This year's production of Othello, on the Festival Theatre's stage, is the first Stratford outing in a number of years for this play, one of the more rarely staged of Shakespeare's tragedies. It's a play which I've missed repeatedly, for various reasons; this marks my first time seeing it performed at Stratford.
The peculiar intensity of Othello can be put down to its claustrophobic atmosphere. The story functions a bit like one of those "escape rooms" that have become so popular in recent years, except that there is no way out. None of the central characters escapes from the maze unscathed, and four of them wind up dead.
Shakespeare unflinchingly assigns the blame for the whole catastrophic horror show to Iago. There's no moral equivocation here, no hint that the society as a whole may have been at fault, no "but maybe this or that other character contributed...." Not from the author. Professional analysts of drama, or of the human psyche, absolutely love these kinds of debating points. But they are more germane to any discussion of the ways in which this play is still frighteningly relevant than they are to the play itself.
Shakespearean audiences would have understood loud and clear, right from Iago's first soliloquy, that he is a sinner of the highest order. They'd immediately recognize his consuming hatred of "the Moor" as Wrath, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Envy is another, and Iago sports that characteristic clearly and proudly too. As if all that were not enough to condemn him, he perjures himself -- and that was clearly understood to be a guaranteed one-way ticket to the eternal fires of hell. It's his very pride in his deeply-rooted evil nature that stamps him as utterly and unrepentantly damned.
It's easy for a modern audience to forget such old theological concepts when considering the play, but Shakespeare's audience would have had no trouble recognizing which way the playwright's moral compass was pointing.
For today's society, the overt racism of Roderigo, Brabantio, and Iago is a troubling mirror we see held before us. So is the credulity of multiple characters hoodwinked by Iago's potent mixture of untruth, half-truth, and assurances of fealty, loyalty, and love. That credulity, too, we see mirrored every day on the internet, among people of all political stripes. Even more certainly, the harsh patriarchal treatment of the women in the play disturbs our sensibilities and rouses our indignation.
This production, directed by Nigel Shawn Williams, is filled from the first scene to the last with fiery energy. At 3 hours, it's a long show, but there was certainly no slackening of interest or engagement from this onlooker.
To highlight the contemporary nature of the themes, and the timeless validity of the characters, designer Denyse Karn has cast the play in modern dress, on a bare stage with only the most minimal use of physical set pieces. The conventional symmetrical configuration of the Festival Theatre stage is replaced with an asymmetrical broad staircase rising to the stage right side, a smaller ramp to the stage left exit, and an irregularly zig-zagging back wall which serves as a projection screen (the projections are also designed by Karn). As soon as the play begins, it becomes apparent that the wall is in fact a scrim -- a feature which lends a very useful possibility of long entrances and offstage spaces into what is actually a small acting space.
In the very first scene, Brabantio is portrayed by Randy Hughson as one of those sputtering, ineffectual old men so common in the commedia dell'arte tradition. It's not a funny character, but this approach definitely sets Brabantio up to be let down by the senate of Venice and the Duchess.
Michelle Giroux makes a very good thing indeed out of the Duchess (originally the Duke), giving a suave and worldly air to this ruler, and showing her as the kind of calmly assured authority figure who never has to mention her authority in order for it to be respected -- in effect, a natural leader.
Shakespeare unflinchingly assigns the blame for the whole catastrophic horror show to Iago. There's no moral equivocation here, no hint that the society as a whole may have been at fault, no "but maybe this or that other character contributed...." Not from the author. Professional analysts of drama, or of the human psyche, absolutely love these kinds of debating points. But they are more germane to any discussion of the ways in which this play is still frighteningly relevant than they are to the play itself.
Shakespearean audiences would have understood loud and clear, right from Iago's first soliloquy, that he is a sinner of the highest order. They'd immediately recognize his consuming hatred of "the Moor" as Wrath, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Envy is another, and Iago sports that characteristic clearly and proudly too. As if all that were not enough to condemn him, he perjures himself -- and that was clearly understood to be a guaranteed one-way ticket to the eternal fires of hell. It's his very pride in his deeply-rooted evil nature that stamps him as utterly and unrepentantly damned.
It's easy for a modern audience to forget such old theological concepts when considering the play, but Shakespeare's audience would have had no trouble recognizing which way the playwright's moral compass was pointing.
For today's society, the overt racism of Roderigo, Brabantio, and Iago is a troubling mirror we see held before us. So is the credulity of multiple characters hoodwinked by Iago's potent mixture of untruth, half-truth, and assurances of fealty, loyalty, and love. That credulity, too, we see mirrored every day on the internet, among people of all political stripes. Even more certainly, the harsh patriarchal treatment of the women in the play disturbs our sensibilities and rouses our indignation.
This production, directed by Nigel Shawn Williams, is filled from the first scene to the last with fiery energy. At 3 hours, it's a long show, but there was certainly no slackening of interest or engagement from this onlooker.
To highlight the contemporary nature of the themes, and the timeless validity of the characters, designer Denyse Karn has cast the play in modern dress, on a bare stage with only the most minimal use of physical set pieces. The conventional symmetrical configuration of the Festival Theatre stage is replaced with an asymmetrical broad staircase rising to the stage right side, a smaller ramp to the stage left exit, and an irregularly zig-zagging back wall which serves as a projection screen (the projections are also designed by Karn). As soon as the play begins, it becomes apparent that the wall is in fact a scrim -- a feature which lends a very useful possibility of long entrances and offstage spaces into what is actually a small acting space.
In the very first scene, Brabantio is portrayed by Randy Hughson as one of those sputtering, ineffectual old men so common in the commedia dell'arte tradition. It's not a funny character, but this approach definitely sets Brabantio up to be let down by the senate of Venice and the Duchess.
Michelle Giroux makes a very good thing indeed out of the Duchess (originally the Duke), giving a suave and worldly air to this ruler, and showing her as the kind of calmly assured authority figure who never has to mention her authority in order for it to be respected -- in effect, a natural leader.
Even someone who wasn't familiar with the play would recognize the foppish Roderigo of Farhang Ghajar immediately as a dupe and a patsy.
E. B. Smith gave a strong performance in the small but important role of Montano.
Juan Chioran easily assumed the mantle of Lodovico in his authoritative handling of the final scene.
Johnathan Sousa gave a portrayal of Cassio that captured multiple aspects of the man. It would be easy to make Cassio into simply a goody-two-shoes, but there was more than this in Sousa's take on the character.
As Bianca, Shruti Kothari moved with great energy and a sultry veneer of sexiness, but lacked a little in vocal power, or diction, or both. Her words didn't carry ideally to the upper rows of the theatre.
The Emilia of Laura Condlin encompassed military coldness (this staging brought her to Cyprus as a fellow soldier, not just as a camp follower), earnest helpfulness, and deep compassion and love. Her final scene, in which she blows the whistle on her husband, showed her rising to a pitch of true rage, an Avenging Fury to the life.
All of these characters were effective in their different roles, no question. But Othello, far more the other Shakespeare plays I've seen this week, depends utterly on the strength of the three main characters.
First, Desdemona. Amelia Sargisson moulded her into far more than just a sweet young thing with a pretty face and dreams of heroism. This Desdemona had a strong backbone, and a voice of her own, and wasn't afraid to stand with the one and use the other. She set the tone right at the beginning with her almost combative assertion of her will as she faced her father. Throughout the play, she had great presence and drew the eye whenever she was on stage. This Desdemona was every bit a match for the strong-willed personality of Othello.
That strength and presence sustained her even through her tragic mood in the Willow scene -- which is why it was so heart-rending to see it all desert her in her final moments. Well her strength might fail her, when faced with the unaccountable murderous rage of her husband. But recognizing that rationally did nothing to lessen the sting as I watched her crumble in the face of his onslaught. A memorable and rewarding interpretation of a difficult role.
Michael Blake as Othello: powerful of voice and physical presence, full of life and energy in the earlier parts of the play. Blake accomplished a finely paced transition from full confidence in Desdemona and himself to his utter loss of both. Masterful acting indeed, as he executed a slow-motion dance of death with his own tragic fate, moving nearer to his jealousy, then back a step or two, then a little closer, and back a bit less. I was especially impressed by the way his grief towered to the skies in the final moments of his life -- without in the least impairing the clarity of his diction. This was a performance in which, truly, every word counted.
I wish I could say the same about Gordon S. Miller's Iago. The richest parts of his performance came right in the place where many actors get into difficulties -- the soliloquies. In these extended odes to hate, every phrase of every sentence was turned and polished in just the right degree to make the maximum impact. And the impact was immense: every inch of his evil intentions came rocketing out at us with the force of gunshots. It was in some of his dialogue scenes with other characters that problems arose. For a time, it seemed that we were back in the bad old days of the 1970s to 1990s, when far too many Shakespeare performances were all about spitting the words out and getting to the finish line in record time. Whole swatches of Iago disappeared in a blur. I'm sure that Miller was pronouncing all the words, but he was doing it at the speed of a Gilbert and Sullivan patter song on overdrive, and those words weren't getting through to us.
On the opposite pole, there were several moments when he was delivering stage asides and they were so quiet as to be inaudible. Pity -- because there was so much strength in his performance, including his expressive face, body language, the speed with which he changed his vocal tones almost as if he were switching masks, the genuine power of his bigger moments, and above all in those amazing soliloquies. I know it's a long play, but I would gladly have sat for an extra five or ten minutes past eleven o'clock to be able to hear more of Iago's words.
Despite the trouble spots I've mentioned, make no mistake that this Othello was a powerful, incisive, and utterly gripping performance of great tragic intensity.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Small Personal Footnote: Stratford Festival's website includes, inside its Members area, a checklist of the entire Shakespearean canon which can be used to track how many of the Bard's plays you've seen staged at Stratford.
With this performance of Othello, I've checked off the last tragedy on the list. Now, just seven plays remain to go. They are:
I don't think my chances are that good. The Two Noble Kinsmen has, I believe, been staged at Stratford only once in the years since it was "officially" admitted to the Shakespearean canon. And I don't know if the three-part marathon history of Henry VI has ever been done completely here. More recently, Henry VI has been staged in a condensed version, collapsing the three lengthy plays into two even shorter parts.
Also, as a historian, I must admit with shame that I don't really know a damn thing about Henry VI except that he came somewhere in between Henry V and Henry VII -- them I know.
In spite of the rarity of all these plays, I will still maintain hope. Fingers crossed!
Henry VI Parts 1, 2, and 3
Richard II
The Two Gentlemen of Verona
The Comedy of Errors
The Two Noble Kinsmen
I don't think my chances are that good. The Two Noble Kinsmen has, I believe, been staged at Stratford only once in the years since it was "officially" admitted to the Shakespearean canon. And I don't know if the three-part marathon history of Henry VI has ever been done completely here. More recently, Henry VI has been staged in a condensed version, collapsing the three lengthy plays into two even shorter parts.
Also, as a historian, I must admit with shame that I don't really know a damn thing about Henry VI except that he came somewhere in between Henry V and Henry VII -- them I know.
In spite of the rarity of all these plays, I will still maintain hope. Fingers crossed!
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