic motions of his arms—an indication that she was enraptured by his physique, at the same time as his phrases made no impression on her.
The manufacturing’s subtler symbolism of the haunted home, with its half-glimpsed eroticism and its prisoner within the basement, was additionally fairly efficient. Under Herod’s gothic palace was a chalky white dungeon, Jochanaan’s jail, which lifted into view as the entire higher set rose up on the Met’s stage elevator.
The colour distinction between the 2 areas was impactful, as was the visible of the set lifting into the heavens—I loved watching Elza van den Heever descend a wrought-iron staircase as a large set ascended round her nearly as a lot as I did final December, when she did precisely that in Die Frau ohne Schatten.
As in that Frau, the vertically organized units weren’t only a visually spectacular use of the Met’s cavernous stage however a means of demonstrating that the 2 taking part in areas should not indifferent worlds however linked and liable to spillover. If the home was Salome’s psyche, Jochanaan was trapped within the basement of her unconscious, the place her childhood toys have been additionally saved. And whereas Herod could have thought that stashing Jochanaan within the basement would maintain him contained, a basement remains to be a part of a home, simply because the unconscious remains to be a part of the thoughts; Jochanaan’s presence was continuously breaking via the barrier between the higher set and the decrease.
First there have been the delicate projections of swirling chalk mud eddies that appeared to seep relentlessly up via the floorboards from the jail beneath. Then there was the prophet’s voice—additionally uncontainable, blazing forth, even along with his physique chained up out of sight.
Evan Zimmerman
In his position debut as Jochanaan, Peter Mattei was revelatory. I’m sure the naysayers who constantly object to Mattei singing something with extra heft than Eugene Onegin will emerge to name him miscast within the position, however to my ears this might not be farther from the reality.
Jochanaan spends a lot of the opera as a disembodied voice—earlier than, finally, being decreased to a unvoiced, dismembered head. Mattei, for his half, has a voice that doesn’t sound like another dwelling human being’s. When his voice first rang out invisibly, its sheer magnificence was terrifying, like a hand in a velvet glove reaching from nowhere to grip the nape of your neck, laborious. Mattei’s stage presence is at all times imposing—he’s an enormous man, with an enormous character onstage—however when viewers and Salome lastly laid eyes upon him in captivity, almost nude and smeared head to toe with white paint, he appeared nearly just like the monster in a horror movie. Salome, addressing his lastly silenced head, says that Jochanaan’s “voice was like incense;” it’s pretty much as good an outline of Mattei’s headily seductive sound as any I can consider.
Mattei and Elza van den Heever final sang collectively on the Met within the 2019-20 season’s Wozzeck, and, in Salome, they as soon as once more proved a superb pair. Wrangling over his fanaticism and her sexuality—in the one scene the place each characters are seen and alive—each Mattei and van den Heever gave voice to the fixed flux between Jochanaan and Salome as they talked at, to, and thru each other. Briefly, it will seem to be an actual dialog between the 2 of them was attainable, however then Mattei’s tone would revert to roaring zeal or van den Heever’s to feverish ecstasy, and the second can be damaged. It’s a deal with to listen to vocal appearing so nuanced in opera, and much more so to listen to two such performers collectively.
Stranded between childhood and maturity, Elza van den Heever’s Salome mingled moments of childlike vocal sweetness with a hovering, rapturous sound that was undeniably grownup. In her physicality, too, van den Heever was credible because the teenaged princess. Awkward in her physique, but clearly used to being the focus, van den Heever’s Salome was a younger girl coming dangerously into her personal over the course of the just about two hours (extra on this subject later) run.
Given van den Heever’s stage presence and confidence within the position, it was disappointing that she had so little to do throughout the Dance of the Seven Veils. Actually, there are lots of extra fascinating potential makes use of of that music than only a strip tease, however to cut back Salome to creating presentational gestures at a sequence of dancers is a wasted alternative for ten minutes of character improvement and even simply ten minutes of command over heart stage.
Additionally just a little underwhelming was van den Heever’s decrease register, which didn’t at all times make all of it the way in which over the orchestra’s mighty din. This difficulty, nonetheless, I’m unwilling to put solely at van den Heever’s toes. Yannick Nézet-Séguin’s conducting was a curious and irritating factor, at instances elegant and at instances just a little sedate. At instances, even, it was just a little sedated—Salome ought to actually not be operating two full hours. Worse, the efficiency was by Nézet-Séguin’s quirky, periodic refusal to cohere the orchestra to the singers.
I keep in mind a Met Elektra in 2018, the place the orchestral sound was so magnificent and big that there was however one constantly audible member of the forged: Elza van den Heever, as Chrysothemis. Alas, as Salome, van den Heever was not fairly so fortunate. There’s no query that Nézet-Séguin was in a position to get some awe-inspiring sounds out of the pit. Notably in interludes the place the orchestra took heart stage, he invoked holy terror and ecstasy. However, elsewhere, he appeared nearly to attempt to out-diva his diva. Sadly, when the conductor wins a diva-off, all people loses.
Evan Zimmerman
With regards to diva-offs—the night time’s most surprising diva, actually, was Gerhard Siegel as Herod. Ridiculously excessive vitality and with a clarion-clear voice that in some way solely made him appear extra of a neurotic wreck, Siegel’s efficiency was humorous, loathsome, demented, and downright scene-stealing.
Poor Michelle DeYoung, then again, had little to do as Herodias apart from swill champagne and get felt up with the spectral fingers popping out of the partitions. The dearth of character definition was helped neither by DeYoung’s voice, which was considerably hooted and simply overpowered, nor by a vibrant purple wig that, with the gothic mansion setting, evoked Catherine O’Hara in Beetlejuice to an unlucky diploma.
Opening the opera as Narraboth and the Web page, Piotr Buszewski and Tamara Mumford each reduce interesting, ingenue-ish figures. His tenor was dashingly heroic; her mezzo lush and tragic. Each sang with such dedication you’d assume the opera was the tragic story of a web page and a captain of the guard. (Nevertheless, Ursula Kudrna‘s costumes had each dressed as family footmen.)
Because the opera reached its chillingly lovely conclusion, nonetheless, any moments of disjunction and distraction have been simple to forgive. (Nicely, apart from an infuriatingly loud fog machine; don’t overlook to test that bingo card! There’s a “free” area. It’s “projections.”)
In these remaining moments, Van den Heever’s Salome addressed with a hushed form of calm the face that had sparked such violent and erotic fervor inside her—confused, maybe, that such a dull factor may have had such an impact. Why wouldn’t he take a look at her? Had been his lips bitter with blood? Or with love?
Even right here, within the stark white basement of her unconscious thoughts, surrounded by the stunted and fractured ghosts of her youthful self, Salome discovered no simple solutions, no handy self data. However because the orchestra teetered on the sting of romanticism and revulsion, as van den Heever’s voice ascended to shivering delirium, because the set lifted her as much as face her ambiguous destiny, the music affirmed Salome’s rapture, not her doubt. What does it matter? Wherever that stage elevator was taking her, it actually was not her stepfather’s home anymore.
