Salomé

In brief:

Adrian Buckle's Salomé opened last night at Valletta's Teatru Manoel with a striking visual imagination, a committed international cast, and costumes that made Herod's court feel genuinely exotic. Timothy Blore's performance was quite a tour de force, though I am not totally sure what it added having Salomé played by a man. Yet, for all its beauty, the production's added material stretched Wilde's already ornate tragedy beyond its natural length, diluting some of its mounting menace.

In detail:

A bold Salomé

The production's most conspicuous interpretive decision is Timothy Blore's casting as Salomé. Apparently rather than presenting the princess simply as a conventional femme fatale, Buckle conceives the character as a prince who identifies and presents as a woman, using the court's gaze and expectations to navigate — and manipulate — its power structures.

I'm not quite sure what this added. Gender fluidity was certainly there in ancient Roman times — think of Antinous and the Emperor Hadrian, or indeed the Syrian Roman Emperor Heliogabulus. But this interpretation perhaps leans too much on contemporary London mores and less on the attitudes of two thousand years ago.

Nonetheless, Blore gives the role a watchful, magnetic quality. His Salomé is not merely vain or cruel; 'she' is alert to the fact that everyone around her wants to possess, define or dispose of her. When the character moves from playful provocation to obsession, Blore makes the transition feel psychologically credible rather than merely operatic.

The 'Dance of the Seven Veils' is very well done, though for those of us in the front row that meant having quite a lot of dust and grit kicked in our eyes. Maybe this was a deliberate policy to make sure we didn't goggle too much at Blore's full frontal nudity. He has certainly worked on his body.

A play with a scandalous past

Oscar Wilde wrote Salomé in French in 1891, transforming the biblical story of Salome and John the Baptist into a symbolist drama of desire, obsession, power and revenge. Wilde's version centres on Salomé's very sexual fixation (parents you have been warned) on the imprisoned prophet Jokanaan, whose rejection of her leads to the 'Dance of the Seven Veils' and a shocking conclusion.

The play has always been provocative. Early critics attacked its repetitions and its debts to French Symbolism, while later criticism has recognised it as a major British example of symbolist drama. Its language is deliberately ritualised: the moon, jewels, veils, silver and white flesh recur until the whole court seems suspended in a hypnotic, decaying dream. It is made for opera, as Strauss realised and made flesh. We are to be treated to that next week at the Manoel.

That history makes Salomé an apt choice for the Manoel, whose intimate Baroque auditorium can make even a large court feel claustrophobic. Buckle's production leans into the play's theatricality rather than trying to naturalise it, treating Wilde's poetry as the engine of a dark ceremonial rite.

A strong international and Maltese cast

British Palestinian Tarik Badwan's Iokanaan provides a striking counterweight to Salomé. As the imprisoned prophet, he brings a harsh, unyielding physical presence to the role, making Salomé's fascination with him understandable even as it becomes increasingly disturbing. He has a wonderful powerful voice (not true of everyone on stage) and he certainly looked the part.

Mikhail Basmadjian's Herod is equally effective: nervous, sensual, vain and frightened, a ruler who mistakes appetite for authority. An outstanding performance that shows his depth as an actor.

Magda van Kuilenburg gives Herodias a cool, watchful intelligence, and she wins the 'pout of the year' award many times over. Joel Parnis's Page of Herodias adds a useful note of unease and the wonderful Victor De Bono is excellent as the Cappadocian. One look from him is worth a thousand words.

Indeed, overall this is a high quality company — Miguel Muscat as the Young Syrian, Barry Kolman as the Jew, Francesco Borg as the Nazarene and Karl Schembri as Naaman — create a convincing courtly ecosystem around the central conflict. Francesco Borg is a captivating presence on stage.

The court in costume

One of the evening's greatest triumphs is Aleksandra Idowiak's costume design. Her costumes do not merely dress Herod's court; they make its exoticism visible, tactile and dangerous. This is extenuated with equally bold make up.

Herod's household appears in a rich mixture of draped fabrics, metallic detailing, deep pigments and sculptural silhouettes. The effect is not archaeological realism but heightened theatrical fantasy: a court that feels simultaneously ancient, decadent and slightly unstable. Gold, bronze, crimson and shadowed earth tones catch Chris Gatt's lighting beautifully, giving the stage a jewel-box quality.

Salomé's own appearance benefits most from this approach. The costumes frame Blore's performance without reducing the character to decoration, allowing the production's ideas about gender, performance and perception to register visually. In a play so dependent on looking, being looked at, and being transformed by another person's gaze, Idowiak's work is not ornamental — it is dramaturgical.

Romualdo Moretti's set and Albert Garzia's music and sound design support this atmosphere well. The design gives the action a confined, ceremonial space, while Garzia's score deepens the play's undercurrent of dread. The production's visual and sonic world is coherent: movement, sound and image all seem drawn from the same decadent, feverish imagination.

Too much added material

Chakib Zidi's choreography, performed by Sarah Vella, Mona Fazaa, Angela Bettoni and Rebecca Grech, initially adds an arresting physical dimension to Herod's court. The dancers embody the court's tensions, its surveillance and its ritualised cruelty, giving Wilde's language a bodily counterpart.

But the additional dancing eventually becomes excessive. What begins as atmospheric choreography turns into a series of extended sequences that slow the play's momentum. Wilde's drama already has a highly stylised rhythm, built on repetition, incantation and escalating desire; adding substantial dance passages makes an already long evening feel longer. The choreography does not always earn its stage time. Several sequences repeat an idea — sensual threat, courtly display, ritualised submission — that the costumes, lighting and performances have already communicated more efficiently.

This is not a fatal flaw, but it prevents the production from achieving full tragic compression. By the time the play reaches its final, appalling exchange over Jokanaan's head, some of the audience's nervous energy has been spent on spectacle rather than accumulated into it.

A beautiful opening

Still, this remains a handsome and serious production. Buckle has assembled a cast capable of handling Wilde's difficult poetry, and the creative team has given the Manoel an evening of real visual distinction. Blore, Badwan and Basmadjian anchor the drama with performances that make its familiar story feel immediate.

Salomé is worth seeing for its costumes, its central performances and its intelligent rethinking of a character who has too often been treated as merely a seductive symbol. Trimmed, Buckle's production would be formidable. As it stands, it is a lavish, often compelling night at the theatre — one that dazzles the eye even when it occasionally tests the patience.

The production runs from 6 to 15 November, with performances at 8pm, except on 8 November, when it begins at 7pm. It is recommended for audiences aged 16 and over and contains nudity.