For a film made on a shoe string budget, one learns one too many a lesson; my favorite is the conception concerning the Baptist's voice coming up from his dungeon: with fumes and a greenish light coming out of a Carpenter film, this demonstrated how the latter should profit from this for his metaphysics and his camp.There is a lot too appreciate here, in the Ruskin sense of the word; do not be fooled by either the budget or the fart side of the scale, this is a very, very shrewd and sly reading of Wilde: his Salome and this Salome open up the new category of camp repression, with the film deliciously showing us that an author can be terribly indifferent to his work (especially when eager to amass all the boyish charm of a golden ass in his palm), a peculiar brand of catholic believer, Saint Oscar (Guy Fawkes Night is a great touch for this matter), that England is a brothel or only a brothel would have the courage to stage the banned play while at the same time entertain by its cast the imagination of its maker - and this is valid also for us: we are strangely moved in the end after all this extravagance. Even if at some point Wilde exclaims that he should not bother his imagination with the proceedings implying that it is a sin and a hubris to pass imagination through a trial (sic), and with this and other witticisms and intuitions Ken Russell's framing device makes Oscar Wilde a character escaping from his play into the brutal rebuttal of the public and its mores as voiced by Glenda Jackson's Lady/Herodias "it was not murder, but a banana slip!"(Watch how one of Russell's signature modes, the camp, exaggerated close-up of Jackson's exclaiming the phrase echoes the one in the beginning just before the show starts on Wilde's champagne glass.) In the feverish, camp theater of his mind, Salome, impish (great acting by the half blind, puckish Imogen Millais-Scott), precocious, looking so much like her mother (Herodias AND Lady Wilde??), she is the author's stand in - or is it he hers, as the Bosie/Baptist reversal also implies (and is so blandly delivered in the end)? The murder/ banana slip line surely reaches into what last century was called Wilde's self-destructive element but also Russell's wild comment on himself. Through this kind of fictional biography Russell's intuitive violence reaches after even the pivotal Wildean witticism "all bad poetry is sincere" and, somehow, poses it on its head. We are strangely moved in the end.

This is surely one of Russell's campier ventures (also considered by some as his very worst!) – in which he appears himself, sporting an all-too-fake beard, as a photographer! The film is an adaptation of Oscar Wilde's controversial play "Salome" (for the record, a viewing of the 1923 Silent adaptation of it with, reportedly, an all-gay cast{!} is to follow) which had originally been banned in Britain (having been deemed both obscene and blasphemous!) so that its first representation took place in France – hence, the text necessitating to be translated back into English for this version! Anyway, Russell has the notorious bisexual author (rather ineffectually played by Nickolas Grace) attend what he believes to be a typical night at a brothel on his birthday, only to have the owner, courtesans, clients and even his upper-class lover Alfred 'Bosey' Douglas surprise him with a clandestine staging of "Salome" (incidentally, the credits appear while he is ostensibly leafing through the programme)! Rather than be transported to the time of the narrative a' la the classic Laurence Olivier production of Shakespeare's HENRY V (1944), here we stick to this one set – presumably so that we can gauge Wilde's reaction to the interpretation of his text (and, in particular, Douglas' own acting in the pivotal role of John The Baptist). However, by doing so, the thing is never allowed to rise above the level of pantomime – though I am not sure the director (who wrote the script himself) intended it to in the first place and, in any case, the proceedings are never taken very seriously (as witness the flatulent running gag, for one!).Apart from Glenda Jackson (who, decked-out in rather impressive make-up, bravely took on the part of Herodias as a favor to Russell – even if her role is secondary to both Salome and King Herod despite being allotted top-billing), the cast is supbar, with only Stratford Johns (whom I have just watched in a memorable bit as Hugh Grant's butler in Russell's subsequent effort, THE LAIR OF THE WHITE WORM {also 1988}) attempting a real performance but, I guess, that was to be expected given the amateurish nature of the whole enterprise! As for Salome, played by Imogen Millais-Scott (a Bjork lookalike{!} while others cite Toyah Wilcox, who is more of her time), she is depicted as far more wicked than history would have it and, indeed, Herodias herself (who comes across as a dog that can bark but not bite)! In fact, the latter is not the one to suggest to Salome to ask for the head of The Baptist as a prize for having danced semi-naked before the "Tetrarch" but rather the girl's own idea, since she had earlier seduced – and been rejected by – the prophet (indeed, Salome becomes so obsessed with the man who spoke but ill of her mother that she has no qualms about kissing the lips of his severed head)! For the record, Russell stated in the accompanying Audio Commentary that the actress was half-blind, which perhaps explains why this was her "introduction" to cinema but also her very last film! Other notable characters here are: a legionnaire in love with Salome and who commits suicide in fear of being found out over his having allowed Salome to see The Baptist; his own (gold-painted!) servant who, serving {sic} no other function after his master's death, takes his place beside the author and proceeds to distract him from the show (eventually disappearing behind the curtains to give vent to their passions – incidentally, the boy in real-life had been an object of contention between Wilde and 'Bosey', so that the latter eyes their dallying from the stage with indignation!); the two guards (there are also some females, naturally bare-breasted and prone to S&M antics!) in charge of The Baptist's incarceration, who supply comic relief all through the picture and, ultimately, take up with Herodias (or, more precisely, the courtesan playing her) – getting down to some 'action' inside a trunk immediately prior to Salome's famed "Dance Of The Seven Veils" (as it happened, the name of a controversial TV-film Russell made for the BBC in 1970, albeit about composer Richard Strauss, and which I watched earlier in my marathon tribute to the late director)!; and even a trio of bickering dwarfs dressed up as Hasidic Jews (for what it is worth, my twin brother's 'costume' for Brad Pitt's upcoming and Malta-filmed zombie epic WORLD WAR Z!).The title under review, then, ends with Herod ordering the execution of Salome and the Police bursting in on the scene to arrest everybody (with Jackson protesting her noble lineage) – by the way, the obscenity charge leveled at Wilde here was one he would face in real life (brought up by Douglas' own father, the Marquis of Queensberry, who frowned upon his son's unsavory relationship with the author!) and from which he never quite recovered. Having mentioned Wilde's trial, I still need to check one of two rival 1960 films about the case (with Robert Morley in the lead, it simply bore the author's name as a title).

This is a film that operates on so many levels. The framework of the plot is that a group of friends in late 19th century London help Oscar Wilde put on a private performance of his play "Salome," banned in Britain for its controversial political and sexual themes. We get to watch the interactions of the characters in the play, the interactions of the actors in the play (and offstage), and the interactions of the players with the sole member of the audience (the play's author). If you loved "Lilies," you won't go far wrong with "Salome's Last Dance" -- both feature an immersive blurring between the action in the play and the actors portraying it. Don't let anyone tell you much more than that about the film, because there are some delicious surprises.

     There is never ending debate over the value of work by directors like Russell. He is almost universally written off by professional critics as a mostly sensationalist, tasteless crackpot who's real talent is questionable, yet he is passionately defended by other people and this deserves some comment. Russell's work is often described as "tasteless, vulgar, unrestrained, even misanthropic" and "employing the imagery of sexual excess." One might make a case for the idea that these adjectives describe many fans of Russell's work themselves, or at least that they enjoy these themes in film. The latter is admittedly the case of this author, and unlike many people I certainly feel these are often necessary qualities of good art. Many fans of Russell attempt useless claims that his work is really quite tasteful and not offensive or "over the top" at all, but that would be somewhat inaccurate and in this author's opinion completely missing the point of his work. Compared to normal standards, Russell's films ARE as many critics claim they are, and they will offend people who for the most part should not waste their time viewing his work, and no, offending people is NOT the point of his films, and yes- many nice, healthy, well adjusted people feel his work is fantastic, ingenious and rewarding. Rather than digress into some probably useless philosophical (or political?) arguments over whom is correct or whom is better qualified to comment, it's better that the author's perspective be made clear from the outset. In the end, it might be argued that all ideas about the comparative merits of film or art are pointless, pretentious exercises used to promote arbitrary opinion based on personal taste.     When I saw this film (on DVD), I was under the impression that it was much older than 1988, for some reason. I have since found nothing online to confirm this, but I will always think of this film as something from the 1970's that was way ahead of it's time, and it has that feel to it. It included a copy of the entire film with live commentary by Russell himself that I found as interesting as the film itself. It is a simple, low budget film, almost deliberately retro in style. The work is Russell in a nutshell. What a man can do with a stage, almost no money, a camera, a few extraordinary friends (including a passionate costume designer), a love of irony and a profound sense of visual style. The elements are crude, simplistic devices- annoyingly, even deliberately so, like archetypal metaphors, and the results completely transcend the execution. That crucial departure is where many critics are simply left behind and forced to write off the work as plainly bad, manipulative sensationalism (unlike every Hollywood film? this film is NOT Hollywood in any way). I could not help thinking how easily this film could be adapted into a cultish, kinky and funny stage play.      Examining the psychology of eroticism is a hallmark of Russell and is put to great use in this film. That is not some simple offensive device used in Russell's films, it is the whole genius of his work! Sex and eroticism is the driving debacle of social, moral and religious history and deserves a great deal of examination. People have a crying need for Russell's talent of recontextualizing erotica in order to create self-understanding and inspire it's positive aspects within themselves. In other words, if one ever happened to fantasize about any of the crude scenarios Russell presents in his films (though no one can admit it), one might then find it incredibly beneficial to see it presented in an intelligent, imaginative way by someone else. If these themes interest you, I recommend the film highly.      "Salome's Last Dance" is spectacular only in terms of it's personalities, in no way is (and does not have to be) one of the "greatest" films, yet it is wondrously rare. It is uniquely stylish, and because of it's truly low budget and simple execution, I would say (in direct contradiction of many critics) it is amazingly unpretentious and humble, as well as beautiful.