Theatre in Review: The Merchant of Venice (Theatre for a New Audience)John Douglas Thompson long ago established himself as one of the best classical actors around; still, his wholly original Shylock is in a league of its own. He is central to Arin Arbus' staging of The Merchant of Venice, which aims to turn Shakespeare's play inside out and nearly succeeds. It's been the practice for some time now to see Shylock as more sinned against than sinning, but Thompson takes it a step further, turning him into a model of probity and, arguably, the only sympathetic character onstage. His is not the standard ethnic interpretation: Sporting a yarmulke and prayer shawl, he is nevertheless a contemporary man of business -- this is a modern-dress production -- who carries himself confidently and expresses himself with frankness. You can call him suave, and nobody will contradict you. Not that such behavior earns him any respect among his fellow citizens of Venice. Attempting to shake hands with Antonio, the play's overly leveraged title character, Shylock is coolly rebuffed, slapped, and spat on. Even when taking Shylock's money, Antonio employs a chorus of insults against his benefactor. Later, when Shylock is offstage, Salerio, one of Antonio's cronies, will brutally caricature the moneylender, using a crude Yiddish accent. So thoroughly is antisemitism embedded in this society that such casual cruelty is barely noticed. In casting a Black actor, Arbus is not directly making a political statement -- Thompson is far from being the only person of color onstage -- but in certain moments the actor uses his race to his advantage. In a lengthy speech calling out Antonio for his abuse, Shylock semi-satirically adopts a shuffling manner, enraging the other man. When, after the elopement of Shylock's daughter, Jessica, his friend Tubal notes, "One of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter for a monkey," a shocked silence follows the implied slur. And when, thanks to Jessica's deceits and thievery, Shylock's world collapses, holding him up to public mockery, his distress and fury are painful to watch. Other actors, like Dustin Hoffman and Al Pacino, have created Shylocks suffused with sorrow or corrupted by grievance; Thompson gives us a decent man robbed and humiliated, shaking with frustration and fury. Despite everything, he still struggles to grasp the viciousness to which he is subjected, simply for existing. Whenever Thompson tackles one of the great classic roles, he must be seen; here he turns a problematic character -- one argued over across the centuries -- into a genuinely tragic figure. Dwelling as he does in a system stacked against him, it is little wonder that Shylock insists on the execution of his bond against Antonio, with its infamous penalty of a pound of flesh. If revenge is undeniably part of his motive, he clings to the written laws of the city-state as his only defense against his multitude of enemies; otherwise, he is powerless. So great is his fury at being dehumanized that when he stands before Antonio, pressing a knife against him, the effect is electrifying. If the rest of the cast approached Thompson's brilliance, this would be a Merchant of Venice for the ages. Sadly, Arbus' Venetians are a rather drab lot and the scenes without Thompson are sometimes listlessly executed. There are exceptions: Shirine Babb makes Nerissa, Portia's waiting-maid, into a high-powered executive assistant with an amusingly sharp tongue. Maurice Jones pulls off a hat trick as a fatuous Prince of Morocco, a deeply sympathetic Tubal, and an authoritative Duke. Graham Winton's Salerio is eminently well-spoken. But, by and large, there's an absence of sparkle on the stage at Theatre for a New Audience, along with a lack of humor and a dearth of incisive characterizations. The weakest link is Isabel Arraiza, who delivers a surprisingly lackluster Portia; first seen in a tracksuit, exercising, she is a busy, purposeful heroine with little of the wit and radiance that made Geraldine James, Laila Robins, and Lily Rabe so distinctive in the role. Distressingly, she makes very little of the "quality of mercy" speech, a compelling plea for compassion in a world of bad bargains and compromised morals. (It's a chestnut but it's also the key to the play.) In the courtroom scene, when she should command the stage, pursuing a line of argument that turns Shylock's suit against him, she barely makes an impression. Then again, this may be in keeping with Arbus' intent, in which Portia becomes a cold figure of vengeance. It's now standard to present Antonio as being in love with his young friend Bassanio; it helps to explain the ill-conceived loan that lands Antonio in so much trouble. Adding to Antonio's agony, he borrows the money from Shylock to finance Bassanio's wooing of Portia. (Alfredo Narciso's pained, emotionally repressed Antonio is the production's second-most-accomplished performance.) But this is the first Merchant of Venice I've seen in which the attraction is mutual, and the men are, perhaps, ex-lovers. At a moment of high tension in the courtroom, Bassanio passionately kisses Antonio, a gesture not lost on Portia. Indeed, the excessive penalties that she secures against Shylock are a form of deflected fury: She must punish him for inadvertently revealing a side of Bassanio that she would rather not see. Once again, Shylock is the victim of Christian malfeasance. The men's kiss also gives Portia, still in disguise as a lawyer, the motivation to badger Bassanio into handing over the all-important ring she gave him as a sacred bond of their love. This cues the play's ultimate recognition scene when Portia's impersonation is exposed. (In Arraiza's strongest moment, she greets Antonio, saying "You are welcome" with all the acid she can muster for her rival in love.) Often played for high comedy, it ends here with Antonio parting, lonely and embittered, and the play's trio of romantic couples on the rocks. In Arbus' interpretation, dishonesty and prejudice feed on themselves, bringing dissatisfaction to all. The production is paced by a sleek, no-frills design that keeps the focus on the text and characters. Riccardo Hernández's stepped unit set, with three levels and sliding doors, allows the action to proceed without pause, aided by Marcus Doshi's strong use of sidelight to carve out the cast. I'm not convinced that modern dress is the best approach to The Merchant of Venice -- the contemporary context makes the pound of flesh bargain and the subplot with Portia and her suitors look glaringly strange -- but Emily Rebholz's costumes are solid enough, as is Justin Ellington's original music and sound design, which makes good use of tolling bells. In elevating Shylock, does Arbus' approach necessarily diminish everyone else? Or would a stronger cast add fresh layers of intrigue and complexity? It's hard to know; perhaps future productions will tell. In its best passages, this one wrestles powerfully with a controversial and troubling play, finding new insights without resorting to excessive or unnecessary trickery. (Arbus also engineers a memorable finale, sparked by the use of the Yom Kippur prayer Kol Nidre.) And in Thompson it has a Shylock of towering emotion and fresh insights. -- David Barbour 
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