Is there a more fitting and frightening myth of Middle East intransigence than Samson and Delilah? The Old Testament tale of the Israeli Hercules who falls for the Philistines' greatest siren is a tit-for-tat round of violence that ends in destruction for both sides. No wonder Noam Chomsky and other political commentators refer to modern Israel as having a "Samson complex," a driven desire for vengeance against the Palestinians that may very well take everyone down together.

Though the story obviously lends itself to such a tendentious interpretation, director Marián Chudovský's new production of Camille Saint-Saens' opera at the National Theater plays it fairly safe, placing the action in a Neverland where berobed and bearded figures move through an industrial landscape. In fact, Chudovský and his designer, Jozef Ciller, seem not to have bothered formulating an overarching idea for their Samson at all. I'm sure the leather throw cushions that litter Dalila's lair in Act II must have seemed wonderfully outré 15 years ago, but now they're only an impediment to the poor performers expected to navigate through them while singing.

More's the pity, because the misguided design and movement aside, there is much to recommend in this Samson. First, conductor Oliver Dohnányi's pit was on its toes, savoring every chord and cadence of Saint-Saens' score. The orchestra was easily matched with the National's chorus under the direction of Pavel Vaněk. As both the throng of lamenting Jews chafing at the Philistine bit and as roisterous worshippers of Dagon celebrating Samson's downfall, the chorus underscored each scene with great energy, even while forced to contend with Hofmanová's plodding dancers.

Ferdinand Lemaire's libretto is no more fanciful than the original tale. Samson, infused with the Hebrew god's strength, has come to free his people from their bondage in Gaza. Unfortunately, he has fallen under the spell of Dalila (to use the piece's spelling), a high priestess of the Dagon cult. Tricked by the seductress, Samson foolishly tells her that his long hair is the source for his great strength and Dalila wastes no time in rummaging for her shears. The next thing to cut, of course, will be Samson's eyes.

Eyeless in Gaza, Samson becomes a figure of fun for the Philistines, who haven't too much longer to laugh. While the strongman is being strapped to the pillars of Dagon's temple, he prays to his god to give him another brief taste of power, which he uses to bring down the temple, killing everyone inside including himself.

The National's run of Samson et Dalila will include different casts. The premiere performance I saw included guest tenor Sergej Larin as Samson, National soloist Kateřina Jalovcová as Dalila, guest bass František Zahradníček as Abimelech, and baritone Vladimír Chmelo as the priest of Dagon.

The performers' movements were often stiff and static. But they were, again, handicapped by poor directorial blocking and the aforementioned throw pillows. Yet they overcame these obstacles with their forceful voices. Larin's crystalline tenor lifted his character to heroic heights, even as he was physically disabled by philistine staging. Zahradníček and Chmelo's bass and baritone were equally strong and authoritative.

As the great temptress, Jalovcová shone. Her handling of the piece's most famous aria, "Printemps qui commence," in Act I was lovely. Though the orchestra bested her at the beginning of Act II, the statuesque mezzo-soprano was back in her own during the seduction scene.