A Russian nesting doll of trauma, meta-text, and workplace politicking, “Seven Veils” stretches the boundaries of its medium to tell a story that hovers between several different thematic and narrative levels. An opera inside a movie that is a synthesis of in-universe history and abuse, the film uses “Salome” as a launching pad to explore what it means to grapple with trauma and its enduring legacy. As a bonus, it is also a sneaky good “office” drama, one that explores the fluid and complicated nature of professional relationships, obligations, and misconduct.
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“Seven Veils” opens with newly christened opera director Jeanine (Amanda Seyfried) taking stock of the theater’s new production of “Salome” prior to the public announcement of her appointment. This production of the opera is credited to Jeanine’s recently deceased mentor, Charles, who staged the original based on inspiration drawn from Jeanine’s own childhood. As a young adult, Jeanine worked with Charles on the production while carrying on a not-so-secret affair, and it was his dying wish that she be given the opportunity to direct the restaging.
Jeanine’s work on the opera forces her to confront portions of her childhood and history with Charles in the most direct way possible, as footage that Jeanine’s father shot of her as a little girl is used in the production. The irony of all this isn’t subtle, what with the story of “Salome” seeing the title character lusting after a mysterious older man while rejecting the advances of her father. In Oscar Wilde’s text and the opera it inspired, the Salome character exploits both men via an outward display of her sexuality to punish and dominate the object of her affection.
Jeanine returning to this production and re-using the visual residue of her childhood exploitation connects the A-plots of the movie and the opera inside of it. This is developed further by scenes showing Jeanine grappling with a disintegrating marriage and her dementia-afflicted mother, both of which establish extra significance as the doors to all her trauma begin to unlock and open.
Writer/director Atom Egoyan isn’t satisfied with just this, however. The opera cast is fractured and rife with history, starting with the sexually inappropriate lead, Johann (Michael Kupfer-Radecky), who aggressively moves on to Jeanine’s other former love interest and newly appointed prop master, Clea (Rebecca Liddiard). Clea is appalled at Johann’s behavior but knows she might be able to leverage the footage of the incident to get some stage time for her understudy girlfriend. The company owners are appalled (one of whom is Charles’ widow), but they also aren’t above squeezing their employees to get what they want, something they have been doing to Jeanine since her first public appearance as director.
How these characters weaponize desire, lust, and the desperation of those around them within a story about a production “Salome” isn’t just effective, it’s devilishly clever: like making a movie about sibling rivalry that features a production of “King Lear.” Jeanine’s journey of self-reflection about the ways her father exploited her with the assistance of Charles adds another layer to this reflexive text, which Egoyan insists on exploring with a driving intensity that hits a crescendo right as the on-screen opera does. And while this and a few other subplots don’t resolve themselves with the closure one might expect from all the emotional unpacking that leads up to the film’s denouement, one gets the sense that this is intentional.
Big conflicts and emotional trauma don’t resolve themselves with the tidiness afforded to a 107-minute runtime, and considering the breadth of the interconnected history and backstory involved in all of this, it would cheapen things if it did. It’s enough that this is just a story about a damaged woman whose abuse is begetting more abuse within a narrative framework that marries her trauma with a famous literary counterpart.
Seyfried seems a little young for the role until the script makes it clear that everyone in this world also feels that way and reacts accordingly. As the opera’s pre-production goes on, one can see Jeanine slowly losing the confidence of her cast and crew, a byproduct of her own boss’ lack of confidence in her and the blurring of lines between what the opera characters should experience and what she did/does. The script uses a narration device to convey much of Jeanine’s emotional journey by way of an audio diary, and while interesting at times, it is one of the few choices the script makes that doesn’t entirely work (a bit too much telling instead of showing).
Egoyan’s experience directing the opera’s stage version of “Salome” in 1996 and 2023 gives the production within the production a tactile feel that brings it to life right alongside the story of Jeanine et al. Viewers who don’t have that much affection or familiarity with opera might struggle with the extended “Salome” set pieces, yet their presence in “Seven Veils” as narrative building blocks is indispensable. Visually, D.P. Paul Sarossy and Egoyan are stingy with color and lighting, using both to great effect when establishing mood and character headspace (Jeanine’s red dress during an interview gone wrong is particularly effective).
A marriage of dramaturgy and remembrance, “Seven Veils” dances through its themes and character history with thoughtful intention that would impress Salome herself. Emotionally bracing and infused with a meta-text that leapfrogs the story and the characters themselves, it is almost good enough to lose one’s head over. [A-]
