(See main
review
for credits and cast)
After seeing this production
four times (plus the radio broadcast), I wanted
to follow-up with some additional musings,
since this powerful two hours will probably
be discussed (and debated) for years. At least
one notable casting change caused some attention:
at the March 31 performance Bryn Terfel assumed
the role of Jochanaan. Although Albert Dohmen
was marvelous in his debut, Terfel wielded
even more power, and seemed to be a bit nastier
character, almost a beast in ropes and chains,
wrestling around more with Mattila.
Further praise for choreographer
Doug Varone, whose vivid and exceptionally
well-conceived Dance of the Seven Veils
is one of the evening’s highlights. After
Herod agrees to let her dance, the sequence
begins with Mattila dramatically dashing up
Santo Loquasto’s huge curving staircase to
prepare. A few minutes later, when she reappears
at the top of the steps, she is wearing the
soon-to-be-shed creamy tuxedo. The next thing
we see is one of her legs draped over the
edge, followed by a long hot pink scarf that
cascades over the side. With only ten minutes’
music to work with, Varone teasingly escalates
the action, with Mattila being carried aloft
by two men before they almost devour her tuxedo
pants. Later she dances down the wooden planks
covering the cistern, where she does a brief
turn with one of the poles holding up the
roof. As the music quiets down in its final
minute or so, Mattila removes her top, gracefully
facing the rear of the stage, but slyly looking
back at Herod as if to gauge his reaction.
(During the performances the audience has
been impressively silent, albeit perhaps glued
to their binoculars.) Near the end she folds
her hands in front of her breasts and slowly
turns to face Herod, before the furious final
few bars when she finally flings her hands
open, pulls down her slip and stands joyously
naked, before being swallowed up by a crowd
who covers her with a black robe.
Since we’re discussing
nudity, a slight change was made at the very
end of the opera – different from opening
night – as the executioner slowly approaches
the dazed Salome lying on her back on the
floor. In the initial ending, as the orchestra
hammered out the last decisive chords, the
curtain fell as Mattila remained prone, seemingly
unaware of her fate. But in the latest performances
she staggered to her feet, and seeing what
is to come, turns to face the audience and
on the final chord, pulls her shirt open,
almost baring her breasts again. I must confess
I liked the scene better in its initial version.
Another writer noted
that the production would probably improve
as the run continues, and certainly that has
certainly been the case. Valery Gergiev and
the Met Orchestra play this score so sensuously
that one could almost – repeat, almost
– close one’s eyes and just bask in the music
solely as a concert. Almost overlooked amid
Mattila’s triumph is the orchestra’s stupendous
excitement in the Seven Veils, and
in the astonishing instrumental sequences
on either side of Jochanaan’s ascent and departure.
Little details stand out everywhere, such
as when Herodias mocks Herod for offering
peacocks to Salome and the trumpets rise up
with raucous braying, replicating the birds’
harsh cries.
Siegfried Jerusalem,
who was ill for the first two performances,
did a fine job and surely did not deserve
the few scattered catcalls here and there.
If Allan Glassman seemed even more at ease
as Herod, my hunch is that Mattila’s fervent
risk-taking is undoubtedly encouraging everyone
onstage to do the same.
The set continues to
amaze, although I seem to be in the minority.
At the end of the March 31 performance a resounding
"boo" immediately after the curtain
fell made this clear. But a friend who loves
Morocco found much to adore in Loquasto’s
red-enamel tiled walls, cerulean sky and bleached
tan desert dunes ingeniously made from nothing
more than carefully cut particle board. The
transparent, lighted palace floor could be
the rooftop of a luxury building in Marrakech,
and contrasts sharply with the grime and creakiness
of the cistern. The angels of death – and
clearly that is what they are – assembling
and disassembling in the upper right corner
of the stage may seem superfluous, but they
don’t particularly detract, either.
James F. Ingalls’ lighting
design is also quite extraordinary. In the
Dance of the Seven Veils, some discreet
ultraviolet lamps gleam upward from below
the clear Lucite floor – lurid on their own,
but also giving a bit of unearthly luster
to the costume as Mattila performs. And then
at the end of the entire evening, following
the final scene when "clouds obscure
the moon," daybreak seems to appear,
as if the sun has come up after a long night
of horror and degradation, and the palace’s
inhabitants are slowly regaining consciousness,
perhaps a bit hung over and not knowing quite
what has happened to them. The effect is quite
subtle, and also beautifully enhances Mattila’s
stunning agility in the huge vocal arcs during
the final tableau.
As a bit of homework
to accompany all this, I listened to a number
of recordings of the Final Scene, with Leontyne
Price, Leonie Rysanek and Ljuba Welitsch (two
versions), plus Herbert von Karajan and the
Berlin Philharmonic in the Dance of the
Seven Veils. I also like Inge Nielsen’s
recent complete recording with Michael Schønwandt
and the Royal Danish Opera Orchestra on Chandos.
Without sticking a toe in the "great
singers of the past vs. the present"
argument, let me say that I like each of these
for different reasons. Ms. Price may have
a slight edge, in sheer vocal heft and in
recorded sound quality, but some of this is
just personal preference, and both Rysanek
and Welitsch have incredible personality,
in a role that devours personality like a
sponge. Of the two Welitsch recordings, the
one on "The Complete Columbia Recordings"
seems more mesmerizing, with a cleaner orchestral
sound (from the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra)
and the great Fritz Reiner in urgent, towering
form. And to return to the current star, Mattila
is in fine company with any of these.
Von Karajan’s coruscating
Seven Veils emphasizes the work’s virtuosic
orchestral effects. But I doubt anyone would
complain about Schønwandt’s version,
either, which is equally well paced and superbly
recorded. Some listeners have called this
sequence "cheap music," and I suspect
they are transferring their feelings about
the content – what is happening onstage –
to the music itself. The paradox here is that
Strauss wrote some pretty glorious stuff,
to accompany the opera’s surfeit of swinish,
not to mention ghastly behavior. The subject
matter may be "cheap" but the music
certainly is not.
All in all, the past
few weeks have been glorious, seeing a bit
of opera history materializing before my eyes,
and I am happy to report that some of these
evenings were videotaped, presumably for a
televised broadcast or DVD release. Also,
apparently Mattila has revealed she will return
to the Met in 2007 to reprise the role. Make
your travel plans now.
Bruce Hodges
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