A night at the opera, my dear

The Column: 05.25.25

We went to see Richard Strauss’s “Salome” at the Metropolitan Opera Wednesday night, or let’s say that my love went and I went with her, she because she loves opera and I because I don’t know enough about opera to be critical, I like everything just fine. But this opera was different. Men do not come off well in “Salome,” you’ve got King Herod for one thing and Salome’s dad who is weird and scenes with lewd men and little girls that make you not want to read the subtitles. There are men wearing ram’s heads and John the Baptist chained in the dungeon and more mental illness than in most operas but it’s in German. The music has its dissonant edges but it’s gorgeous, played by the 100-piece Met orchestra. So you have weirdness and insanity set to beautiful music, Salome wandering around singing “I want to kiss his lips” after the prophet’s head has been chopped off. There’s no intermission so it’s hard to leave early.

I went to see it, in part, because my friend Ellie Dehn was covering the role of Salome in this production. “Covering” means that she learned an extremely difficult role with a lot of crazy acting and was no more than 15 minutes from the Met before each performance and was focused and ready so that if the star soprano got out of a cab and was run down by a pizza delivery guy on a bike, Ellie would rush in, put on the white gown, and do the show, hit the high notes, be insane, do the Dance of the Seven Veils, so that nobody would feel cheated. It’s an impossible job, to be up for a heroic performance, knowing that the odds of your doing it are slim to none, but the roles have to be covered. Baseball postpones, parades cancel, opera doesn’t.

The performance started a little late, which gave me hope that the star had maybe twisted her ankle and I imagine Ellie coming out and being insanely great and get eight bows and wow the opera world, go on to star as Lucia and Lady MacBeth, a great career for a girl from Anoka, Minnesota, but no, it was not her night. She stayed home and did the crossword.

The opera ends with three big chords, whomp whomp whomp, and the curtain comes down and the audience lets out a roar, the principals take bows, the prophet and the seductress get the loudest ovations, she takes hers and comes downstage to acknowledge the prompter in the box who has been shouting cues at everyone all evening, and the crowd heads for the exit, stunned, most of them, whereas for me, the ignoramus, it was just another festive evening among a fascinating crowd, most of them younger than I. Grand opera is hip in New York, there’s a definite gay presence, and some people like to dress up, maybe dramatically, do daring things that draw attention, weave beads into their hair, wear a flashy frock, bare the chest, glow, glitter, but not at “Salome” — when a saint who foretold the coming of the Savior is beheaded, even New Yorkers show restraint.

We flowed out onto the plaza, a chilly May night, people were dazed, even I was, we’d seen something stupendous even if we didn’t know what. My beloved led me uptown, her eye out for a taxi, ready to fight off competing operagoers, even as she poured out her complicated feelings of dazzlement, depression, disgust, delight, which I’m sure is what Strauss intended. It was 1902, he could see where the 20^th century was headed, and now here we are in the 21^st. We have our own Herod, a crueler one, more corrupt, not satisfied to behead one prophet but ambitious to destroy whole institutions, defy courts, indulge his vanity while creating chaos wherever he goes.

Someone could write an opera about him. Herod in love with the interior of a 747 that is outmoded and unsecure. Congress rushing to approve cuts to Medicaid in the middle of the night, a program that 40% of rural kids depend on. A top Cabinet official, asked to explain “habeas corpus,” says it’s a provision in the Constitution that gives Herod the power to deport whomever he wishes. Strauss dealt with serious insanity but our Herod may prove that farce is more dangerous. I don’t want to know. I won’t buy a ticket.

Summer will be sweeter if you head out to see a live show with Garrison Keillor. He’s entertaining crowds with singalongs, stories, limericks and the News from Lake Wobegon. You won’t want to miss it!

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