Othello is a play about evil. What happens to decent, upstanding, moral people when an agent of pure wickedness is injected into their midst?
It matters, therefore, that the evil is evil enough. Tom Morris’s production at the Theatre Royal Haymarket, starring David Harewood in the title role and Toby Jones as his nemesis Iago, is spellbinding in many ways. The acting is exquisite. The set by Ti Green – twisting arches suspended above the stage, mesh screens on which eerie projections play out the inner workings of Othello’s mind – is mesmerising. The pacing is so sharp, so slickly executed that two and three-quarter hours fly by with a lightness of touch that often evades Shakespearean productions. In entertainment terms, it is pure brilliance.
But on the question of evil, something is missing. Jones, a national treasure loved up and down the country for his portrayal as a crusading sub-postmaster in Mr Bates vs The Post Office, sparkles as Iago. His asides to the audience outlining his plan to ruin other people’s lives for the hell of it captivate and delight; the enactment of his puppeteering agenda, making Othello believe his wife Desdemona has been unfaithful and driving him to commit the most terrible crime, is a joy to watch. But should it be? Impish, compelling, with an instinct for comic delivery that defies the darkness of the script, Jones gets the audience on his side – where they remain, even as the tragedy plays out its bloody conclusion.
Harewood, who was the first black actor to play Othello at the National Theatre in 1997, is also phenomenal, charting the hero’s psychological descent from a charmingly authoritative general to tormented madman capable of enacting terrible violence. But the cuts to the script that enable it to rollick along so swiftly detract somewhat. We get more of an insight into Iago’s scheming than Othello’s tortured soul. The most chilling moment of tragedy comes from a scene without either of them: Desdemona (played with a dreamlike grace by Caitlin Fitzgerald) preparing for the night she fears will bring her death assisted by Iago’s wife Emilia (Vinette Robinson – one of the undisputed stars of this show), the two women hauntingly reflecting on the fate of women and their own powerlessness. It’s devastating. It is also out of step with the rest of the play.
Maybe that doesn’t matter. It is hard to fault any single aspect of this production, from the stellar acting to the ghostly music by PJ Harvey. And sometimes the bleakest tragedy is thrown into even stronger relief by a comic edge. But taken altogether, it’s too easy to laugh along with Jones’ devilish plan, rather than succumb to the horror. It’s a sensational version of Othello. But it’s not a sensational tragedy.
[See also: The Line of Beauty: How not to adapt a great novel]
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