'Seven Veils' Review: An Operatic Odyssey
For those uninitiated (which, let’s be honest, is likely to be most of us) ‘Salome’ is a German opera based on an Oscar Wilde play, which is itself inspired by a story from the Bible. The princess Salome is drawn to John the Baptist, who spurns her out of a hatred for her mother. Later, her stepfather, King Herod, demands that she perform the dance of the seven veils for him. When she demurs, he offers to give her whatever her heart desires in return. Much to Herod’s dismay, and her mother’s delight, Salome demands the head of John the Baptist. When Herod reluctantly acquiesces, Salome seizes the severed head and kisses it fervently. There you are. Now use that knowledge to impress those who cannot simply look it up when it is require of them (when they’re writing a film review, for example).
It should also be noted that it is entirely unsurprising that Canadian auteur Atom Egoyan should be so interested in this opera (he has, in fact, directed seven opera productions of ‘Salome’ throughout his illustrious career), or that he should make a film around the people putting on such a production. Like his proud Canadian identity, it simply appears to be a part of who he is.
Seven Veils follows a woman named Jeanine (Amanda Seyfried) who has been tasked with remounting her former mentor’s production of ‘Salome’. It was his express wish that she do so, according to his widow Beatrice (Lanette Ware). However, that isn’t enough for Jeanine; she wishes to make some small changes of her own to this remount. In the process, she not only creates a rift between her and Beatrice, but also reopens the half-healed wounds which she has been carrying for a long time. Early on, Jeanine is urged to create a journal of her experience directing this opera, in lieu of her director’s essay being rejected for publication. “They want me to make it personal,” she narrates in her opening lines, “and so I shall.” That is no empty promise.
As to how personal things get, it is best to see that for yourself. Egoyan meticulously creates an onion-like story, where the layers are slowly peeled back, but only partially. Like any great storyteller, Egoyan implies a great deal without being explicit or blatant. The past traumas of Jeanine are mirrored in the character of Salome, even as she clashes with the opera company, her cast, her crew, her husband (Mark O’Brien), and even her mother (Lynne Griffin). Throughout the film, Seyfried delivers one of the very best performances of her career. Take, for example, a scene where she commits a faux-pas of interrupting the orchestra’s rehearsal, desperate to give some last-minute direction to the soprano playing Salome. The outraged conductor refuses to stop the music and she has to speak over the instruments, even as it becomes starkly clear that she’s talking about herself rather than Salome. It is a deeply unsettling and awkward moment, but for all the right reasons.
Besides Jeanine, we also get a glimpse at the other people who are working on this production. There are the opera singers, the two lead singers being Ambur and Johan (played by real-life opera stars Ambur Braid and Michael Kupfer-Radecky, respectively). We’re also introduced to their understudies Rachel (Vinessa Antoine) and Luke (Douglas Smith). The latter has an old connection to Jeanine, while the former is in a relationship with the production’s prop manager Clea (Rebecca Liddiard). Both the understudies are eager for a chance to prove their worth, even as they observe everything going on around them. Meanwhile, Clea serves as the main B-story, in a parallel to Seyfried’s character. Like Jeanine, Clea is encouraged to document her experiences with the production, and she has her own complex relationships with the cast and crew, including Jeanine.
One of the main themes of this film is trauma, and how people react to trauma which has been inflicted on them, by strangers and loved ones alike. The entire production of ‘Salome’ is a trigger for Jeanine, in more ways than one, but she isn’t the only person affected. We get hints that Ambur is deeply uncomfortable around Johan, whose abrasive attitude on set is brushed away by higher-ups in the name of finishing the production. Meanwhile, Clea has her own shocking experience, leading to a response which will doubtless leave audience members divided, as Egoyan certainly intended. In fact, the film deliberately wishes to examine how western culture has changed over the last few decades. Take, for example, the scene where Jeanine wishes to re-enact the blatant sexuality of her mentor’s production, only to be told promptly by a producer (Tara Nicodemo) that an intimacy coordinator will be required. By contrast, that same producer is later confronted with evidence of a sexual assault committed by an important member of the production. Egoyan never insults us by simplifying complex problems, nor does he act as if he alone knows what the solutions are.
Seven Veils is everything that one could expect from its director. We get a non-linear story which doesn’t try to answer all the questions that it asks. We are given a cast of characters who have surprising connections to each other, whether they know it or not. We see how the protagonist is haunted by her past, and by the people who shaped it with such careless cruelty. Her struggle to complete the production becomes her struggle to come to terms with her past and present, so that she might take charge of her future. The screenplay, cinematography, and soundtrack all play their parts in setting the unsettling atmosphere in which Egoyan thrives. And all the while, the film avoids the pitfalls of melodrama, cheap thrills, and random twists for shock value. It is elusive without being vague, and evocative without being lurid. This is Egoyan’s 18th feature film in a career that has spanned more than forty years. Only Egoyan could have made Seven Veils, and it’s made with the confidence and surety of a man who is well-versed in the worlds of film and opera alike.