When composer Richard Strauss decided to base his third opera Salome on the infamous play by Oscar Wilde, he knew he was creating a sensation, and his calculations paid off brilliantly. The world premiere was just the kind of scandal and success he most desired, and, after years of controversy, Salome remains a major operatic hit and a potently disturbing theatrical experience.

The recent San Francisco Opera production, directed and choreographed by Sean Curran, could hardly do much to shock a blase 21st-century crowd, and it didn't help that the opening performance was on a laid-back Sunday afternoon.

It might have proved a bit queasy for the post-brunch set, but after Sweeney Todd and Quentin Tarantino, gruesome effects and crazed psychosexual killers don't really upset us that much. Even the lush chromaticism and bi-tonality of the wondrous score is relatively easily digested by the audiences of today.

In his SFO debut, Curran made his mark most indelibly with a remarkably fluid handling of the movement onstage. Oh sure, there was a little flash of sort-of nudity, and the blood was dripping everywhere, but this was a surprisingly careful re-telling of the story that clearly tried to honor the music above all. The collaboration with production designer Bruno Schwengl and lighting designer Christopher Maravich created a stark and minimalist stage picture that seldom detracted from the unfolding drama. When the guard Narraboth kills himself over Salome's obsession with the captive Jokanaan, however, Curran made the first of three serious missteps for me.

The death happens upstage, in murky darkness, and seems almost irrelevant to the action (which may be the point), but it had audience members scratching their heads and openly asking each other what had just happened.

The supertitles had to fill them in, but there were some problems there, too. A few translations

Greer Grimsley as John the Baptist (Jokanaan) in Salome. Photo: Terrence McCarthy

were probably unintentionally amusing, but there was an admitted need for some comic relief during the uninterrupted single act anyway. Perhaps the most frustrating glitch came at the chilling ending – and look out, plot spoiler here: When Herod orders the guards to "Kill that woman," the supertitles posted his request a good 15 seconds early!

The cast seemed very promising on paper, and despite some opening performance failings, the realization by the ensemble of the taxing score was highly musical and dramatically satisfying. The hapless Narraboth, tenor Garrett Sorenson, didn't get the kind of support he needed for a really strong portrayal, but he still managed an adequate presence.

British tenor Kim Begley, well known to SFO audiences, careened about the stage as the iconic dirty old man Herod, making up for a rather thin sound with suitably repulsive acting.

Russian mezzo-soprano Irina Mishura proved an icy and commanding Herodias, always audible and pitch-perfect in a role that often gets the aging diva treatment.

As John the Baptist (Jokanaan), Greer Grimsley brought a baritonal heft to the upper reaches of his music, and the lighting design bathed him in glistening light during his time onstage. Looking a little doughy but every bit as smooth and white as the lusting Salome says, his towering presence could explain part of her painful fascination.

Of course, the big news, casting-wise, was the debut appearance of soprano Nadja Michael as the ultimate spoiled princess gone wild, the very troubled Salome.

Michael has already essayed the role many times, and has been in more controversial productions than this, but her athletic build, pleasing looks and reportedly successful switch from mezzo to soprano created a press agent's dream of pre-publicity. From her first entrance until the final blackout, she had the War Memorial audience mesmerized.

She suffered from the final two of Curran's misjudgments, though. The dance for Herod, so important to the plot, was exceptionally well-handled (well, Curran is a very good chorographer), and the long stretch of music was always interesting and exciting. Then, just when you were wondering if the girl were going to finally get nekkid, she sort of quickly did – while covering her nether-regions and breasts with her arms. It brought a wild seduction back to an almost-chaste moment of girlish unease, which may have been the point, but it was also seriously anti-climactic.

Michael's portrayal was quintessentially adolescent throughout the opera. Stamping the stage with her fists when crossed and neurotically twisting her hair, her Salome seemed more like a pathologically hormonal teen devil than a calculating and mentally unstable royal witch. Michael almost pulled the whole thing off, but her voice grew noticeably tired, and her final scene was more endurance contest than radiant and transformative monologue.

Third and final directorial error: the crushing final blackout was ill-timed, and simply didn't have the needed impact. It may have been more opening-night cueing problems than purposeful understatement, and believe me, the audience certainly wasn't complaining. Michael got an overwhelming (and mostly deserved) ovation, and more than one listener was heard commenting on her "total package" performance.

Ultimately, Sean Curran's treatment of the amazing opera was most importantly helped by conductor Nicola Luisotti's breathtaking control of the score. The large orchestra was strong, sinuous, sensuous and wonderfully modulated for the entire performance. Luisotti says he is trying to get his chops with the non-Italian repertoire, and he is doing quite a job. I could have been happy just listening to this superbly musical performance.