Salomé

by Yaël Farber

seen at the National Theatre (Olivier) on 5 May 2017

This play, originally inspired by Oscar Wilde's play of the same name, but much amended by the director Yaël Farber and her dramaturg Drew Lichtenberg, recasts the story of Salomé to take into account the fact that women's actions as recorded by male and prejudicial sources in the ancient world may have been very different from what is conventionally assumed.

Here, Pontius Pilate (Lloyd Hutchinson, representing Rome) and Caiaphas (Philip Arditti, representing the priestly establishment) and Herod (Paul Chahidi, a mere client king of the Romans) are all keen that Iokanaan (John the Baptist) should be kept alive, even though he has been arrested, in order to avoid any chance of a popular uprising should he be killed in custody. But the fatal promise by Herod in a moment of rashness brought on by his infatuation with his young niece is still made, the price - Iokanaan's head on a platter - is still exacted, and the rebellion occurs and is crushed (so Pilate thinks).

There are echoes of the Wilde play throughout, not least in the concentration on the fateful night of the execution, and the account of the oath and its consequences. However, the political situation is given far more explanation through the presence of Pilate, and Salomé's own motivation, and the interpretation of her significance, is completely altered, not least by the fact that her older spirit narrates the story (a white-haired Olwen Fouéré, billed as 'Nameless' in the cast list). I say spirit, because though in this version Herod does not order her death as at the end of the Wilde play, Pilate most certainly does in exasperation at her refusal to explain herself to him.

Instead of a decadent young woman obsessed with kissing the mouth of Iokanaan, Salomé is presented more as the victim of male desire and politics, and indeed in her younger version (Isabella Nefar) she does not speak at all until after her encounter with Iokanaan (Ramzi Choukair) in the cistern prison where he is being kept alive by force-feeding. The notorious dance of the seven veils is transformed from a titillating strip-tease before Herod and his dinner guests into an ecstatic preparation for a cleansing ritual after which Iokanaan baptises her in the dregs of the cistern water. Consequently, she wills the apocalyptic rebellion in order to attempt to free the people from foreign domination, and it seems that Iokanaan is more than half in love with the idea of martyrdom as well.

The production is powerful, but strange and demanding. The Olivier stage is almost bare apart from a few trestle tables and chairs; one long trestle support becomes a very effective ladder down which Salomé 'climbs' to reach Iokanaan (the production is designed by Susan Hilferty). Sand cascades from above at certain moments, reminding us of the desert setting of some scenes, and contrasting with the shallow troughs of water representing the Jordan and later the cistern. The deliberately formal and distancing language of the Wilde play (where it is used) is matched by an extremely ritualised presentation, including wordless singing by two women, and careful positioning of all the cast often on a slowly revolving stage. To add to the sense of strangeness and distance, Iokanaan does not once speak in English, but rather in Arabic (I assume) directly quoting many Old Testament passages from the Prophets and from the Song of Songs. Some of his words are translated on a screen projection, and this is generally enough to convey the import of the incantatory style of his delivery (though maybe many in a modern audience will really have no idea of the references). There is also a minor figure identified as 'Yeshua the madman' looking like a wild beggar from the desert and occasionally saying things recognisable as Gospel phrases, but his presence seems to indicate only that Iokanaan is the more significant figure in everyone's eyes. 

It's engrossing and thought provoking; the auditorium was almost full for a preview performance, and I noticed only two people leave before the end. The play runs for nearly two hours without a break and the audience was, so far as I could judge, genuinely attentive. I was certainly fascinated. At times the narrative of the 'nameless' older woman veered between being too didactic and too knowingly gnomic, with grandiose statements about 'the first and the last' and so forth. This could fall into pretentiousness, but the strength and conviction of the cast prevented this from happening.