SALOMÉ

Upon hearing the voice of John the Baptist, Princess Salomé has to meet him. The encounter prompts a sudden and violent passion in her that’s clearly unreciprocated. When King Herod promises to fulfil her heart’s desire if she dances for him, she demands the prophet’s head. In his adaptation of the play by Oscar Wilde, Pacino has opted for stark simplicity: contemporary costumes, minimal sets, static staging. The result lays bare Wilde’s dazzling dialogue which, in its probing of religion and sexuality, remains disconcertingly current. The play is particularly well suited to the medium of film, since it’s primarily a drama of the gaze — of seeing what we shouldn’t see, contemplate or desire. Salomé is also an actor’s film in the best possible sense, marked by fearless, uninhibited and larger-than-life performances. Rarely is female desire unleashed with such directness and ferocity, skirting disturbingly close to monstrosity and madness, as it is in Jessica Chastain’s portrayal. A masterly Pacino, in turn, all but consumed by his role, creates a mocking Herod, superstitious and ultimately outrageous. A welcome reminder that if film and theatre have anything in common, it’s the art of the thespian.