Haley Fohr’s experimental score for Alla Nazimova’s
radical passion project was commissioned by Opera North for the Leeds
International Festival. It’s a mix of avant rock, post-rock, electronica and
trace elements of folk/country although Tammy Wynette never sounded like this.
Vocalising and operating a console of synthesiser and
samples, Fohr was accompanied by Tyler Damon on percussion, Andrew Young on
double bass and Whitney Johnson on viola. The music was interesting in of
itself but tended to take straight lines while the narrative followed a
more elaborate path. The players followed a score and well though they
performed the end result wasn’t balanced in the way that silent accompaniment
often aims to be... but, this was intentional.
Fohr had taken the bold decision to remove the
intertitles from the film arguing that by “…muting the text, I find new stories
quickly sprout in its place from the action itself. The score to the film was
composed as much to those stories as to the film itself.” This is indeed bold given that the film was
based on a poem by Oscar Wilde and featured extensive references to his
original writing; removing this means you create a new narrative not only
visually – we don’t have the specificity to define events – but also musically.
That is Fohr’s intention and you have to respect that.
Alla Nazimova |
One major issue I struggled with was the decision to
leave gaps where the intertitles once where so that we had a blank screen
between the action throughout. This interrupted the flow and unbalanced the mix
– just when you were absorbed in the story it would stop and you’d be left
looking at the band, well outside of the “moment” in terms of the film Nazimova
created.
If you came to watch Oscar Wilde’s poem set to film with
a score serving both then you were going to be disappointed but that was not
the aim of a work that was in search of new meanings. To some that’s
maybe like colourising Laurel and Hardy or adding CGI to old Star Wars films: just
because we can doesn’t mean that we should... Still, you don't have to watch, unless, that is, you really wanted to see this film on the big screen, but maybe it wouldn't even have been there without the new music.
A few days earlier I had seen two electronica acts at the
Barbican, Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith and Jlin (Jerrilynn Patton), both had back projections to
accompany their very different beats and the latter had a dancer interpreting
her music. You could argue that Fohr was following a similar line only with a
pre-existing and defined artwork. Not everyone was comfortable with the recycle.
Or maybe not? |
Personally, I’m not so sure the removal of text in exchange
for a visual vacuum was the way to go, had the score played over the intertitles
we would still have drawn new meaning based on the music alone and not the
absence of text. As it was it was just too distracting from both the film and the
hard-working musicians in front of us. I also say this as someone who is familiar with this film
and therefore followed the narrative lines dictated by the text whether or not
it was there…
"How strange the Moon seems! One might fancy she was looking for dead things..."
Salomé is a stunning silent film that features some of
the most cohesive creative vision in film, with Natacha Rambova’s designs
drawing on Aubrey Beardsley’s iconic interpretations of Wilde’s words. The whole
enterprise drips in decadence – Wilde wrote the original in French whilst under
the influence of new passions; in Salomé the act of merely
looking can lead the soul on a fateful dive into the heart of desire.
Bad boy Beardsley and the "invisible dance". |
Yet, even he was concerned his work might be overshadowed by
the power of the drawing even though he had initially viewed Beardsley as "...the only artist who, beside myself,
knows what the dance of the seven veils is, and can see that invisible
dance."
Directed by Charles Bryant, Salomé is the quintessential
platform for producer and star, Alla Nazimova - a woman aiming to combine both
Wilde and Beardley's visions. This mix allowed her to put together one of the
first genuine Hollywood “art” films – an enterprise laced with her European
artistic sensibilities from the choice of story, writer, designer and even
sexuality… Maybe the rumours of an all-gay cast were just hype, but this story
of transgressive - deathly - passion may have additional spice being performed
by homosexual actors given Wilde’s proclivities and the tragic response of Victorian authority.
Natasha Rambova's stunning designs took from Beardley's style... |
Such freedom of expression clearly appealed to Nazimova
who was forging a brave career through her alien sophistication and an angular,
conflicted, expression so at odds with the warmth of mainstream American
cinema. Yes, she strikes a pose, but it rings true and there's an undoubted sense of humour behind the balletic pantomime. Salomé needed to be well choreographed to translate the
author’s rhythms and whilst the expressions occasionally grate some of these
characters are meant to simply be grotesque…
Not Salomé though, she’s just a bored teenager…with an endless wardrobe to fit every flounce and flurry. Nazimova was pushing it, being just 44 at the time and yet with expert
lighting and deep inches of foundation she carries it off, like Mary Pickford
on crystal meth.
She sits bored stiff at the table as the regal bacchanal rages
all around. Her stepfather, Herod, Tetrach of Judea (Mitchell Lewis) has
obtained power by murdering his brother and acquiring his wife, Herodias, and
her altogether more alluring daughter, Salomé. They party with a collection of bizarre guests, a group
of Pharisees who argue over the existence of angels, men in strange hats and
with strange hairdos and nervous servants so concerned over the risks of their
master’s opprobrium that they would rather throw themselves off the battlements
rather than be granted an audience with an unhappy King.
Salomé imagining "a band of scarlet on a tower of ivory..." |
Tiring of her step-father’s inappropriate attentions,
Salomé leaves the banquet hall and steps outside for some fresh amusement. She
finds her loyal servants Narraboth, Herod’s
Captain of the Guard (Earl Schenck) who harbours unrequited love for his
mistress, and Herodias’ Page (Arthur Jasmine). Salomé ignores them and
distractedly stares at the stars in a provocative pose before sounds from a
deep well break her reverie… These are the prayers and pronouncements of John
the Baptist, or Jokanaan in the film and
play (Nigel De Brulier), a seer and prophet
who just won’t be silenced on the subject of the impending Messiah.
Salomé catches one look at his fine chiseled features and
slender strength and is hooked, demanding that he be released so that she may
learn more. Jokanaan emerges and refuses to be distracted from his cause by the
“young” seductress in spite of her best efforts: he knows that even if he
glances at her too deeply he could fall. Soon good feeling turns to bad and, in
the face of Salomé’s infatuation, faithful Narraboth kills himself in front of
his love but she simply steps over his corpse in her attempt to speak closer to
Jokanaan. Horrified at this callous disregard and so much else besides,
Jokanaan returns to his cell…
Mother and step-father in shock. Kids yesterday... |
The film, as the play, makes constant references to the
Moon – it’s tied to fate and the immutability of feminine will. What starts off
blue gradually gets darker as a skull appears to fill the centre and then the
sky runs red as matters descend into madness. Salomé sulks and as the party
finally comes out to join her, is made an offer she cannot refuse by Herod: if
she dances he will give her anything she desires. She agrees but doesn't reveal
what her prize will be… and, boy, there will be blood.
Salomé exists in
an unsettling world all of its own and is surely one of the most subversive
films of silent Hollywood. It was a box office dud that prevented Nazimova from
being able to make further films with the same control – but we all know now
what she really meant.