New Haven Register (New Haven, CT)
Courtyard, music aside, ‘Merchant’ stumbles
Fete the individual who thought of staging Shakespeare’s “The Merchant of Venice” in the Yale Law School courtyard. Whatever one thinks of the play or director Karin Coonrod’s production, scarcely a soul would reasonably argue that this special venue doesn’t suit the play aptly.
“The Merchant of Venice,” which continues through Saturday as part of the International Festival of Arts & Ideas, is arguably Shakespeare’s most notorious play, fraught with anti-Semitism, such as it is. As with the inherent male chauvinism so intrinsically constructed throughout “The Taming of the Shrew,” it’s never been so difficult to rationalize the offensive material in “The Merchant of Venice” regardless of how eloquent the speech and mild the manner of anyone trying to sell the play otherwise.
For those of us who saved our hall pass for Shakespeare class, the cornerstone of the play is revenge for Shylock, a Jewish money lender, against the gentiles who routinely slur and scald him. When Shylock fails to secure his pound of Antonio’s flesh for an unpaid debt, the Christian court sentences Shylock — whose daughter has just eloped with a gentile with half of his loot — to convert to its religion and forfeiture of his remaining estate.
Yet one notes that “The Merchant of Venice” lists among Shakespeare’s comedies, and, indeed, the play concludes on the newlyweds’ revels. Many perceive the play more of an inverted melodrama with Shylock cast in the villain’s role, despite his eloquence in self-defense that certainly humanizes his character and elicits empathy. If one’s compassion toward Shylock sticks, one likely sees the Christian majority as the heavy and Shylock as the victim of injustice.
Most directors have attempted with varying degrees of success to point up Shylock’s humanity and, indeed, regard him as the play’s abused protagonist. In this spirit, Coonrod has cast five diversely different actors as Shylock to personify his varied personalities: Shylock as businessman; father; mother; widower; and killer.
If this device looks good on paper, its success is more elusive in practice. Frequent theatergoers familiar with the play are likely to digest this concept. Such nontraditional theatricality, however, may baffle those unversed in the play and unexposed to nonrealistic staging. Traditionalists may also question the director’s refusal to simply cast one actor capable of portraying all of these traits convincingly.
The other earmark of this production, which premiered two years ago in a Venetian ghetto, is the director’s reach for comedy. Coonrod stated in an interview that she endeavors to accentuate the contrasts in the complex script, specifically from comedy and romance to tragedy. To this end, she tries bolstering the play’s lighter, romantic side by, in one instance, adding a prologue from Ruzante’s “Oration on
Love,” a poem recited in its native Italian, and surrounded front and back by a revelry consisting of dance, chants and winks to the audience. Trouble is, the performers pitch the wooing with too much force and their over-solicitation grates. This hard sell, particularly from the supporting players, undermines much of the production and adds to the production’s unevenness. One wishes that they didn’t work so arduously to win our favor.
Coonrod often positions her actors dangerously far apart from each other as well as on all sides of the sprawling audience. Yes, their voices run through amplifiers and centralized speakers, but that only exacerbates the difficulty in locating the human source, who could be behind theatergoers or on the opposite side of the dimly lit courtyard. It’s tempting to just let one of these scenes blow over until the actors come out in front of the audience where we can discern who’s saying what. It’s one thing to make us work a bit for our enrichment, but at least scrape the carrot cleanly before dangling it before us in hopes of leading us along the journey.
Linda Powell’s Portia, the heiress of Belmont who, dissembling as a lawyer named Balthazar, saves Antonio’s life in court, is better suited to her incognito role than her natural one. Her authoritative voice and even-keeled disposition make her an interesting litigator, if a somewhat dull lover.
Sandro Isaack strikes the correct chord as Antonio, the titular character. His love and devotion to Bassanio is unimpeachable. Isaack, like Powell, delivers his lines unfettered and honestly.
The choicest production element is Frank London’s original music, performed live by a sixperson ensemble under the composer’s direction. The music evokes the right mood for all moments and never gets in the way of the performance.
With a running time of 2:15 without intermission, this production boasts some effective moments (especially in the climatic court scenes) too often sandwiched between tedious stretches where actors employ exaggerated physicality to put over every line. Their apparent insecurity with the text is contagious to the audience.