I suppose a retelling of Salomé could feature contemporary costumes and naturalistic dialog and acting.

Instead, Jerry Mouawad, the director and designer of Imago Theatre’s staging of Oscar Wilde’s 1891 verse play, leans into the odd and repetitive formality of the original script, which has echoes of classic Greek tragedy. The result is a strange and mesmerizing show that draws its power from painted faces, some surprising camp, and poetic language performed by a talented, Romanesque-clad cast, all of whom are clearly committed to Mouawad’s vision.

Using a script that was adapted by Drew Pisarra (who wrote about his creative process here), the production features fewer characters, but you won’t miss all those soldiers and servants with which Wilde peppered his work. Instead, this version focuses on the interplay among nine people, while also mirroring the ritualistic feeling of the original play by keeping its rhythmic repetition and vivid imagery – especially when it comes to metaphors about the moon.

Of course, technical wizardry also gives the show a modern twist. We see, for example, a projected full moon at the back of the set, with shadow figures, like the ominous executioner in King Herod’s employ, sometimes appearing. Lights and intermittent electronic sound, too (designed and composed by Myrrh Larsen), effectively increase the tension that’s also built by the carefully choreographed movement of all the characters.

The play is famous for its seductive Dance of the Seven Veils, but in this adaptation, merely walking is a dance all by itself: The actors orbit around the set in a slow, stylized manner where each step feels weighted with significance. I wouldn’t call their motion drifting – there’s more muscle involved than that. Still, there’s a dreamlike quality as characters slip behind gold Ionic columns, climb blue and gold stairs with deliberate grace, or circle the oval dais that sits on the center of a cerulean floor.

Ovals and circles are everywhere, like the paths shaped by a series of stones radiating from the platform. Similarly, the characters talk in circles, repeating specific lines again and again. 

We see this in the first scene with the Syrian (Joe Cullen), who is so bedazzled by the princess Salomé (Jaiden Wirth) that he can’t stop comparing her to flowers and whatnot. Meanwhile, his lover – or maybe would-be lover – the Page (Matt Sunderland), whose face is painted moon-white, repeatedly warns the Syrian to look away or else something bad will happen.

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Something bad happens, indeed, because this is the story of John the Baptist – or “Jokanaan” (Max Bernsohn) as he’s called here – the biblical figure who is imprisoned in a cistern (another round shape onstage) by the decadent King Herod (Jeff Giberson) and then beheaded at the insistence of Herod’s stepdaughter, Salomé.

One thing that’s especially striking about this production is how sympathetic Salomé is, despite the fact that she literally wants Jokanaan’s head served to her on a silver plate. However Wilde viewed her, Wirth’s Salomé is not merely a femme fatale: She’s also a young woman who moves as if she’s on a quest – whether to explore unfulfilled desires or just to get away from her awful parents. Even the nerve endings on the bottoms of her feet seem to be in search of satisfaction as they purposefully feel their way across the floor.

Wirth’s powerful voice, too, makes her convincing as someone who’s strong enough to deny the advances of her creepy stepfather. At the same time, though, her small glances and gestures suggest some fear beneath the bravado as this powerful man ogles her and practically smacks his lips whenever he says her name.

Like the Page’s, Herod’s face is painted white, making a sinister contrast with his crown of wine-colored roses, which resembles a dark ring of blood. He’s scary, but he’s also a buffoon – or at least a petulant child. When he hears, for example, that Jokanaan has preached about the imminent arrival of a messiah who can raise the dead, he wears a befuddled look and says he forbids such actions, clearly confused how anyone could consider crossing him. When he pleads with Salomé to dance for him, too, he sounds much like a child begging for another cookie.

“Your beauty has troubled me,” he tells his stepdaughter, which sounds like more infantile boohooing coming from his mouth. A leader who’s both a misogynistic bully and a bozo: Sound familiar?

Even Salomé’s mother, Herodias (Diane Slamp), who adds to the nightmarish feel of the play with her Bride of Frankenstein vibe and loud maniacal laugh, makes sense in this context. The sexual teetotaler Jokanaan may only see her as a monstrous harlot, but as a woman in biblical days, she has slim sources of power beyond the allure of her body.

Whatever meaning audience members find, the show won’t be for everyone. The camp may offer delicious comic relief to some and feel like overkill to others. The production is also long, running more than two hours with no intermission. While its solemn pace adds to the ritualistic effect, there were times when I wondered, perhaps wrongly, if the lines could have been trimmed, such as when Herod offered Salomé all sorts of riches, from a flock of white peacocks to jewels and the like.

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On the other hand, a show that attempted to please everyone would probably be a watered-down affair. What’s more, it would be lacking the visceral sense with which Mouawad uses his stage in place of a silver platter to offer his audiences his unique and exquisite vision.

***

“Salomé” continues through April 27 at Imago Theatre, 17 S.E. Eighth Ave. in Portland. Find tickets and schedules here.