The Merchant of Venice (21 page)
Read The Merchant of Venice Online
Authors: William Shakespeare
His private world contains touchstones—Jessica his daughter being the most important. His love of his daughter is tainted by over protectiveness, which is endemic to many societies … When his daughter is stolen from him by a Christian the profound pain, insult and shame push him onto a road from which there is no return.
46
As a reminder to the audience in the trial scene, “a sob escapes this Shylock as he recalls his daughter”:
47
“and when he is finally tricked of justice, Calder’s hollow laughter and sudden physical frailty leave no doubt that here is a man with a broken heart with nothing left to live for.”
48
Sinead Cusack (1981) played Portia as a woman in a state of grief over the death of her father. She even wore her father’s shabby raincoat in order to relate herself to “the wise and ‘ever virtuous’ old man who understood the law and money and marriage.”
49
The casket test was put in place in order to stop her from marrying someone who would treat her as a commodity, to weed out opportunist fortune hunters (ironically, like Bassanio). However, even here Portia’s father’s test succeeds, as Bassanio finds his own true worth in this match:
Receiving her suitors almost in a melancholic trance, Sinead Cusack invests Portia with translucent intelligence. The caskets are simple boxes thrown vigorously aside as Bassanio picks the right one. At last this Portia comes alive, dropping her inhibitions with her grey cloak and, turning on Bassanio, blossoming as an ecstatic vision in primrose. The liberation of Portia continues through the court scene, where Miss Cusack’s lawyer is less an impersonation than a revelation of her true crop-haired self. In the exchanging of the rings she asserts her independence, for Bassanio now sees he is married to a woman of wit, steadfastness and resource.
50
Other Portias have been less fortunate, with their Bassanios’ sexual ambiguity becoming one hurdle too far to happiness. Of Clifford Williams’ 1965 production, one critic commented on the treatment of Antonio and Bassanio:
in this production it’s clear from the start that between him and Bassanio there is what is euphemistically described as a romantic friendship. Brewster Mason’s heavy, ageing Antonio is the counterpart of today’s wealthy bachelor stockbroker with a big house in Surrey and aberrations so tidily exercised that only his more intimate friends know about them … Even
in imminent danger from Shylock’s knife, he keeps his eyes affectionately fixed on the boyfriend whose extravagance has brought him to this situation. Peter McEnery, a graceful, handsome, very young Bassanio, fond of his old protector, who has given him so much—fonder, in fact, than he is of Portia. I suspect he’s not really very fond of Portia at all; but she’s a rich and “with it” girl, and marrying her will be a smart thing to do. So when he is with her, when he is actually professing his love for her, his eyes wander round the company to see what kind of impression he’s making. There is a lot of Lord Alfred Douglas
*
in this Bassanio …
51
Despite his centrality to the plot, Antonio comes across as a despicable racist to a modern audience. Again to redress the balance and find elements of sympathy, directors have emphasized the character’s loneliness, also making him an outsider by dint of his sexuality. In 1987 John Carlisle’s Antonio “became agitated as Portia became a threat to his homoerotic love for Bassanio. Carlisle remained on stage as the scene changed from Belmont and fixed Portia with a confrontational glare.”
52
His moroseness was attributed to his unrequited love for Bassanio; like Orlando at the start of
Twelfth Night
, he was lovesick to the point of suicide:
But the strength of the production … is that the action springs from a precise social and psychological context; and one of the undoubted beneficiaries is John Carlisle’s excellent Antonio, presented as a tormented closet-gay.
That is not especially original. What is new is the idea that in such a rabidly conformist world Antonio would actually prefer death to restricted life; and Mr Carlisle greets his salvation with sullen, angry resentment.
53
In these interpretations the genuineness of Bassanio’s feelings is called into question, leaving the audience to ponder whether Portia will receive the expected happiness at their union. In 1971:
[As] Tony Church plays him there is no question of his love for Bassanio, but it is a melancholy undemanding love with no physical expression; thus it becomes acceptable within the production’s romantic terms … in scenes like that following the trial, where he tries to hold polite conversation while on the brink of nervous collapse, he makes old situations brand new … [Michael Williams’ Bassanio] makes an opening display of smothering Antonio in grateful kisses, but after that he reverts to the perfect lover: while [Judi] Dench turns her radiant resources on Portia so as to burn up personal characteristics in the sheer experience of love.
54
Due to the inherent doubts over Bassanio’s motivations—he makes it clear that he is initially out for a wealthy match, and at the trial states that his love for Antonio is greater than his love for his new bride—the portrayal of the wooing of Portia has also become a means of differentiating Bassanio from her other suitors. In Barton’s 1978 production:
The first two suitors approached her from behind, avoiding eye contact, whereas Bassanio knelt in front and addressed her directly over the caskets … creating a silent moment of human contact … The exchange of lovers’ rings occurred underneath a central spotlight emphasising the importance of the exchange and creating a strong image that would later prove significant … an important learning process …
Antonio rejoined the lovers’ hands, reconciling the worlds of Belmont and Venice, and the rings were once again held in the central light used during the betrothal scene. This was evidence of a greater understanding gained through experience, and as Portia pronounced, “It is almost morning” [5.1.313] it promised an understanding that would develop and mature in future.
55
Deborah Findlay (1987) pointed out that in the wooing scenes:
Both Morocco and Aragon want to dominate Portia, Morocco by machismo and Aragon by a patronizing approach. We felt
that Morocco would treat a wife as his property, appropriate her physically, so there was a bit of manhandling in the scene which Portia reacted against. This may have been seen as reacting against his colour but it is much more to do with being treated as a sexual object—an interesting conundrum: who is the oppressor?
56
In this production both Jew and woman were the oppressed races, at the mercy of the charity of the white Christian male. This was driven home by a very startling final image of Antonio and Jessica, two characters who themselves will always remain outsiders because of sexuality and race. However, Antonio, being a man and a Christian, powerfully demonstrated which sex and which religion remained on top. Jessica was left
… half kneeling before Antonio, trying to get back the long chain and cross she has dropped in her haste to keep up with Lorenzo. Antonio draws it from her, mastering for a moment a victim who is still nothing but a Jew and a woman. And then there is darkness.
57
The link between Portia and Shylock has been emphasized in many productions. Of John Barton’s 1981 revival of his 1978 production, Sinead Cusack explained:
A lot of people ask why then does Portia put everyone through all that misery and why does she play cat-and-mouse with Shylock. The reason is that she doesn’t go into the courtroom to save Antonio (that’s easy) but to save Shylock, to redeem him—she is passionate to do that. She gives him opportunity after opportunity to relent and to exercise his humanity … It is only when he shows himself totally ruthless and intractable (refusing even to allow a surgeon to stand by) that she offers him more justice than he desires.
58
One critic commented:
Besides her apt resemblance to a fairytale princess Miss Cusack is one of the rare Portias who can stay in character while
enlarging on the quality of mercy (which she plays as a strictly forensic argument) … There is no trace of the bitch or the boss lady. All the essential characteristics are there, but for once human accuracy does not disfigure the fable.
59
Portia’s reaction to Antonio’s demand that Shylock renounce his faith can also be a key moment in which to demonstrate her innate decency. In David Thacker’s 1993 production, Penny Downie played her “with glowing intelligence, as a decent woman visibly upset by Shylock’s forced conversion to Christianity.”
60
This reaction again came from an empathy with Shylock’s plight as a victimized section of society: “[She] subtly and generously portrays a Portia who is both imperious and victimised, a woman who knows she has been made into a bargaining counter and clings to her dignity as to a lifebelt.”
61
The actor playing Portia has the difficulty of creating a character that a modern audience can believe has an immense capacity for love and generosity of spirit, despite the many dubious lines Shakespeare has given her. As a result, it is often Portia herself who is on trial in the courtroom, as she will be judged by her actions and reactions to the bigoted Venetian mentality. Surely Shakespeare’s intention was to have us believe that “Belmont becomes the soul which Venice has lost.”
62
As director David Thacker explained: “Belmont offers us something that can renew and reform. It allows the quality of mercy to spread throughout the whole civilization and heal.”
63
David Thacker’s
directing career spans more than thirty years, during which time he has directed over a hundred productions. He is particularly known for his close working relationship with the American playwright Arthur Miller, directing the British premieres of four of his plays. He has been artistic director of the Young Vic and Lancaster’s Dukes theater as well as director in residence at the RSC, for whom he has directed
The Two Gentlemen of Verona
,
Julius
Caesar
,
The Merchant of Venice
(discussed here),
Coriolanus
, and
Pericles
, which won the Olivier Awards for Best Director and Best Revival. At the Young Vic he directed
An Enemy of the People
,
Ghosts
,
Some Kind of Hero
by Les Smith,
A Touch of the Poet
by Eugene O’Neill, and
Comedians
by Trevor Griffiths. He also works prolifically in television, having directed more than thirty TV productions. In 2008 he was appointed artistic director of the Octagon Theatre in Bolton.
Darko Tresnjak
is a prominent American theater director. He has received the Alan Schneider Award for Directing Excellence and several other awards. Born in the city of Zemun, Yugoslavia (now Serbia), he emigrated to the United States with his mother when he was ten years old. He graduated from Swarthmore College in 1988, then attended the Columbia University School of the Arts MFA theater directing program. From 2004 to 2007 he was artistic director of the Old Globe Shakespeare Festival in San Diego, California, where he is now resident artistic director. His productions there have included
Pericles, The Winter’s Tale, Hamlet, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Titus Andronicus, The Comedy of Errors, The Two Noble Kinsmen
, and
Antony and Cleopatra
. He talks here about his modern dress (Wall Street–style) production of
The Merchant of Venice
with Theater for a New Audience in New York, which transferred to Stratford-upon-Avon in 2007 as part of the RSC Complete Works Festival. Shylock was F. Murray Abraham, winner of an Oscar for his role as Salieri in the movie
Amadeus
.
The Merchant of Venice
is the play that has changed in our common estimation and viewpoint probably more than any other, because of twentieth-century history. What implications did that have for your production? Does the play demand that you take a particular line on it?
THACKER:
It had very profound implications for the production. I’m not sure I’d ever describe it as a particular “line,” but I think that you have particular responsibilities in directing that play. Your primary responsibility is to William Shakespeare. When you do any production
of a Shakespeare play you have a profound responsibility to try to understand the play and to try to express it as richly and as powerfully as you can. Having said that, I think every play is responsive not only to the time in which it was written, but also the time in which you perform it. And certain things that are acceptable to one generation are not acceptable when time moves on. Because of the extent of anti-Semitism in our society, and because of what Jewish people have had to suffer historically, coming to a terrible climax in the Holocaust, I think it is vital that you approach this play with enormous care and sensitivity.
When I’m directing any play by Shakespeare I try to approach it as if William Shakespeare was in the rehearsal room with us. If I was working with a living playwright I would be in constant dialogue about the meaning of the play and what the playwright was trying to achieve, and how we might express that most effectively. With Shakespeare, self-evidently, you can’t speak to him or conjure him up, so all you can do is proceed honestly and with integrity in relation to that play. I believe that if Shakespeare were alive now he would not give permission for the play to be performed uncut—I’m certain that he would rewrite it. It’s the only Shakespeare play I’ve ever directed where I said at the beginning of the rehearsal period, “I’m going to make some cuts.” The context has changed so drastically that I think that the play needs delicate
attention
. I think that does affect the meaning of the play, and so I was very clear in my own mind that this was a conscious decision I would take. These weren’t massive changes and to a lot of people might have been totally imperceptible. It was partly, for example, a number of judicious prunings of the word “Jew,” particularly when uttered by Portia. Although it’s fashionable to turn Portia into a kind of rich bitch, she is clearly the life force at the heart of the play. She is the person who argues passionately for redemption, for the classic Shakespearean themes—particularly as his achievement grew to full maturity in the Late Plays—of mercy, redemption, forgiveness. But in that scene I don’t know how many times we cut the word “Jew.” It becomes like a hammer banging on a nail, “Jew,” “Jew,” “Jew,” “Jew,” all with a slight pejorative edge to it. It inevitably affects what
one’s sensitivities are in relation to the character, so there was a slight pruning there.