SHOW BIZ

Some things simply can’t be beat

A classic period drama, one that popularised the genre globally, is still regarded as one of the finest to ever grace our screens. Period drama enthusiasts will be familiar with the show in question — Upstairs, Downstairs.

Upstairs, Downstairs laid the groundwork for Downton Abbey with a story that will be familiar with fans who have only seen the modern sensation. As the definitive period dramas of their era, the parallels between Upstairs, Downstairs and Downton Abbey are self-evident.

Both shows portray the personal struggles of an aristocratic family and their servants against a backdrop of social and political upheaval on an overlapping timeline.

Like Downton Abbey, it spans three decades, covering both World Wars and the roaring 20s through to the Great Depression. The classic show chronicled the turbulent lives of the aristocratic Bellamy family and their servants in the early 1900s.

They diverge in numerous ways, however, and one is immediately apparent.

The seventies programme is less high-end, a quality that can taken as nostalgic or a dealbreaker. Upstairs, Downstairs premiered in 1971 and ran for five years, predating Downton Abbey by a good 50 years.

In fairness, Downton’s setting is inherently more luxurious. The Bellamy family inhabit a London townhouse, a far cry from the Crawley family’s lavish country estate that was a character in its own right.

And while Downton’s visuals proved a triumph, a frequent criticism from audiences is that the programme descended into melodrama. In contrast, Upstairs, Downstairs has been likened to a stage play for its more understated visuals and plotlines.

Fans of both period dramas shared their preferences. One viewer sparked a debate on Reddit, asking: “If you have seen both shows, which show do you think is better?”

“Upstairs Downstairs without question,” replied one viewer decisively. Another agreed: “I like Downton Abbey better, but Upstairs, Downstairs is the better show.

“I have tried watching the Upstairs/Downstairs remake multiple times and I always end stopping after about two episodes,” commented a third. “It just doesn’t grab me like Downton.”

Upstairs, Downstairs is available to watch on ITVX.

Last May, a strange thing happened on the U.S. album charts. Two metal bands (or at least metal-adjacent hard rock acts) scored No. 1 albums in the same month. The genre hadn’t seen multiple bestsellers in the same year since 2019 — and those were from veteran acts. So it was notable when the young U.K. group Sleep Token crushed on streaming and Ghost topped charts with a Taylor Swift-sized vinyl rollout. Meanwhile, avant-garde heavy rockers Deftones became unexpected TikTok darlings and arena stars.

Metal had not-so-quietly reemerged as a commercial force, and not just in the live sphere, where it’s always thrived and continues to grow. Pop culture seemed ready to welcome back a breed of hitmaker thought lost to time — the sleeve-tatted, throat-shredding hard rock star.

So the wider pop world should acquaint itself with the Virginia-born group Bad Omens, whose slam-packed Thursday night show at the Forum in Inglewood reaffirmed that they’re one of the most ambitious and skilled young bands in heavy rock, and have the star wattage and ravenous fan culture to get even bigger.

Bad Omens — with singer Noah Sebastian, bassist Nicholas Ruffilo, guitarist Joakim Karlsson and drummer Nick Folio — are not brand new. They’ve slugged it out on the metalcore and heavy rock circuit for a decade, signed to the small-ish but influential imprint Sumerian Records. But they hit their stride with 2022’s “The Death of Peace of Mind,” which melded a Weeknd-worthy R&B falsetto with rotted, churning guitars and tasteful electronics.

The band became festival headliners and racked up billions of streams, surely aided by Sebastian’s dreamboat-goth-BF good looks and striking range as a vocalist, where he veers from an ear-tickling whisper to an operatic howl and a shriek worthy of Norway in the ‘90s (sometimes on the same song, as he did on “Like a Villain”).

The band has tipped a new album for some time, though for this career-peak arena tour, it had only a handful of new singles in tow. No matter. At the Forum, the band cohered its catalog with an eye-popping stage production, one that made its case as an ultra-modern heavy rock act with the reach to be huge stars, even if they take genuine fame with some ambivalence.

That force-of-gravity was evident in the days leading up to the Forum show, where fans debated how many hours early they needed to be at the Forum to be on the barricades (the consensus — get there by breakfast). Mid-set, Sebastian pointed out one fan whom he recognized from years on the road. “You’ve been coming to see us since we sucked,” he said, laughing.

That commitment wouldn’t be possible if the music didn’t have a preternatural force to speak to current anxieties. From the first notes of its new single “Specter” — a brooding vocal workout for Sebastian that ended on pulverizing riffs — Bad Omens used cutting-edge tools and underground influence to elicit arena-rock catharsis.

One early peak of the set came when Jake Duzsik of the L.A. industrial-rock trio Health came out to duet on “The Drain,” a lurching, menacing collaborative single and a standout for both bands. Heavy-rock veterans see something compelling in Bad Omens, which helps situate the band’s pop-savvy tracks like “Left for Good” and “Just Pretend” (a platinum-selling single that wrapped up the main set) with earned feeling rather than calculation.

After the Forum show, I understood why it’s taking them so long to finish a new LP. Sebastian has been open about his mental health struggles. The band is pitched right at a difficult juncture at which their artistic ambitions abut real, life-altering attention.

They can make songs like “What It Cost” (a hooky, lecherous electro track that I’d totally believe was co-written with Max Martin if you told me) and the serrated metal that them earned them their fanbase and would cause a revolt without. It’s not easy to pair the two in a natural way. (Just ask Code Orange, once pitched as metal’s breakout stars who got bogged down in electronic experiments.) Having a K-pop-caliber devoted fanbase is great on the way up, but it’s a tense relationship.

But first and foremost, Bad Omens are gifted musicians, and whatever eldritch magic Sebastian wields onstage will always be bolstered by a serious band contorting metal, dark pop and electronic music. I saw nothing that would stop that one fan from coming back for 10 more years of Bad Omens shows, and plenty to suggest others are going to follow him.

The Grammy-winning composer behind the signature opening chant in the song “Circle of Life” for “The Lion King” movies is taking a comedian to court for allegedly damaging his reputation by misrepresenting the song’s meaning on a viral podcast episode.

In a federal lawsuit filed this month seeking millions in damages, Lebohang Morake, known as Lebo M, accused Zimbabwean comedian Learnmore Jonasi of intentionally botching the translation of the lyrics, central to both the Disney films and the musical theater adaptations.

“I’m getting sued for $27 million and to make matters worse, I got served the lawsuit while I was performing,” Jonasi said in a post on social media Tuesday. The post included a clip of the comedian performing at the Laugh Factory when a manila envelope is tossed onstage.

“Right now, I’m looking for a lawyer. … I can’t believe I’m getting sued for telling a joke. What kind of stupid world do we live in?” he added.

It all started when Jonasi’s appearance on the “One54” podcast went viral late last month. In the episode of “One54” cited in the lawsuit, one of the podcast’s Nigerian hosts, Akbar Gbajabiamila, prompts the comedian with “I heard you had a problem with the ‘Lion King,’ why?” He then breaks into song, trying his hand at the chant and butchering the delivery.

“That’s not how you sing it, don’t mess up our language like that,” Jonasi says, before singing the correct lyrics in Zulu. When the hosts ask what it means, he says it translates to: “Look, there’s a lion. Oh, my God.”

The hosts erupt with laughter, saying that they’d always thought the chant was something more “beautiful and majestic.”

Jonasi often uses the same “Lion King” bit in his stand-up routines. He translates the song’s lyrics from Zulu and Xhosa, two of South Africa’s 12 national languages, and offers a broader critique on the film.

In Season 19 of “America’s Got Talent,” the comedian won over audiences by joking about how American movies about Africa often confuse Africans, asking, “Why do the lions have American accents?”

The civil lawsuit accuses Jonasi of intentionally mocking “the chant’s cultural significance with exaggerated imitations,” according to the complaint.

Disney’s official translation of the opening phrase “Nants’ingonyama bagithi Baba” is “All hail the king, we all bow in the presence of the king.”

“Hay! baba, sizongqoba,” the chant continues. It translates to “Through you we will emerge victoriously,” according to Lebo M.

Lebo M’s lawyers acknowledged in the complaint that “ingonyama” can literally translate to “lion,” but said it’s used in the song as a “royal metaphor” that invokes kingship, and that Jonasi intentionally misrepresented “an African vocal proclamation grounded in South African tradition.”

Jonasi “received a standing ovation” for a similar joke he made about the song during a March 12 stand-up performance in Los Angeles, according to the lawsuit. Such viral statements, it says, are interfering with Lebo M’s business relationships with Disney and his income from royalties, causing more than $20 million in actual damages. The lawsuit also seeks $7 million in punitive damages.

The complaint also argues that Jonasi presented his translation “as authoritative fact, not comedy,” so it shouldn’t get the 1st Amendment protections afforded to parody and satire.

Jonasi and reps for Lebo M didn’t respond to emails seeking comment, but the two have been busy on social media, making alternating statements and sub-posting each other for weeks.

Earlier this month, Jonasi revealed that he’d been receiving threats on social media for offending his fellow Africans. “It was never my intention to disrespect anybody,” he said in the video posted to Instagram. “When I went on that podcast, my intention was actually to talk about African identity. … I’d like to apologize to anybody that I hurt. But my comedy was a way to crack open a window for a conversation.”

“I had no idea the chant from ‘The Lion King’ was a royal welcoming song … I speak a little bit of Zulu, so I directly translated the words, and I even spoke to some of my South African friends, and most of them don’t even know what it means. And the rest of the world thought it was actually gibberish.”

A few days later, Lebo M posted his own Instagram video, saying he had attempted to speak with Jonasi privately, but claimed the comedian had disrespected him. “You are riding a huge wave of going viral on negativity,” he said in the video.

“I would like to encourage you to please slow down. You have a long way to go. I wish you success, but you cannot disrespect other people’s cultures that gave you the first opportunity to start with and claim it’s comedy. … You continue making a mockery of my work … the likes and the viral things won’t be there when it’s just you.”

After exchanging a few more public statements via Instagram, Jonasi was served with court papers.

He shared the news online and announced he’s selling merchandise and launching a GoFundMe to raise money for his defense. The shirts and hoodies for sale feature two different designs — one reads “Look it’s a lion,” and the other “Look it’s a lawsuit, Oh, my God.” As of Friday afternoon, Jonasi’s GoFundMe raised more than $17,000.

The tense situation seemed to be cooling on Friday morning, when Lebo M posted a lengthy statement to Instagram signaling a shift from an impending courtroom showdown to what his team is calling a “white flag moment.”

According to the post, Lebo M’s team has contacted Jonasi to “explore the possibility of a structured settlement.”

The Associated Press contributed to this report.

BACK to the Future and Top Gun actor James Tolkan has sadly died aged 94.

The Hollywood star passed away peacefully at his New York state home on Thursday after a celebrated TV and stage career spanning 55 years.

His death was announced on the Back to the Future website as well as by writer-producer Bob Gale, but a cause was not provided.

Tolkan played the slacker-hating teacher Mr. Strickland in the first two films of the iconic 80s franchise, returning as the grandfather of his character in the third.

He was also known for his performance as air group commanding officer “Stinger” Jardian in the 1986 blockbuster Top Gun, alongside stars Tom Cruise, Val Kilmer and Meg Ryan.

Tolkan’s five-decade-long career started in the 1960s series Naked City and called it a day after the 2015 film Bone Tomahawk.

He was born on June 20, 1931 in Calumet, Michigan and served in the brutal Korean War as part of the United States Navy.

The young sailor was discharged due to a heart condition and set his sights on becoming an actor, earning a BA in drama from the University of Iowa.

An obituary on the Back to the Future website says that he then “got on a bus for New York City with $75 in his pocket, went to work on the docks and enrolled with both Stella Adler and Lee Strasburg to learn the art of acting. 

“He spent 25 years in New York theater, from off off Broadway to the great White Way.

“Notably, he was a member of the original ensemble cast of the  ‘Glengarry Glen Ross’.”

Tolkan moved his career from New York to California and Canada in 1983 when he was cast in War Games.

After his roles in Back to the Future and Top Gun, Tolkan had a dual role in Woody Allen’s Love and Death.

Tolkan is survived by his wife of 54 years, Parmelee – whom he met in the off-Broadway play Pinkville in 1971 – and his three nieces in Des Moines, Iowa.

The late actor adored animals and the obituary asked for donations in his memory to your local animal shelter, animal rescue organisation or Humane Society chapter.

Breaking news… More to come…

Ranting about the decline of comedy specials while releasing a new one at the same time feels a bit like an oxymoron. But somehow it still makes sense coming from alt-comedy pioneer David Cross, who isn’t just complaining; he’s finding his own route to making specials feel special again. The only way to do that is by putting one out in the manner he’d like to see more often — starting by making the whole crowd stand up too.

Capturing the energy of a concert at the famous 40 Watt Club in Athens, Ga., was the first step in differentiating “The End of the Beginning of the End” from the typical hour you watch on a big streamer. And, with this new special, Cross is able to get back to his own beginnings of touring across the country with love bands as his openers, performing for crowds for as long as he could until he had to run offstage to pee.

Premiering the special earlier this month on his website (and on April 7, it will be available on YouTube via production company 800 Pound Gorilla), Cross is hoping the special connects with comedy fans in a way that we’ve forgotten specials could.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity

Your new special is called “The End of the Beginning of the End.” What does that title mean to you as it relates to the impending doom of what we’re all living right now.

David Cross: Well, you can look at it in a couple different ways. To me, it signifies that the beginning of the end has occurred. And we are now at the end of the beginning of the end. And from where you go with that, that’s for you to decide.

One of the things I love about the special is the fact that you shoot it at a club in the style of a live–music concert.

I’ve shot specials in theaters and it’s just different, not that one is better than the other, but they’re just different. You have a different relationship with the audience. When I first started touring, I would go to music venues and I’d have a band open for me and then I would just go up and pretty much [perform] as long as I could until I had to pee. Sometimes I’d have a band playing, sometimes two bands, then I’d go out. And I did that a couple of times, and then stopped doing that and did theaters, and I decided for the last two specials I’m going to go to, when I shoot it, I’ll go to a music venue, and I was at the 40 Watt Club in Athens this last time, I was at the Metro in Chicago before that, both places I played on earlier tours, and, you know, it’s not seated. People are standing there at the stage, and I prefer it. It’s more fun. It’s not as lucrative but, to me, a more fun show to do.

Comedian David Cross

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

The ambience of it was great. You can hear people shouting and drinking and having a good time, and the crowd work is also a little more spontaneous and fun than it would be in a regular venue.

Yeah, well, there’s more opportunity for that. But my thing has never been about crowd work. I like engaging with it, it’s kind of a nice distraction from the set that you’ve been doing 100 times, 150 times at that point. So it’s always fun to have that thing happen and that feeling of spontaneity. And like the guy [who I talk to in the crowd during the special], I could not have asked for [someone better]. I mean, even if it was scripted, it wouldn’t have been as good. The guy who [I talk to] during the stuff about hiking Machu Picchu [with Bob Odenkirk], that’s just… [chef’s kiss].

Speaking of Bob Odenkirk, you guys have this long relationship. How would you describe the dynamic of working with Bob and just how you guys bounce ideas off each other?

I mean, it’s great. We have an inordinate amount of respect for each other, both as people and as creative partners. And so there’s never any real issues. There’s things we will definitely disagree with, but we’re both decent people. So you know somebody backs off and says, “OK, let’s do it that way.” But even then, there aren’t that many of those [issues]. We just have really worked well at building something or molding it, creating it and shaping it. And our aforementioned hike to Machu Picchu, we have a documentary about that, that will be premiering at a fancy festival at some point in the near-future. And so we got that doc and we’ve been working on that. And for the way we work now, because he lives in L.A. and I live in New York, and it’s been like that for a while, he’ll write a bunch of stuff, I’ll make notes, I’ll write my things, send it back. And so we’re able to do that and not necessarily have to be in the same room because we’ve had 30-plus years of working with each other.

It’s a kind of like an unspoken language you guys probably have in terms of comedy, which is super important, I imagine, just for collaborating.

Yeah, and it’s something we discovered very early on … before there was even “Mr. Show,” what would ultimately become “Mr. Show,” when we got together to write sketches for this bigger kind of comedy collective thing, and these shows that we would all do with each other, for each other, and the stuff that we would write together was just, like, really good, easy writing — again, one person adding this thing and one person saying here’s a switch yeah and another person adding this thing in. It was fun, it’s cool, still is. One thing he doesn’t get credit for is he’s a really decent human being. And with all the awfulness in the world that’s magnified, every sense is bombarded with it — it’s just good to be hanging with somebody whose energy is a good person, a decent person and an equitable, nice guy, so that’s good as well.

Comedian David Cross poses for a portrait ahead of his comedy special “The End of the Beginning of the End.”

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

One thing you guys also have in common is you both have kids, and he has a comedy show for kids called “The Appropriate Show.” Have you taken your daughter to see it?

It’s a sketch show [in which] all the sketches are appropriate for kids to watch. And the sketches have been done in other sketch shows onstage, live. And he puts together this thing once, twice a year here in L.A. And I took my daughter to it last year. It’s just sketches that kids can [understand]. At least if they don’t understand the actual references they get the archetype. “Oh, that’s the boss, that’s that uh… And it’s great, it’s a really cool idea uh… “ And would an ass— think of [a show like] that? No, one good decent person; a good man. But listen, this interview isn’t about me, it’s about Bob Odenkirk, so let’s get back to that.

Well, speaking of having comedy geared toward kids, your daughter’s at an age where she’s probably consumed or seen some of your comedy at this point.

Not, not really. No, no.

Do you shield her from your stuff, or are you not so concerned about it?

I don’t actively shield her, but I don’t introduce her to anything. So I was a little bummed out, and I got over it pretty quickly, but when I found out that she had seen a little bit of “Alvin and the Chipmunks,” and only because I don’t want to spoil the enjoyment of what movies are and what kids’ movies are and how things work. And I feel like that would introduce an element of reality that I want her to be able to just enjoy these things without — she’s seen “Kung Fu Panda”when she was younger, like, I don’t know, three, four, five times, has no idea that I’m in that, that my voice is in there. She knows I do stand-up, she gets that now. And when she was younger, she’d say, “Daddy’s silly for a living.” … I’m just trying to ride the balance of letting her have those childhood joys and experiences.

Comedian David Cross.

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

Does having a kid make you think about what’s coming up in the future of comedy, or what kids are gonna maybe find funny, or what they find funny now? Do you have any thoughts on kid comedy in general?

Not really. I mean, I can see that she and her friends, who are kind of like-minded, are naturally funny, and then that’s kind of encouraging and heartwarming and they’re silly, but I’ll be long gone when that generation is is providing comedy. And I’m still, although I’ve kind of given up, I’m still trying to grasp what works now. I mean, it’s short-term TikTok, Instagram stuff. There are some amazing, like really, really great things being done as far as film sketches for YouTube channels. “Almost Friday,” they’ve got genius-level stuff. I mean, really good. And where the sketch goes in a place, you’re never ahead of it, goes in a place where you’re not expecting. It’s really well written and well performed.

What are your thoughts on what a comedy special is nowadays or what it should be?

I mean, that’s a great question. I think anybody who plays with the form, whether I think it’s that funny or not, is different. But I’m happy when anybody kind of tries at least to play with a form. I just went to Rory Scovel‘s taping last week of his latest special. I don’t know when that’ll air, but if you’ve seen the beginning to his first special, stuff like that where you’re like, “Wait, what’s happening? What’s going on?” I love stuff like that.

I still get excited to watch specials by some of my favorite comics, but there’s a quality that’s missing. And these are stand-ups I love, and they’re not that great. They’re not bad but they’re not special, you know? And all those guys I mentioned, and more, have great specials. Like, you can go back and they’re great. And I don’t know why that is. I mean, there’s still funny stuff, but I don’t ever want to get to that place where its just feels a little phoned-in a little bit… that is, in part, why the last two specials were shot in this more intimate setting that feels special. And … as I said, the energy’s different, it’s a little bit different, and it’s less slick. It feels like you’re in the moment. You don’t need a million dollars to shoot a special. You don’t 28 camera angles, it‘s just bull—. And it takes something away.

Comedian David Cross

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

It all should feel the right amount of unsafe as well, I think.

That’s never gonna happen at a theater show. You’re never gonna feel that. And I don’t know, it really does feel almost like maybe we peaked in a sense, like there’s too much, and because of that, these things aren’t special. They’re not revelatory, they’re not unique. I dunno, can 18,000 people in an arena really relate to a … billionaire talking about how they’re gonna get canceled. I mean, is that a thing I guess? Those other big, slick specials that are shot in, like, a 3,200-seat, 3,500-seat theater, it just feels like, “Oh this person is up there and I’m listening to their jokes.” There’s nothing wrong with that. They’re often very funny jokes, but it doesn’t go beyond that. It’s just like, “All right, tell me your joke.” It might as well be an audio thing, you know?

Well, hopefully the robots aren’t coming for your job anytime soon.

Absolutely not. I mean, this could be naive, but I feel 100% safe that you are never going to replicate an evening of stand-up at a nigtclub like that. And not sitting down at tables while you’re having drinks and waitresses are coming by. I’m talking about everybody’s up on the stage, sold-out, maximum capacity; everybody’s there, focused, we’re all sharing that thing. You can’t. AI’s not going to be able to do that.

Yeah, the robots can’t do that, Terminator can’t do that..

Oh, I forgot about Terminator. He could do that. G— it.

EAMONN Holmes and ex-wife Ruth Langsford’s joint business has racked up six-figure debts, new accounts reveal.

Figures filed at Companies House today reveal Holmes & Away has to fork out £251,029 on bills. 

It owes a six-figure sum to creditors, according to the figures dated 31 March 2025, and signed off by Eamonn in January. 

All are due to be ‘repaid within a year,’ and will leave the firm, which currently holds £203,055 in assets, £47,974 in the red.

The Sun has contacted representatives for Eamonn and Ruth for comment.

It’s another blow for Eamonn, who has been grappling with ongoing health issues as well as a tax dispute with HMRC which he says has cost him £1 million. 

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Holmes & Away was set up by Eamonn and Ruth back in 2009.

The former couple still co-own and co-run the firm despite splitting in 2024. 

It’s the second year in a row that the business has fallen into the red. 

In 2024 it was £22,850 in the red and owed £149,115 in bills. 

It’s a long way from the firm’s heyday.

At its peak, in 2018, it held assets of £658,680 as well as £337,477 in ongoing profits. 

Efforts to end the business relationship seem to have failed, at least as at the date of the new accounts. 

For two years running accounts have stated: “These accounts are prepared on a basis other than going concern as the company has ceased trading and plans to dissolve in the next twelve months.”

Despite its intention to close, the firm still has two employees.

In addition to his troubles at Holmes & Away, Eamonn has been outperformed by Ruth in their solo business ventures. 

Figures filed last month reveal Ruth paid herself £585,000 and held £776,889 at her solo firm, Hey Ho.

Meanwhile, Eamonn’s solo business, Red White & Green, returned a £29,093 profit in the year to 31 March 2025.

Its accounts, also filed at Companies House today, report £264,778 in funds. 

Set up in 2001, it was at the centre of his £1 million tax case that saw HMRC argue he had avoided tax through the firm. 

Gerald Barry is today’s rare opera composer with a draught-dry wit. Is there such a thing as a soaking wet wit, the opposite of the parched variety, because he has that, too. He is Irish. He has some Beckett in him. And a helping of Oscar Wilde.

At the behest of British composer Thomas Adès, the Los Angeles Philharmonic has given, over the past 20 years, the U.S. or world premieres of four Barry operas in its Green Umbrella new music series, all conducted by Adès. The first, “The Triumph of Beauty and Deceit,” seemed to take zaniness to outlandish operatic extremes, which led to the orchestra commissioning the next three. “The Importance of Being Ernest” and “Alice’s Adventures Underground,” in 2011 and 2016 respectively, proved each funnier and more outrageous musical spectacle than the last.

On Tuesday night, the L.A. Phil New Music Group and a cast of extraordinary singers gave the U.S. premiere of “Salome” at Walt Disney Concert Hall. Here we go again.

The description by the composer (who is also his librettist) can hardly be bettered. He has cut Wilde’s play by about half. And, in that half, explored another less knowable side of the moon represented by Richard Strauss’ well-known “Salome,” which helped usher in 20th-century operatic modernism. Barry says his “Salome” is “an opera of voyeurism, the moon, French, God, punishment of sin, misunderstanding, sex, the metronome, suicide, hysteria, hunger, blood, typing, speaking correctly, sterility, ‘The Blue Danube,’ fever, art, Wilde, dreaming, beheading, Frankenstein, kissing.”

No nudity, though, and no dance. Salome is a typist. Her dance of the seven veils is sexy typing.

Barry begins where Wilde begins and Strauss (who follows the original play closely) with a pair of soldiers in Herod’s court peering at the moon, one moonstruck by the beauty of Herod’s daughter Salome. Salome has other ideas. She’s taken, perversely, with John the Baptist, imprisoned in a cistern and prophesying doom for the decadent, Godless heathens, Salome in particular. All of this readily registers on Barry’s Dada-absurdity meter.

Even so, Barry has an oracular outlook. He goes in for proclamatory melody, each note an event, when punched out by brass and lower string like hammering spikes in the ground. Harmonies can be raw. There is a Stravinskyan quality, but nothing is ever predictable.

The orchestral introduction to “Salome” is like that. But it gets screwy fast. Other than Salome, the characters are not named, rather treated as types. John the Baptist is The Prisoner. Herod and Herodias are The King and The Queen. All have some Alice in a different wonderland about them.

The Prisoner could be straight out of a Godard film. He speaks only French (Wilde’s play was first published in French in 1893). He speaks more than he sings and finds outrage everywhere he looks. The surtitles intentionally refrain from translating much of what he says, leaving the audience to rely on his loony spoken tone and loony tunes to carry meaning. His way of impatiently rebuffing Salome’s inappropriate advances is to give her singing lessons.

That’s the last thing she needs. Her part, like that of Alice in Barry’s previous opera, is enlivened by delightfully squeaky high notes in unexpected places. She’s Barbie with exceptional smarts and grotesque sexual fantasies. Soprano Alison Scherzer, who has starred in Barry’s other operas and in Adès’ “Powder Her Face,” is spectacular.

Everyone is odd. The half-crazed King, magnificently sung by the ever-disruptive Timur, lusts after Salome by speaking and singing at different speeds he selects on a metronome, as he entices her to type for him. When she first refuses, the King has everyone sing “The Blue Danube,” because that’s what you do when Salome won’t sexy type for you.

Sara Hershkowitz’s wildly contemptuous Queen adds further soprano glory. The baritone, Vincent Casagrande, a marvelously cantankerous Prisoner, tells us only sick people dream, and of course everyone on stage automatically enters a dream state.

The shock of Wilde’s play, amplified in Strauss’ opera, is the sheer horror of Salome demanding as a reward for her striptease the decapitated head of the prophet, whose bloody lips she desires to kiss. In this case, her typing, which is accompanied by the two soldiers (Justin Hopkins and Karl Huml) on their own typewriters, leads to a dismemberment Frankenstein-style. The ghoulish ending is not unhappy.

Barry’s score remains as uncanny as his sense of drama. He plays with our senses of normality. He frequently uses the instrumentalists in the chamber orchestra like theatrical characters. The ensemble contradicts the singers but also eggs them on. Adès, who has his own unpredictably whimsical side, conducts as though he had written the score himself and shares his pleasure with every delightful effect.

The premiere of “Salome,” intended for 2021 in Disney, was disrupted by the pandemic. The first performance, then, became a staging in Magdeburg, Germany, last year. Barry said Tuesday in the pre-concert Upbeat Live that he is often happier with concert performances, like at this Green Umbrella. He has good reason.

The magic of this “Salome” is its transcendence of silliness into acceptance. When presented without theatrical aspect but as a private process of the imagination, it becomes a lavishly lovable antidote to our too often accepting the world’s absurdity only as dooms-scrollable tragedy.

“I want to lick your stink … I want to taste your foulness … I want to shower in your rot … I want to feast in your fetid funk.”

Have more romantic sweet nothings ever graced the screen? Scripted by Grace Glowicki and Ben Petrie (partners in life and in filmmaking), these words of seduction are music to the ears of a lonely Gravedigger (Glowicki), who has been formulating a perfume to cover up her corpse-like stench. What she discovers is that the right one will love her exactly the way she smells, learning that she’s not so pheromonally challenged after all.

Glowicki’s sophomore feature “Dead Lover,” sometimes presented in “Stink-O-Vision,” is one of those entirely singular freakouts that we can thank Telefilm Canada for subsidizing (see also: the Cronenberg family oeuvre, Matt Johnson’s current “Nirvanna the Band the Show the Movie” and many more).

She co-writes, directs and stars in this highly stylized, wonderfully DIY handmade project, beautifully designed with gruesomely gothic sets by production designer Becca Morrin and art director Ashley Devereux. The blend of intentional artifice paired with deep emotion calls to mind other Canadian auteurs like Guy Maddin and Matthew Rankin (“The Twentieth Century”), but Glowicki’s film also exists within another lineage: the feminist Frankenstein film.

The film opens with a quote from Mary Shelley: “There is something at work in my soul which I do not understand.” Her 1818 novel “Frankenstein: or, the Modern Prometheus” has always been a feminist text (despite Guillermo del Toro’s more bro-ey adaptation), grappling with the terrifying power of creating life — and how close that is to death. Feminist filmmakers have drawn out these inherent themes from the book, the most recent and loudest example being Maggie Gyllenhaal’s “The Bride!” But “Dead Lover” hews closer to Laura Moss’ modern medical take, “birth/rebirth,” and even more closely to Zelda Williams’ cute, poppy “Lisa Frankenstein,” in which a young seamstress stitches up a reanimated boyfriend.

Our Gravedigger speaks to us, and to the moon, about her heart’s desire in charming cockney rhyming slang. Her hopes are rather simple and conventional: one true lifelong love and a family. After much rejection, she finally finds her Lover (Petrie) in the cemetery, saving him from a ferocious beast while he mourns his late opera-singer sister (Leah Doz). After the pair consummate their fragrant lust, the Gravedigger is ready to settle down right away.

In order to make her dreams come true, Lover travels to Europe for fertility treatments, where he drowns on a ship, the only thing left of him a finger, delivered to her by fishermen. Our enterprising Gravedigger, a true woman of science, engineers a lizard elixir and regenerates the finger into a long tentacle that eventually demands a body. What better choice than his own sister? But when her wild new Creature (Doz) comes to life, all hell breaks loose, summoning the sister’s jealous, grief-stricken Widower (Lowen Morrow) into an unfortunate love triangle (or square?).

Glowicki is a terrific filmmaker, marshaling her tiny troupe to execute this unique project. Petrie, Doz and Morrow play multiple roles, including a gossipy Greek chorus and the band of merry fisherman (truly an astonishing array of Canadian accent work on display). Her commitment to her singular vision never wavers, but as an actor, Glowicki is truly astonishing. Caked in Halloween makeup and lit with an array of colored gels, Glowicki summons something primal, pure and deeply moving about the lengths one will go to for love, a screech from the depths of her gut.

With a dream-pop soundtrack by U.S. Girls that would be at home in an episode of “Twin Peaks,” “Dead Lover,” in all its stinky, sexy, queer and grotesque glory, is one of the grossest and loveliest films about love I’ve ever seen. This one’s for the horny, hopeless goth inside all of us.