Salomé (1923)

Someone has to make films like this one and bless ‘em for doing it. Someone has to see them, too, but that apparently doesn’t include paying movie-goers in 1923 because Salomé, both at home and abroad, was a major bomb, and since star Alla Nazimova paid for it out of her own pocket, its failure ended her producing career.

The film is drawn from Oscar Wilde’s play and ultimately the Bible story of John the Baptist (or Jokaanan as he’s called here) losing his head over the Dance of the Seven Veils. Actually, that’s pretty much it as far as plot is concerned. 

The court of Herod, Tetrarch of Judea (Mitchell Lewis) is listless and lethargic. Salomé (Nazimova) sits staring off into the ether, Herod (her stepfather) sits staring at Salomé, for whom he has a major letch, and Herodias, his wife (Rose Dione) sits wearily flirting with one of the courtiers, who couldn’t care less.

Salomé, typically bored Bronze Age young woman that she is, leaves the feast at which no one is eating and demands of a guard that she be allowed to speak with the enshackled Jokaanan (Nigel De Brulier). She is told no, the boss wouldn’t like it, but she wheedles until she gets her way and the prophet in rags is brought to her. She listens to him berate her and then declares that she loves him. Decadent gals always fall for the nice boys. He refuses a kiss from her lips and she goes all petulant on him.

When she returns to the feast, Herod asks her to dance for him. She reluctantly agrees but only after he promises to give her anything she asks for as reward. A band of dwarf musicians scurries out and Salomé goes into what should be frenzy of degenerate delights but actually comes across looking like free-style cheerleading, more quixotic than erotic. But it does the trick for Herod, who is asked for Jokaanan’s head on a platter. Against the Tetrarch’s better judgement, he delivers on his promise.

At this point Nazimova goes into full Norma Desmond mode, her hair even bound in a turban. Holding the platter, she drops to the floor and covers herself with a cloak. We know that she’s going to get her kiss, but we don’t get to see it.

The End.

Natacha Rambova’s set design is bare bones, using as few stage-bound items as possible. There is nothing that looks particularly like ancient Judea. This feasting hall could be in Iceland or on Mars. Her costumes, like the set design, are drawn from the illustrations of Aubrey Beardsley, which looked unique on the pages of a Yellow Nineties journal but are here, after the shock of German Expressionism, just outdated avant-garde. The acting is non-realistically intense, frequently risibly so. 

Nazimova is fascinating when she gets going full strength, but borders burlesque with her pouting--head tipped back, eyes closed to slits, pursed lips—like a flapper drawing by John Held, Jr.

Also included in the cast are Earl Schenck, Arthur Jasmine, Frederick Peters, and Louis Dumar. It was rumored that everyone who worked on the picture in any capacity was either gay, lesbian, or bi—in honor of Oscar Wilde. Makes you wonder if in her film of A Doll’s House the year before Nazimova had hired only grumpy Norwegians. Later, one of the cast member said that there were homosexuals involved in the production, but no more so than on any other film.

Charles Van Enger was the cinematographer. Salomé was officially directed by Charles Bryant but the star had a hand in that, too. She also wrote it.