Salome

Possibly my last trip to the Royal Opera House, so I pull out all the stops. This time, I am surrounded by other formal wear, but it feels unnatural not to be hit from altitude sickness as we head for the Grand Tier. Uncharted territory. I have no clue where the bars are, if they have glasses of water on the ready, where the loos are, the ice cream, the sandwich platters on offer…. It is disconcerting to be able to view the actors faces so closely, yet be unable to marvel at the splendour of the venue. This is one of my favourite buildings in London, and despite the flawless line of sight to the stage, I feel cheated at not being able to enjoy the majesty of its interiors or wallow at the glorious glass façade during the interval.

Salome. The image of the forbidden dance of the seven veils, debauchery at its ultimate. Something I’ve always been intensely, even voyeuristically curious about. I’ve never associated unbridled eroticism with Opera. Full frontal nudity as the curtain goes up feels more gratuitous than erotic. As we move on, conflicting emotions overtake me. Boredom, disenchantment with the music (German operas were never my favourite), revulsion at Salome’s truculent waywardness, the shocking depravity of her demands. Yet, the characters feel more like caricatures, and I don’t feel any passionate link with them or the moment. The stark violence and blatant sexuality that ought to gratify all your baser instincts, left me unfulfilled. The dance of the is a waste of space. Even the scene of the execution, the magnificent naked body of the executioner (no frontal nudity for the men), taut, powerful muscles covered in blood failed to move me.

Yet, Salome’s obstinacy of demand, Jochanaan’s head is both appalling and compelling. It is the sight of the lustrous blood saturating the pristine white of Salome’s undergarment, the stark contrast growing from stains transferred from the executioner to a river of red staining her front, alive, gleaming wetly, beckoning to the feral within that stays with me.