DISAPPOINTING REVIVAL : LEHNHOFF’S ‘SALOME’ AT SAN FRANCISCO OPERA

In 1982, Nikolaus Lehnhoff directed a revolutionary production of Richard Strauss’ “Salome” at the War Memorial Opera House. In one daring coup, he stripped the stage to bare essentials, sustaining an aura of bleak abstraction and stylized decadence. In the process, he focused primary attention on the feverish, childlike, magnetic Salome of Josephine Barstow.

The result was a vital example of modern musical theater. As such it represented a temporary change of priorities for the San Francisco Opera which, under Terence McEwen’s laissez-faire leadership, has become something of a haven for singers’ circuses.

The Lehnhoff “Salome” returned to the repertory this season with only two holdovers from the original cast and minor shifts in visual values. Something, alas, has been lost in revival.

What looked so exciting five years ago looked a bit silly Saturday night. Although the basic dramatic concept remained unaltered, there were new accents, different nuances, and, most damaging, less compelling characterizations in the central roles.

Under the circumstances, one became too conscious of the neutrality of Thomas J. Munn’s industrial-slick black-and-white design, with its flat-and-dull bird symbol masquerading as the moon. One became distracted by the cheeky beefcake supernumeraries who impersonate statues and guards. One became bemused by the five Nosferatus who represent the Jews, and one became irritated by the mysterious directorial conceit that gives Narraboth, the love-crazed young captain, long golden locks and blue skin.

A great cast still could have enforced a proper musico-dramatic perspective. Unfortunately, McEwen mustered nothing of the kind.

Dame Gwyneth Jones, the veteran of many Straussian wars who inherited the title role, might still be an imposing Salome in more conventional, quasi-realistic surroundings. She goes through the customary motions with well-practiced routine, paces herself intelligently, looks stately and produces a tireless onslaught of huge, bright, steely, slightly edgy tones.

Hers surely must be the loudest, most penetrating Salome this side of Birgit Nilsson.

Her rather matronly demeanor does little, however, to convey the awakening sensuality, the perverted innocence and tumultuous passion of the teen-age princess. Her all-or-nothing vocal attitudes preclude telling inflection of the text or much dynamic shading.

In this context, Jones impresses foremost as a conscientious prima donna and a sometimes strident though eminently forceful singer. One probably would value her performance more if Maria Ewing’s magnetic, kittenish Salome with the Music Center Opera weren’t such a vivid memory.

Michael Devlin, who had been the strikingly tall, gaunt and obsessive Jochanaan in Los Angeles, remained physically ideal here but showed signs of severe vocal distress.

Helga Dernesch returned to repeat her tough, brooding, glitzy interpretation of Herodias, teetering this time just at the brink of exaggeration. James King, the new Herodes, sang the music with well-preserved heroic tones but reduced the character to a tentative sketch.

David Bender was the weak-voiced, blue-faced Narraboth. The numerous supporting roles, which in better days were assigned to major singers and character specialists, were taken here by novices and nonentities.

Sir John Pritchard, the company’s dubious music director, conducted with undoubted technical competence, a fondness for high decibels and a fuzzy personal profile.