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I once overheard two women discuss Salome on the way home from Covent Garden. ‘It was good as long as you kept your eyes closed.’ I wondered in what world could it ever be pleasant to watch. I owe them an apology as I too have now experienced a Salome I would rather have heard than seen. Drawn to Paris to witness Lise Davidsen’s much-anticipated role debut, I was happy to see Lydia Steier’s excoriated production. How bad could it be?  As it transpired, very bad indeed.

The full ensemble of Salome at Opéra National de Paris | Photo credit: Charles Duprat

Steier decides to show us just how grim Salome’s life is, and sets the main action on a small area of the stage, bound on one side by an abyss and on the other by a staircase leading up to Herod’s palace, seen through a large window.  It reveals a never-ending orgy and a constant supply of naked youths are dragged up to be abused with graphic glee. What is left of them is lobbed into the abyss by men in Hazmet suits. So, as the luxurious Narraboth of Pavol Breslik sings his rapturous lines the whole audience is staring above his head as yet another rape is inflicted, another limb hacked. As Herod’s cage rises centre stage and Salome attempts to entice him, we are constantly distracted.  Only when the back wall opens and the Judaean court surges forward do we totally engage with the action: which is not a good thing, as it involves masturbation, incest and a seemingly voluntary gang bang with Salome, from which she emerges completely deranged. Steier’s one interesting idea comes late, as a body double Salome collapses with the head whilst the singing Salome joins Jochanaan in his cage which slowly rises as she sings her final torrents of Straussian excess, an arresting image. But then things suddenly dip again as the Page shoots Herod. Some directors just don’t know when to stop. Any pluses? Well, the costumes were fabulous in their excess, so thank you designer Andy Besuch.

Davidsen scored a major triumph. The voice is massive and has no problem surmounting the orchestra even at its most extreme, it has a core of rich sound. Just as impressive was her soft singing, supported and never crooned. Her dramatic intent was obvious, despite her direction. Johan Reuter made noble sounds as Jochanaan. Ekaterina Gubanova and Gerhard Siegel were exciting as Herodias and Herodes, both fabulously repulsive. The aforementioned Breslik and Katharina Magiera were perfect as Narraboth and Page. Mark Wigglesworth conducted with vigour, but the strange acoustics of the Bastille sometimes undid his good work, sounding like remastered stereo, with the orchestra in one ear, singers in the other. Stars awarded are for the music.