Othello (Series 4 Episode 1)

First transmitted 4th October 1981

Bob Hoskins provokes the green-eyed monster in Antony Hopkins

Cast: Anthony Hopkins (Othello), Bob Hoskins (Iago), Penelope Wilton (Desdemona), Rosemary Leach (Emilia), David Yelland (Cassio), Geoffrey Chater (Brabantio), John Barron (Duke of Venice), Joseph O’Conor (Lodovico), Anthony Pedley (Roderigo), Tony Steedman (Montano), Wendy Morgan (Bianca)

Director: Jonathan Miller

 

Well there is no escaping it really. The picture above says it all. This production comes from a different time – a time when it was not seen as an unspeakable possibility that a white actor should don the facepaint and boot polish to play theatre’s most famous moor. So let’s tackle that issue first shall we?

For starters, it was not the original intention. Cedric Messina had originally intended to feature Othello in his plans for the second season of Shakespeare productions. He had the perfect actor lined up: James Earl Jones. A respected and well established Broadway star, Jones would have brought a real touch of Hollywood glamour to the series. Unfortunately, in the eyes of Equity he was guilty of an unpardonable fault: he was American. And, damn it, this was a British series that was there to give jobs for British actors – so why should this peach of a role go to some Yankee? So Jones was denied a visa to work on the series – and the production was placed on stand-by.

Enter Jonathan Miller. With no Jones, Miller announced, in his opinion, the play was less about race anyway, more about jealousy and envy. Miller had been one of the few openly critical of Olivier’s casting as Othello in the 60s and also believed Othello was an Arab rather than the African he was so often played as. As such, he focused on picking the best actor and avoiding playing up any racial characteristics in the performance. Of course you could criticise him (clearly) for not identifying a prominent black or Arabic classical actor – but the fact is a cursory glance at the RSC at the time shows he would not have been spoilt for choice in the 1970s. Hugh Quashie (later to appear in the series as a very different moor, Aaron) would have been the obvious choice – and would have given a very fine performance – but this time the election fell on Hopkins.

 

Hopkins does acquit himself well. Recent memories abound of scenery consuming roles in Hollywood films, but his Othello is a softly spoken, very controlled man, who has worked hard to integrate himself into his society – more Venetian than the Venetians. From his first scene, he is calm, rational, gentle and amused at the thought of threat or physical danger. It’s a very conscious absorbing of nobility, his calm assurance notable in a A1 S3 as he leans gently on the council table to tell the particulars of his wooing of Desdemona, smiling and with glances almost daring Brabantio to contradict him. When banishing Cassio, he stands quietly assured, hiding his fury.

 

The aim of Iago is to break down this controlled exterior to reveal the rage beneath. The one area where this man falls down is his almost childlike innocence in love. There is a boyishness in Othello – he playfully wrestles Iago to the floor when arriving in Cyprus – that extends to the chasteness of his relationship with his wife. Their kisses are brief and gentle, almost as if they are waiting to be told off. He seems almost in awe of her – the look on his face when she leaves him in A3 S3 (before Iago goes to work) is almost akin to worship. It hints at a deeper insecurity: as if he cannot believe that he, a stranger in Venetian society, could be loved by such a woman.

 

What a contrast then to the man destroyed by Iago! A3 S3 is a bravura scene of acting and direction (as is his custom, Miller uses many long takes to allow the performances to develop during the scene) and it deconstructs and rebuilds Othello into a man much wilder – almost bestial – than the calmer figure before. The scene is a slow descent: first he is sharper, pointedly stating “she chose me”, making a show of relaxing, of avoiding Iago. From there he becomes more emotional, tearful before ripping into a violent outburst, wild-haired and wild-eyed screaming, like a temper tantrum. It’s a note Hopkins carries forward, a man unbalanced by his passions, who strikes Desdemona one moment, then weepingly seems to be looking for the comfort he once had from her, but without being able to confess what concerns him.

His calmness only returns when he is once again given a purpose – her murder. Their dialogue before the murder could almost be a normal married argument, before his rage is unleashed – Penelope Wilton’s head-girl manner, from Othello’s perspective, her air of unimpeachable openness makes her betrayal far worse. Hopkins probably goes too far here with his maddened stare into the camera as he smothers her. After the death, he is a broken-hearted boy once more – and only returns to his regal manner after Iago’s villainy is revealed and he has a new duty – suicide. It’s a rich, complex performance, in no way a racial stereotype, but a great actor using the tools of his trade to utmost effect. Where it is perhaps weaker is in the moments of rage – Hopkins comes across at these points too theatrically. But the quieter moments are triumphs of filmic technique.

The real gem of the performance here however is Bob Hoskins. Has there been a finer performance of Iago captured on film? Hoskins certainly must stand up there with the greatest performances of this role of all time. His Iago is a playfully destructive figure, playing with lighted flames when he is alone, throwing water at Brabantio in the middle of gulling the man. Hoskins’ performance is a triumph of conveying inspiration – his soliloquies and asides showcase his ability to act ‘thinking’ before the camera, making it clear he is as uncertain about the next step he will take as anyone else.

There are several lovely moments of improvisation: in a particularly brilliant touch, in A4 S1 he leads Othello into the bedroom to point at the bed “she has contaminated”, clearly seizing inspiration for a suitable place for the murder. This improvisation is two-sided. He doesn’t think through implications (either because he can’t or he doesn’t care) and hands over damning letters about him from Roderigo’s corpse. He’s like a shark – only able to power forward and with very little thought about his eventual destination, seizing opportunities as they land in front of him. Momentum is his main weapon – Miller makes it clear that a simple pause and drawing of breath from the other characters would be enough to shatter his plans – making the events in many ways even more tragic.

Miller also uses Hoskins’ working-class roots as a strength – Iago here is a natural NCO, trusted by everyone as much because he is a ‘simple soldier’ among his betters. Hoskins never seems to stop smiling, his unaffected accent and bluntness signs to everyone else of his trustworthiness. Hoskins’ whole performance is a triumph of marrying up the many different images both the characters and the audience have of Iago – and in making it understandable why so many are fooled by him.

Iago’s instability is also to the fore. If Othello is a head-boy, Iago is a destructive tearaway, giggling delightedly at the slightest provocation (this giggling runs throughout the whole play, heightened during the murder of Roderigo, and he disintegrates into nothing but giggles by the play’s end). His psychotic nature is hidden by his constant ingratiation – Miller continually frames him on the left of the shot, often looking up at the face of the man he is manipulating, his face close, his voice calm and reasonable. He’s a different man for each character, but each personality is on the surface deferential – from his Sancho Panza to Roderigo, to his humble batman to Lodovico.

Miller’s work also demonstrates the close-bonds between Othello and Iago. Othello shows more comfort in physical contact with Iago than he ever does with Desdemona – Iago tenderly fixes his uniform, and the two of them wrestle playfully at several points. When spinning his lies, Iago takes Othello in a bear hug, and then an embrace/headlock (there are hints that Iago is even a little shocked at the emotion he has provoked from Othello) of a kneeling Othello. While Othello is controlled, calm and rational, Iago presents himself as jolly, open and likeable – but his psychotic anger under the surface is reflected in the murderous rage he unleashes in Othello. They make a fantastic partnership.

There is room for other performances as well, of course. Penelope Wilton’s Desdemona has a head-girlish prissiness, and is a woman who has lived an entirely open and honest life, devoid (until now) of any rebellion. She seems very innocent sexually (much like her husband), and earnestly wants to do the right thing. This characterisation is great at pointing up her helplessness and emotional upset at Othello’s behaviour – clearly having no idea what she has done. Her inward grief is very well played throughout – particularly in the (often cut) A4 S3 where her quiet sadness and helplessness is very affecting. Like Othello, she seems naïve and slightly adrift in the adult world – only at her death does she finally shy away from her gentleness towards anger and outrage at her treatment, though Wilton is careful never to suggest any compromise in her feelings.

Rosemary Leach gives a stirring performance in the scene-stealing role of Emilia, fiercely loyal and protective of those she loves and willing to stand for what she believes in. Anthony Pedley produces another strong performance in the series as an out-of-his-depth Roderigo, an aristocrat who never sees betrayal coming from a friend. David Yelland makes a wonderfully cool (and therefore suspicious) Cassio (his heartlessness towards Wendy Morgan’s needy Bianca is also a very nice touch). Geoffrey Chater and John Barron were both a little too broad or sing-song for my taste, although Tony Steedman and Joseph O’Conor make strong impressions in the smaller parts.

Miller’s direction is, as always, intelligent and illuminates small moments. Visual inspiration comes from Velazquez, while the set-design (essentially a long corridor of inter-connecting rooms) successfully uses the scale of television to focus the production as a claustrophobic chamber piece. His use of long takes is very successful, particularly in the main Iago/Othello scenes, as it gives the actors room to develop the scene naturally within shot. This is possibly the most performance-central production so far, focused by the fact that this play is almost a four-hander with only 2-3 other major characters, the smallest cast of any of the great tragedies.

Technically there are also some beautiful images here – lighting during the two contrasting dinner scenes is lovely – and Miller introduces many small touches, from Iago’s water antics at the opening to Othello performing magic tricks to amuse his guests. The murder of Roderigo takes place in a Third Man-style series of cloisters. He does sometimes overplay his hand visually: the prominent skull that sits on a table opposite Desdemona in an otherwise wonderfully played A4 S3 is perhaps a bit much.

I’ve already written a lot about Othello/Iago in this production, but Miller does manage to front-and-centre the theme of jealousy and envy, as well as the dangers of blind trust very successfully. With Hoskins he creates a demonic dwarf, who is vindictive rather than scheming. With Hopkins he creates an Othello, imposing and dignified in his comfort zone, naïve and lost outside it. What he does most successfully is present the characters and situation in such a way that you would believe these events would unfold like this. Cassio is cold enough to suggest he would betray Othello; Desdemona is calm and, for want of a better word, British enough to avoid confronting Othello until it is too late. Long takes hammer home the short timespan of the play (it feels almost ‘real time’), while the simple black and white design and costumes serve as a nice contrast to the far-from black-and-white story Iago is creating.

Miller also uses filming to enforce the manipulation. Framing repeatedly places Iago on the left of the frame, adding a visual consistency to his manipulation (strikingly he moves completely to the right for the final scene). In a daring sequence for a series based on placing text at the centre, he continues his experiments from Timon with deliberately making some of the dialogue inaudible to allow the viewer to feel some of the character isolation: in particular when Othello overhears Cassio 'confess' in A4 S1, he is placed behind the door with the camera with him - leaving us struggling to hear what is being said as much as Othello does (this infuriated some critics but is a lovely touch).

If there is a problem here, it’s got to come back to length – this is the longest production so far, and although that is partly Shakespeare’s fault, it’s tough on the bum. Miller sometimes I feel has so many good ideas and points he wants to explore that he finds it impossible to leave any of them out – combine this with the brief to avoid cutting, and you end up with something that you need a couple of sittings to get through. But then when there is such good stuff here as there is, it’s well worth the effort.

Conclusion

A good performance by Hopkins (despite the controversy) is overshadowed by a rip-roaring turn by Hoskins, who turns this into the Iago show – and gives one of the strongest turns of the series so far. Miller is full of ideas and invention as always, and brings the focus very much onto the leading characters, using moments of invention in performance to highlight their natures. It’s overlong and, yes, it does take a bit of getting used to seeing Hopkins black-up – but I’ve seen this production twice and it’s imaginative, enlightening and highly enjoyable – and also succeeds in making a familiar story sad and moving.

NEXT TIME: The only film version you will ever see of Troilus and Cressida (strewth, it’s hard enough to see on stage!) as Anton Lesser, Suzanne Burden and a host of Miller regulars bring the Trojan classic to life.

All's Well That Ends Well (Series 3 Episode 3)

First Transmitted 4th January 1981



Angela Down, Celia Johnson, Ian Charleson and Donald Sinden play unhappy families

Cast: Angela Down (Helena), Ian Charleson (Bertram), Celia Johnson (Countess of Rousillon), Donald Sinden (King of France), Michael Hordern (Lafew), Peter Jeffrey (Parolles), Rosemary Leach (Widow), Pippa Guard (Diana), Robert Lindsay (First Lord), Dominic Jephcott (Second Lord), Paul Brooke (Lavache), Kevin Stoney (Stewart), Nickolas Grace (Solider), Valentine Dyall (Astringer), Terence McGinty (First Gentleman), Max Arthur (Second Gentleman)

Director: Elijah Moshinsky

First off it’s been a huge break – so please blame the fact that I bought a house in the interim and basically didn’t have time to sit and watch a whole Shakespeare play and then write it up. Don’t even mention the problems I’ve had getting the internet reconnected. Anyway, I finally found the time to watch the third production of the Jonathan Miller years – All’s Well That Ends Well, directed by what would become a series regular: Elijah Moshinsky.

Straight off the bat I have to say I really enjoyed this production, despite not knowing the play very well at all. The first thing that will strike anyone watching this is the extraordinary visual beauty of the film. It’s an incredibly rare thing to say about a television production of the time – particularly one shot on the harsher, grainy medium of video rather than film. This strong visual sense is expertly combined with an acute and intelligent analysis of text and characters that has quickly become the hallmark of the Jonathan Miller era.

But first the visuals. Hard to believe it, but this was Moshinsky’s first ever work on film or television. Now apparently this was the secret behind its success – Moshinsky simply didn’t think, in the way of a more experienced TV director like John Gorrie, “this can’t be done” about the more complex, naturalistic lighting he wanted – he asked and his team strove to deliver it. Moshinsky wanted to create a feeling of scenes being lit by natural light, sometimes a few candles, and to allow shadows and areas of darkness to be created. His inspiration for this was the paintings of the Dutch masters – in particular, to my eyes, Rembrandt – though he was also inspired by a (to me) lesser known artist called Georges de la Tour, from the same era who was heavily inspired by Carravaggio.

The lighting team on the film – and credit must go to John Summers, the director of photography – duly went to work to create the sort of effects more experienced directors would have been trained to believe too difficult and time-consuming to attempt. The effect is extraordinary throughout, with extensive use of silhouettes, and scenes artfully framed and composed to form striking visual tableaux. The willingness to feature darkness on the screen, while bathing the action in a warm candlelight effect introduces an intimacy to the drama, making the action very personal. The inspiration of paintings can be seen throughout – the lords at the King’s sickbed bear more than a resemblance to Rembrandt’s The Anatomy Lesson; later the soldiers appear strikingly similar to The Night Watch; baroque imagery is used throughout for Helena and the women of the play.


This strong visual sense rings out through all the scene set-ups, each established with a skillful painterly eye, without ever appearing sterile or over studied. There is even room for a little tip of the hat – in A4 S3, while the lords Dumaine speak, a clear collection of Holbein and Rembrandt inspired “artistic metaphor objects” can be seen on the table before them. This painterly feel also serves to make a virtue of the studio bound locations – such effects could never have been created outside, but the visual skill never makes the action feel cramped or claustrophobic. Excellent use of mirrors throughout allow both scope to be added to small sets, and also suggest a commentary on the differences between projected image and actuality - tellingly, Parolles and the King are the characters seen most often in mirrors.

Moshinsky also makes excellent use of the camera, here a prowling part of the action, moving around scenes – particularly strikingly used in A3 S7 as the camera pans around a scheming Helena to slowly reveal the other characters listening to her. Such camera work also serves to demonstrate character notes – in the example above stressing both Helena’s leadership qualities, but also her slight distance from those around her. Later, at the play’s conclusion, a Helena POV shot allows the viewer to soak in the reactions of each of the characters at her return from the dead.

Of course the visuals would never be so successful without Moshinsky and his team undertaking a concentrated interpretation of the text itself. Most strikingly, both Helena and Bertram are presented as (to varying degrees) somewhat selfish and unwise characters, neither as clever or as noble as they at first appear. Helena’s infatuation with Bertram is demonstrated as being as thoughtless and self-obsessed as Bertram’s own later seduction of Diana – both of them show very little interest in the thoughts and feelings of the object of their affection in their attempt to gain possession of them. Is it any wonder that Bertram looks so sullen at being tied – against his will – in marriage to Helena?

This underlying theme of selfishness and a grasping, elitist control over the world is demonstrated throughout. Parolles may be a swaggerer and a braggart, but really he only reflects the conduct and actions of those around him – and indeed is quick to condemn them when given the opportunity. This atmosphere all stems from the King, here a power-crazed sexual pervert, strongly suggested to be suffering from veneral disease of some sort, grooming the young French lords to follow in his (dirty) footsteps. He takes what he wants and orders and controls the lives of those around him like they are his playthings. Is it any wonder these same lords think it “sport” to kidnap and perform a mock execution on Parolles later? The roughing up of Parolles – and the outrage of the bullies as their own faults are unwittingly told to them by their victim – is systematic in a world where the rich look down on the poor. Even Lafew, more kindly than the rest, has a clear idea of the “natural order of things”.

The sex running through this production is very pronounced. It’s more than heavily implied that a healthy dose of “rumpy-pumpy” is a key part of Helena’s cure for the King. Diana may have contempt for Bertram, but is more than aware of how to use her coquettish charms to get what she needs from him in a highly sexualized seduction. Lavatch – on the surface a comic part, but here played like some sinister backstairs servant – has a particularly sinister speech about love. Bertram is virtually a working hormone in the second half of the play. Even Helena makes decisions based on her own lust for Bertram, and is happy to perform the “bed trick” in order to cement her position over him. It’s a selfish society and the characters reflect these values – they are all, to degrees, only interested in getting what they want and have little regard for the feelings and  desires of others.

Angela Down, a great choice for Helena, brings a wonderful put-upon, self-sacrificing air to the role, which here is subtly inverted to suggest a disguise behind which lurks a far more selfish and manipulative personality. Her coldness and aloofness distance her from contemporaries in subtle ways – obviously from the more immature Bertram – but also give her a natural authority and control over the Widow and Diana. She also clearly has no qualms over manipulating the lecherous King with her body. Throughout the play she shows little interest in understanding Bertram – only once, when he angrily refuses the forced marriage does she seem to express any regret at her decisions, as if it never occurred to her that he might be unhappy at having marriage forced on him. Far from painting her as an angel, she is clearly a deeply flawed person and Ian Charleson’s sullen Bertram – while clearly not worthy of the affection lavished on him by her – surely has a point about being furious about being forced into a loveless (and what has a good chance of being) unhappy marriage.

Her coldness contrasts very well with Peter Jeffrey’s dandified, swaggering braggart Parolles, a generally harmless chancer perfectly happy to bumble along as a carefree hanger-on. Interestingly there is no hint of maliciousness to him – he is a man using what skills he has to get a foot on the ladder. His clashes with Lafew – a very boisterous performance from Michael Hordern, perhaps his best work in the series so far – may have moments of outrage in them (and Parolles goes to draw his sword at least once) but seem almost more like a game than a war. Where Helena’s manipulation is subtle, Parolles’ is played openly and simply, almost innocently. After his humiliation, Jeffrey embraces Parolles’ determination to be one of the few characters to no longer wear a face, but to be what he is – in his case a Dickensian beggar, kowtowing to his masters for favour. It’s a very engaging performance. It also serves as an interesting contrast with Helena – they are both using Bertram and others, but Parolles is open and honest about it, where Helena seems unwilling to admit it fully even to herself.

 

This is a very strong cast of actors. Celia Johnson probably gives the stand-out performance as a worldly-wise, kindly and gentle Countess, who takes a humane interest in those around her and exudes a motherly warmth – she is perhaps the most forgiving and generous character in the production. Pippa Guard is far better here than in The Tempest, making Diana a clever flirt but also giving her a moral force. Donald Sinden does verge towards a theatrical ham, but his clever interpretation of the King as a sex-crazed old man, still gleefully recalling trysts past, does bring a very interesting new vision to the play – and also ties in well with making the King more of a tyrant than other productions have done. Michael Hordern is a stand-out as a vigourous Lafew, worldly-wise but not an innocent. Robert Lindsay again stands out in a small role as a bullying Lord. All the characters fit very naturally into the interpretation of the play Moshinsky has created.

Some subtle cuts are made to the text – in particular all the scenes featuring the Duke of Florence have been deleted – to bring the focus tightly into the family drama Moshinsky wants to show, while still allowing the clashes of this family to reflect a wider society. Moshinsky brings out these themes of selfishness and lack of self-awareness extremely well – it’s suggested that Helena and Bertram learn very little over the course of the play or even really develop as characters, with the ending narration by the King being very open to interpretation (and he clearly also has his eye on Diana). Bertram and Helena may kiss, but is Bertram still responding to the pressure from others? Has Helena learned anything about forcing love on another? Clearly not as the old “bed trick” is the only reason Bertram reaffirms their marriage.

This is an intelligent and fascinating production of the play – in fact the sort of production that elevates the play straight up your list of “favourite Shakespeare plays”. It’s still a little known work, but this production really finds a depth and interest to it. Which of course makes it a credit to the series – and also a tribute to television. A lot of the very subtle work in this production could not have been created on the stage and the use of intercutting, close-up and camera movement – as well the gentle underplaying of some scenes – really uses the benefits of the medium. Moshinsky was quite some find, and it’s exciting to see what he may come up with next.


Conclusion
This is probably the best calling card for the series so far – actually the best. Only Taming of the Shrew I think gets close enough to touch it. It’s an adult, creative, intelligent interpretation, beautifully filmed and fantastic to look at. Coupled up with strong performances across the board – this must be the best cast assembled yet – it’s no surprise this received several awards. It’s certainly the best one to show people if you are trying to persuade them to watch the rest of the series!

NEXT TIME: I'm looking forward to it as we hit Jane Howell's controversial Winter's Tale Production. Those on the know are not favourable. Let's see shall we see?