Salome Reviews

At least there’s some entertainment value in Salome, sure, it’s as unintended homoeroticism and high-camp values, but there’s something there to keep things interesting. Salome purports to tell the Biblical story of John the Baptist, Salome, her dance of the seven veils, and the Baptist’s beheading. The problem is Harry Cohn, head of Columbia at the time, didn’t want his meal-ticket to play a seductive, scheming bitch. Even though her turns in Gilda and The Lady from Shanghai as seductive, scheming bitches are arguably her greatest acting achievements.

So, what we have here is a version of the story in which Salome is a duped innocent, and it’s her monstrous mother (Judith Anderson, in full-on drag queen diva mode) that’s pulling all of the strings. It’s pure Christian propaganda, too. With Charles Laughton’s King Herod being a weakling who does nothing out of voodoo-like fear of a vague prophecy discussing his doom if the Baptist should be harmed. His constant deferring to a mystic counselor and spineless encounters with his wife only highlight the Baptist’s claims that they’re too weak to rule.

Notice that I’ve barely mentioned Hayworth or Salome in this review thus far. That’s because in a film in which she is top billed and plays the titular character, Hayworth is more a large supporting role. She isn’t given much to work with, and has to rely upon her charisma and supernova-like star power to get her through. No problem, her charm and energy never dulled with age, even if her beauty was beginning to settle into a more mature look that’s wrong for the role. But she makes the Dance of the Seven Veils worth the trip, even if the cutaways to Laughton staring at her with bulged eyes and lascivious thoughts heighten the moment into pure camp theatricality.

Speaking of acting turning moments into campy hysterics, would someone please tell Alan Badel that playing a saint takes more than staring off into the distance and loudly pronouncing your message? His performance sinks the film beyond any repair. As he frequently just stares off into the distance with his eyes bulged out of his skull, and doesn’t seem self-possessed or divinely inspired, but self-assured, self-centered and cocky. And it’s not like Stewart Granger or Basil Sydney do much better, but there’s a certain layer of subtext to their scenes that at least makes them inadvertently enjoyable. Sydney asking Granger, practically embracing him in the process, why he doesn’t care as much for his comfort as the abused, half-naked slave is about as gay as it gets.

The central physicality and carnality of the story isn’t just toned down, it’s practically muted and muddled to the point of distraction. Anderson’s Queen Herodias being the prime example of this gigantic error, at once protective of Salome, having sent her away to escape the lusty glances of the king, and yet willing to let him rape Salome if it means he’ll kill John the Baptist for her. Salome hates men, falls for a secret Catholic and a Roman (Granger), does an erotic dance in hopes of freeing the Baptist, whose religion she just converted to in the previous scene with no prior interest or attention paid to his teachings, and then runs off with Granger to watch Jesus speak. No wonder Hayworth hid in the background of this mess. Thank God Laughton and Anderson decided to camp it up.