Sado-erotic review

The Olivier describes Salomé by Yaël Farber as a ‘new’ play. Not quite. It premièred in Washington a couple of years ago. And I bet Farber was thrilled at the chance to direct this revival at the National’s biggest and best equipped stage. She approaches the Olivier’s effects department like a pyromaniac in a firework factory. She wants everything to go off at once. And it does. Goatherds yodel. Bells bong. Flutes warble. Birds parp. A revolving conveyor belt twirls spare actors around the stage in dizzy circles. Chord surges swell and fade on the soundtrack. Kneeling shepherdesses sift mounds of soap powder into mahogany salad bowls. Overhead, the prog-rock spotlights pick out the figures of Herod and Pilate, both wearing pound-shop kaftans, as they shout bombastic platitudes at each other. A naked unshod dancer spends 20 minutes labouring across the stage in slow motion. Any cast member not involved in a scene has to throw a pose, artfully lit, like an extra from a Titian epic.