Theatre in Review: Othello (Ethel Barrymore Theatre)

	Denzel Washington, Jake Gyllenhaal. Photo: Julieta Cervantes

As far as I can tell, this much-anticipated revival's objective is to deliver a fast-paced Othello, cut to a relatively brief two hours and thirty minutes and heavily focused on stars Denzel Washington and Jake Gyllenhaal. That's all. On those terms, I suppose you can say it is a success. But what small ambitions these artists harbor!

To the extent that Kenny Leon's revival has any point of view, it involves updating the action to the modern day -- "the near future," as the production's sole projection puts it -- with Venice's war against Cyprus portrayed as a classic military occupation. (This has been tried before, in Sam Gold's 2016 staging, which suggested a Western army stationed in Afghanistan or Iraq.) It isn't a terrible idea, although one wonders why Emilia -- who, after all, is Desdemona's lady's maid -- appears in military fatigues, displaying an oo-rah attitude, and what Roderigo, Desdemona's would-be lover, is doing running around Cyprus in civilian clothing, a laminated badge around his neck. Is he a government operative? An embedded reporter? We never find out.

Then again, such details might not nag as much if the production exerted a surer grip. But, for whatever reason, Leon has built this Othello for speed and nothing else, apparently urging the actors to deliver their lines as rapidly as possible with minimal inflection. This understated, yet rapid-fire approach results in long stretches when one has the sensation of watching actors running their lines; keeping up with the sheer rush of words can be a chore. This isn't a comment on Justin Ellington's sound design; it's about diction and finding the emotion and music in Shakespeare's text. It's also a matter of confronting this material where it lives: Othello verges on outright melodrama, its action fired by sexual jealousy, public humiliation, racism, and thirst for revenge. This flat-affect approach rolls over such unruly emotions, perhaps because expressing them might take too much time.

In Broadway's current star-crazy climate, a leading actor can be miscast and a major box-office draw. Among the great film stars of his generation, Washington has remained remarkably faithful to the theatre, appearing in Shakespeare (Richard III, Julius Caesar) and twentieth-century classics (Fences, The Iceman Cometh, A Raisin in the Sun) and it was surely inevitable that he would take on Othello. But he may have waited too long: Othello is a natural rebel with a volatile temperament -- in marrying Desdemona, he challenges the Venetian power structure with a scandalous interracial marriage -- and his hot, passionate nature is his downfall. Looking every bit of his seventy years, Washington is a grandfatherly presence, his restrained military bearing giving him a marked resemblance to Colin Powell. His approach is measured, his manner surprisingly mild; when Iago refers to him as "the lusty Othello," one has to wonder what he is talking about. Only occasionally does Washington rise to anything resembling fury; when anger finally comes, it appears out of nowhere and feels strangely muted. Even Othello's notorious moment of rage-induced epilepsy -- here involving crawling on all fours with his tongue hanging out -- looks like an acting exercise.

Gyllenhaal's Iago has its striking touches, talking Black to derogatorily imitate Othello and giving certain lines quick bursts of intensity that hint at the evil festering behind his generally affable manner. But he, too, is undermined by Leon's roadrunner approach; he is so busy bustling about, rattling off his lines, ticking off items on his to-do list as he stage-manages Othello's downfall, we never get a chance to appraise his character, to take the measure of whatever it is - Envy? Lust? A motiveless malignity? -- that drives him.

With two stars ill-met in Natasha Katz's expertly designed moonlight, their leading ladies are inevitably left at sea. The transformation of Emilia into a tough-talking jarhead flattens her character and deprives her of key motivations; absent her normally tempestuous relationship with Iago, how to explain her rash decision to steal Desdemona's handkerchief? How can she stand by stoically while Othello abuses his wife for having lost this token? (Emilia seems to have forgotten who landed her mistress in such hot water.) Such choices leave Kimber Elayne Sprawl without a character to play; finally turning her ire on Iago in the final scene, her voice sounds unpleasantly strained. Perhaps as a way of dealing with the glaring age difference, Molly Osborne's Desdemona is notably chic and sophisticated, but she and Washington share zero chemistry, and one has no sense of her hold over him. They seem more like middle-aged marrieds than ardent, norm-defying lovers. Osborne is a West End name of some note, but we will have to wait for another production to get a sense of her talent.

Andrew Burnap gives the standout performance as Michael Cassio, infusing his lines with charm and humor, and powerfully communicating his devastating loss of face following a drunken brawl that imperils his career prospects. (His lament, "O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial," is the most moving thing at the Barrymore these nights.) Anthony Michael Lopez turns Roderigo into an amusing doofus who pretty much gets what he deserves. (He gets a well-earned laugh, peevishly announcing, "I will incontinently drown myself.") As Brabantio, Desdemona's father, Daniel Pearce seems more put out than outraged, but that's par for the course in this production.

Derek McLane's bleak, monumental set, dominated by pillars worn down by the ravages of weather and time, makes more sense for Venice than sunny Cyprus. Still, the pillars move, adding visual variety and helpfully reconfiguring the space for more intimate scenes. Katz's lighting acts like a scalpel, slicing the actors out of the darkness. She and McLane collaborate effectively on certain effects: at one point, a diaphanous curtain comes in, which, backlit, reveals Desdemona's boudoir, soon to be her tomb. It's an eerily powerful touch. Dede Ayite's costumes rely heavily on uniforms and power suits, although Desdemona has a couple of Vogue-worthy ensembles. Ellington's sound design includes a mildly bewildering collection of musical selections, blending soul music, EDM, light classical, and hip-hop; his effects include roaring airplane engines, thunder, and a military alarm signal.

The staging occasionally threatens to flare up into something urgent and dramatic: The murder of Desdemona is as horrible as anyone could wish, and Washington makes something pathetic out of Othello's halting, after-the-fact defense. ("I have done the state some service...") But this production is for fans only, offering little more than the opportunity to see Washington and Gyllenhaal live, being put through their Shakespearean paces; alas, the paces are all too pedestrian. This Othello is performed neither wisely nor too well. --David Barbour