Othello. A decent slice of your audience is going to know the play
inside out, a few people might be quoting along under their breath, it'll
always be a tough gig. Nicholas Hytner, in the wake of announcing his
retirement as artistic director of the National Theatre, sees this challenge
and smashes through it. Proving beyond all reasonable doubt that his ideas are
far from an armchair in a sitting room in Eastbourne, Hytner’s Othello is
transported to the modern day in an accessible and engaging manner with
superbly specific attention to human subtlety.
Mercifully,
Hytner has spared us the evil cackles from Iago (Rory
Kinnear) and bypasses even a hint of histrionic screeching and foaming
mouth
from Adrian Lester’s Othello. Indeed it is Kinnear’s display of
buttoned-up reserve which is most chilling, eerily still and quiet in
scenes where he
does not soliloquise, to the extent where one catches oneself forgetting
he is
present. The stage is very much Iago’s, and Hytner gives us a compelling
exhibition of a man hideously embittered following years of being
overlooked
and ignored.
The story is relocated to a present day army base
with a near universally camoflage-clad cast. The decision to use a community
recognisably accustomed to external danger, physical battle and uncertainty,
exacerbates the irony that a far more sinister threat thrives inside.
Vicki Mortimer‘s sparse, clinical set draws out
the fiendishly complex emotions played out within. Othello cowers in a grey,
grimy barracks toilet stall to overhear Cassio brag about his conquests, whilst
Desdemona’s life is extinguished under strip lighting in an Ikea furnished room
with suitcases stacked on a wardrobe and lino-flooring. Stark, blank with
nowhere to hide, the set enhances how dark and twisted it contents become.
Despite some bold interpretations, the concept
crucially never feels contrived or at risk of compromising the plot. Hytner’s
decision to have Emilia as a fellow squaddy is entirely consistent with her
character, reinforcing a fearless, steely demeanour. The decidedly unlikeable
Roderigo is planted into the modern day as an over-privileged, skinny-jean
wearing, whiney youth, (stock image maybe, but we’ve all encountered one).
Finally Brabantio’s abrasive views on race are met with visible cringing and
discomfort by those around him, reconciling a multi-cultural modern day Britain
with the sad reality that despite 500 years of apparent progression, racial
discrimination is yet to be entirely a thing of the past.
Chillingly subtle with immense attention to
psychological detail, it’s definitely worth bagging yourself a space in the
returns queue at the National. You won’t be disappointed. 4/5
