A BAROQUE SALOME

Patrick Ressenbacher, Raven McMillon, Randall Scotting, Maestro Neal Goren, Joseph Beutel, Olanna Goudeau, and Edith Harrison

What we heard at Catapult Opera's production of Alessandro Stradella's San Giovanni Battista delighted the ear but was violently at war with what we saw onstage. Our troubled brain was catapulted back and forth between some thrillingly adventurous Baroque music, as thrillingly sung as it was played, and some colorful but nonsensical hijinks taking place onstage.

Let us begin with the delights. Stradella's oratorio is three and a half centuries old and yet it struck us with its freshness. We are far from expert in Baroque music and barely know the difference between a concertino and a concerto grosso, but we are familiar with melodic invention, rhythmic variety, and vocal virtuosity. To say that Maestro Neal Goren (well remembered from Gotham Chamber Opera) elicited a magnificent performance from his musicians would be an understatement.

Vocal artistry was presented in good measure by a vocally accomplished cast. The eponymous Giovanni (John the Baptist) was sung by counter-tenor Randall Scotting. Bass-baritone Joseph Beutel performed the role of Herod, with his wife Herodiade sung by soprano Olanna Goudeau. Soprano Raven McMillon  performed the role of Salome. Tenor Patrick Bessenbacher sang the role of the Councilor. Stradella's vocal writing was fluid with lots of duets, trios, and ensembles, all given exquisite harmonies. No complaints there!

The problem for us was integrating what we heard with what we saw.  Set designer Joshua Sticklin created  a vaguely 1970's home, complete with a credenza housing a television screen, and a well-supplied bar. Oana Botez' costumes included a golden caftan for Herodias which matched her golden voice, platform shoes for Salome which did not interfere with her petite stature, and Western attire for San Giovanni Battista. What, may you ask, was this Marlboro Man doing in this suburban home?

The "concept" of Director Timothy Nelson was to illustrate the depravity of Herod's household by setting it in the 1970's with a dysfunctional family right out of a Wes Anderson film. Mother is clearly disappointed in Father and flirts openly with what appears to be a family friend. There is a considerable amount of imbibing. Little sister is glued to the TV, watching what seems to be a screen-saver. Just normal suburbia, except for the table which reveals itself to be a tiny cell into which the visiting Marlboro Man is imprisoned, and behind which he will be decapitated. This takes us beyond Wes Anderson territory and into Wes Craven territory. Yikes!

Then, Dear Reader, there is the obligatory homosexualization of the story. Marlboro Man kisses Daddy on the mouth and there is hand-holding and other signs of mutual affection. Does Daddy order Marlboro Man's death out of a homosexual panic instead of indulging his stepdaughter's blackmail? Can a man be both homosexual and also a girl-child abuser?

The beheading of Marlboro Man is performed by Mother's paramour (thankfully secreted behind the little prison) and by the time the bloody head came out on the silver platter we were ready to just close our eyes and listen to the daddy-daughter duet--he in despair and her in exultation. And then....the music stops! Stradella ended his oratorio on the dominant, never resolving to the tonic. We surmise Stradella wanted his audience to leave upset and upset we were.

The libretto was written by a priest named Ansaldo Ansaldi who based his text on the Book of Matthew. We cannot comment on it because the positioning of the titles and the lighting (by Yannick Godts) obscured the titles much of the time, but we would hazard a guess that it did not mesh well with the onstage action.

By a strange coincidence, it was only a few moths ago that Heartbeat Opera produced Strauss' Salome in the exact same venue--The Space at Irondale. In spite of the fact that it was sung in English and presented in contemporary times, there was no battle between sight and sound. Perhaps Stradella's work might better have been left as the gorgeous oratorio it was written.

©meche kroop