by Douglas Messerli
Oscar Wilde (writer), Charles Bryant (director) Salomé / 1923
Yes, I knew that Nazimova herself was
alleged (actually quite well documented) to be bisexual, with a strong
preference for women—among her supposed lesbian friends were Eva Le Gallienne,
director Dorothy Arzner, anarchist Emma Goldman, Greta Garbo’s girlfriend
Mercedes de Acosta, and the set and costume designer of the film, Natacha
Rambova, described at the time as her lover. Bryant, who divorced soon after
the release of Salomé, was alleged to be her “lavender” husband. But did
that matter, particularly since she was dancing for the masturbatory pleasure
of her horrible step-father Herod hoping to attain the head of Jokaanan so that
she might kiss his ruby lips and even run her hands through his beautiful
raven-colored hair. Certainly, if my operatic experiences might be indicative,
he wasn’t someone with whom a gay man may take delight, particularly when laid
out on a silver platter.
Rumor had it that several of Herod’s court
were males in female drag and that Nazimova herself had ordered that the
soldiers, guards, and pages consist of gay or bisexual men in honor of Wilde.
Now that I have witnessed this fantastical
two-set extravaganza I will certainly admit that I’ve changed my mind.
Let us start with the outlandish set
designed by Rambova, based on the drawings by Aubrey Beardsley that accompanied
the printed edition of Wilde’s play. This was clearly intended as the art-film
of its day, and the sets and costumes—many especially created for Rambova in
Paris—cost more than $350,000, an outrageous price at the time. Most of these
creations are a bit like surreal versions of what the blogger for “Garbo
Laughs” describes as art-deco meets Dr. Seuss. Aren’t the entries to most empty
wells, in which Jokaanan is imprisoned, filigreed with metal flowers in the
shape of a birdcage? Doesn’t every young teenage girl wear Christmas-tree
lights in her hair to dazzle her suitors (a strange display described by some
fashion connoisseurs as a “dandelion headdress”) while attired in a black
almost see-through blouse and a black upper-thigh-length skirt that is so scant
that when she prepares to dance she must put on a veil or two instead of taking
them off?
And doesn’t every Captain of Guard like
the handsome bare-chested Narraboth (Earl Schenck, who throughout his career
performed in more than 60 movies)—paint his nipples and place around his neck a
large necklace made up of transparent pop-it-like beads? Certainly, in
Rambova’s world all men (except the Hebrew visitors) wear a kind of metallic
jock-strap that some critics politely describe as loin cloths, but certainly
reveal far more of the male anatomy that any cloth-like covering of the penis
might.
Yet so-far I’ve just described something
that any LGBTQ person might recognize as camp. We still have the basically
heterosexual threesome—with Herod in one corner, Salomé in the center, and the
well-hidden prophet below—to slosh through along with the archaic intertitles.
It does appear that at the dinner table
Herodias is making love to a transsexual (woman dressed as a male) next to her.
But does that make this a gay-friendly film?
And then there’s Jokaanan, himself, not at all another burly prophet out of my opera encounters, but a gaunt beauty (British-born actor and former opera singer Nigel De Brulier) who is actually draped in what I would describe as a loose loin-cloth that seems ready to fall off at any moment from his thin hips. How I wish I’d witnessed him in the opera-house before his blasphemous intertitle ravings describing the woman so mad about him that she’s willing to die as the whore of Babylon. When he insists that she go to the desert to seek out the Son of God, Salomé is so hot-to-trot that she asks “Is he as good looking as you?” He doesn’t answer.
The well-muscled guards in blond-dipped
hairdos seem at any moment ready to lunge out against the young daughter of
Herod for even daring to demand they open their male treasure chest. And even
when it comes time for Salomé to kiss the lips of her would-be lover’s severed
head, Nazimova thankfully keeps it under wraps. The normative heterosexual
lovers real or imagined in this work all end up badly.
Perhaps not every male in this piece is
gay or bisexual, nor is every woman outside of Salomé ready to kiss the lesbian
transsexual next to her, but I’d guess that most of this pulsating cast set
against the completely artificed world they inhabit, might give it a go.
Unfortunately, after this box-office
bomb, Nazimova never made another movie.
But it’s little wonder that this film
in the past few decades has made the rounds along with James Sibley Watson’s
and Melville Webber’s Lot in Sodom at a number of LGBTQ festivals.
Los Angeles, September 3, 2020
Reprinted from World Cinema
Review and Queer Cinema Blog (September 2020).
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