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"Back to Basics - Christopher Walken's punk Iago vs. Raul Julia's traditional Othello" - by Carol Rosen Midway through the ambitious Shakespeare marathon, now with its 18th consecutive production, Joseph Papp has produced a memorable, vibrant Othello. This clear, by-the-book production runs counter to recent productions at the New York Shakespeare festival, with its reputation for transporting Shakespeare's plays to new places and periods. Instead, Othello proves itself true to a more vital tradition of the New York Shakespeare Festival. Like the hallmark productions of the open air Delacorte Theater in its glory days, this production relies upon great actors to etch an interpretation of Shakespeare's heroes and villains, fully felt and realized, into the memories of those who spend the afternoon picnicking on line, later to watch Shakespeare played under a summer moon. This production side-steps clever directorial concepts, approaches Shakespeare as an actor's playwright and wisely lets the actors inhabit their roles and make them their own. The director, Joe Dowling of the Abbey Theater, whose Broadway staging of O'Casey's Juno and the Paycock won him well-deserved acclaim three years ago, serves this play and its actors admirably. Dowling's hand is felt in stage business that elevates the action by rooting it in specific gestures: Othello standing bestride a tapestried map; Iago clearing the debris after a night of drunkenness in Cyprus; a classic monumental bust of some Desdemona-like deity (possibly Dian's visage" referred to in the text) toppled very symbolically during the drunken brawl in Cyprus; Iago's follow-spot for his wheel-spinning reveries while the other characters freeze into an attitude; and Desdemona's handkerchief turned into a ventriloquist's handpuppet by Emilia. This fast-paced production hurls itself toward Cyprus, towards storm, towards a "great contention of the sea and skies," towards "hell and night," and "chaos come again." In a nutshell, Dowling's approach is to stand aside and allow the play its timelessness, fluidity, rich ambiguity, and transparency. ***** Designed by Frank Conway, the set is dominated by huge fortress-like slabs of granite, like the walls of Kafka's own Castle, that dwarf the actions framed by them and by the iron scaffolding outside them. Add a deep blue drape and a canopy for the Duke's throne and you don't have the Venice of carnivals and exuberant architecture, but a stately, severe monument of a judgmental world where fates are sealed, and promotions and demotions decided. A tapestry map is unfurled on the floor. For the senators, it's functional; for Othello it is a conquered world to stand bestride; for Iago it is something to trod upon and mock. When the action shifts to Cyprus, the set provides a literal depiction of a world fallen to ruin. The storm at sea is represented by lifting and billowing the blue carpet, revealing a marbled floor beneath - the exterior world of Cyprus feels interior, as private as a chamber. In celebration of Othello's triumph, a vast goddess-like head is wheeled out to center stage, only to be toppled as Othello's world comes to chaos. It gets a bit heavy-handed when the overturned colossal head remains onstage as a memento mori for the rest of the play, serving as Othello's hiding place when he eavesdrops on Cassio's "confession" to Iago in Act III. Oddly, the head is still onstage in Act V, overshadowing Desdemona's white-linened deathbed chamber. ***** Casting is everything here: two of the Festival's most dynamic actors have taken on the challenge of embodying the Moor and his ensign. In this production, Raul Julia's self-assured and vigorous Othello is evenly matched with Christopher Walken's rough-and-tumble poker faced urban con artist. In this production, the journey is not to despair but to the 20th century as we watch Julia's Old World Othello fall to Walken's post-modern Iago - he and the noble Moor seem to inhabit different epochs. But instead of clashing, these diverse performance styles oddly complement each other. As he proved in the Shakespeare Festival's Coriolanus (1988), Walken can be counted among our bravest and most inventive actors, both at home in formal verse and in bringing a colloquial American rhythm to set speeches. Without compromising the dynamics of the play, Christopher Walken makes Iago his own, alternating between obsequious camaraderie and the contemporary street-smart cynicism of someone who feels perpetually short-changed. In public, he is a very confident and affectionate fellow, hale and hearty, listening so intently to every bit of dialogue he seems to swallow all the air in every scene in which he appears. He is an opportunistic Iago, improvising his plan in light of given circumstances. Walken's Iago circles the other characters, and the director has come up with a clever bit of staging to underscore Iago as a spider, with a web in which he will ensnare them all. Iago's asides are punctuated by a sudden spotlight on Walken, as all other actor's freeze into an attitude. Rendered motionless and unawares, the other never hear Iago breathe right into their ears the poison of which he so proudly boasts. In III.iii, he waves the strawberry-spotted handkerchief right in front of Othello's face - like a red flag in front of a bull - and the Moor does not even blink. With Raul Julia's Othello, Walken is most insinuating and self-deprecating. He shrugs and shakes his head in disbelief, he mumbles (a stage mumble, of course - Walken's diction is as clear as glass), and he hunches in on himself always obedient to the Moor. His phrasing gets him lots of laughs - from the sharp throwaway jokes of Act I ("Put money in thy purse," and "You're a senator") straight through to his Act V condolences and denials. He even gets laughs on "I am not what I am," delivered with a wagging head and hand, as if scolding a child while sing-songing "oh, no, no, no." Clad in leather ready-for-action military wear designed by Jane Greenwood as a Renaissance version of the Eisenhower jacket, his Iago really does appear 28, as he is portrayed in the script, with awkward hand gestures and occasional shadow-boxing. He saws the air as he proclaims his heart is not on his sleeve for daws to peck at, and, with a casual athleticism, he punches Roderigo in the face while calling him his fool, his purse. Walken also spews out the line, "Love me; reward me" with brooding egocentrism. (on to page 2) |
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