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The entire cast gave such a ravishing demonstration of a long-cherished Viennese ideal, the singing ensemble, that it seems inappropriate to make anybody first among equals. Karl Böhm, at 85 the elder sage of the company, conducted as much with force of character as with his baton, occasionally omitting the beat entirely if things were tripping along on their own —which, most of the time, they were.
With Salome, a far more inflammatory drama took the stage, one that caused Austrian censorship to forbid a premiere of the work in Vienna in 1905. The story of the Judean princess who becomes obsessed with John the Baptist, then, when spurned, demands his head from Herod, still exerts much of its opulent, neurotic fascination. Zubin Mehta led a surging performance that captured it vividly.
Baritone Theo Adam's disheveled, fiery Baptist was notable among several strong supporting roles. Soprano Leonie Rysanek, who has been singing with the company since 1954, projected Salome's eroticism and vengefulness with undiminished power. Her girlishness in the early scenes, however, was mannered, and her decision to perform the Dance of the Seven Veils—rather than yield to the standby dancer listed in the program —was a mistake.
Fidelia was something of a perplexity. As Florestan, the honest man wrongly imprisoned by the corrupt Don Pizarro, Tenor Jess Thomas fell short of the role's impassioned outcry against injustice. Soprano Gwyneth Jones acted credibly as Leonore, Florestan's dauntless wife who impersonates a male jailer in order to free him. But too much of her singing was to the notes what drunk driving is to traffic lanes: a sometimes hair-raising approximation. Leonard Bernstein's conducting had its peaks of grave beauty. His Leonore overture, inserted in the middle of the second act, was superbly rousing. Yet at times even Bernstein was unable to stir the work out of its rather static, if noble, solemnity.
Fidelia's exalted humanism has long given it a kind of ceremonial stature. It was the obvious choice in 1955 to inaugurate the new Vienna opera house that was rebuilt from World War II wreckage, and it was the obvious choice to mark the gala opening in Washington. Said Bernstein, who unwound at a post-performance party by accompanying himself at the piano in blues and cabaret tunes: "What Fidelia is about is really what America is about. It's about the right to speak the truth as you see it and not be thrown into a dungeon. Fidelia should be the American national anthem."
At home, the Viennese each year present some 40 operas over a ten-month season. Many singers stay on from year to year under long-term contracts. With such continuity, it is no wonder the productions in Washington revealed a consistency of approach and attention to detail right down to the smallest role. The staging throughout was solid and fairly realistic. Even the occasionally outrageous Director Jean-Pierre Ponnelle, whose surreal The Flying Dutchman shocked Met audiences last season, contributed a relatively straightforward Figaro. There was no shortage, however, of imaginative effects. The richly colored orientalism of Jürgan Rose's Salome set and costumes, inspired by the Austrian painter Gustav Klimt, was especially gorgeous.