OTHELLO. To 2 November.

Manchester

OTHELLO
by William Shakespeare

Royal Exchange Theatre To 2 November 2002
Mon-Fri 7.30pm Sat 8pm Mat Wed & Sat 2.30pm
Audio-described 2.30pm 28 September
After show discussions 3,31 October
Runs 3hr 20min One interval

TICKETS 0161 833 9833
Review Timothy Ramsden 16 September

An exciting, fast-paced and vivd production that gives the General his due and makes the Ancient's malignity, if still motiveless, psychologically coherent.It's taken artistic director Braham Murray a good 30 years to get from Catch My Soul, the Royal Exchange's rock-musical Othello to the real thing. Given this spectacular production, the wait's been well worth while.

It seems erratic to call the evening spectacle, since Johanna Bryant provides a bare stage, aqueous-seeming for Venice, hard stone flooring for Cyprus. The only additions are a campaign map of Europe across the floor for the Duke of Venice's war-council and a muslin surround for Desdemona's death-bed. Both are more than decorative. Othello stands on the floor-map to recount his wooing of Desdemona, neatly eliding his personal and military campaigning, while the final sight of the dead husband and wife on their veiled bed leaves them like caged zoo creatures, under observation.

It's in the acting, and the naked exposure of emotion the spectacle lies. Concentration's rarely thrown so completely on performers, and at the centre they rise to it magnificently. Paterson Joseph's Othello is external smartness, but has no nervous sophistication. When he's sure of himself all is smiling and surprisingly gentle-spoken, the style of someone who commands by persuasion.

But once the self-certainty's gone, he's in unexplored emotional territory and reduced to belting out imprecations with an anger he can't control, close to panic. His rage flares the greater because it comes from the destruction not just of his ideal of Desdemona, but of his whole way of dealing with the world. He can't stop himself, or listen to anyone questioning his commanding obsessions.

This greatness, and his fall, are kept remote because he does not know we're there. But in the intimacy of theatre in the round, Iago does. He's taken us so much into his soliloquising confidence that we relate, whether hostile or not, to Iago, whereas Othello spinning on the ground, kneeling, furious or pitiful, remains an object to be observed: which is what he and his wife eventually become to the remaining stage characters, visually 'caged' after their death.

If Othello can command others with barely a move of body or change of voice – until he can no longer command himself – Andy Serkis's Iago lives to move and act. Even the soliloquies are action-plans worked-out with the audience. He's a born improviser. Serkis doesn't have – or try for – the classic stature of Ian McKellen's defining RSC Iago, but he provides plenty of clear detail in the parade-ground precision of his greased-back hair, neat-moustachioed NCO, someone who'd inject energy through the entire barracks.

Anyone's friend, he could pull a trick on anyone with a confident smile. A passing resemblance to Stalin only heightens the sinister impression, which reaches a terrifying climax at the interval, with Iago and Othello clasped together centre stage, the NCO swearing fidelity to the general he's just begun destroying.

It's clear from the very opening where his working-man sergeant contrasts and leads Sam Spruell's effetely gentlemanly Roderigo that this Iago lives by the moment, making sure things go his way. Roderigo's calls to Brabantio wouldn't wake a lightly-dozing sentry, so Iago's stentorian shouts do the work for him: hearing this as Serkis keeps his face turned away from identification by Desdemona's father declares his capable cunning at once.

So it goes to the end, where his furious attempts to shut his wife up fail, and he darts, quick as a practised snatch-and-grab thief, across to stab her, then rushes off almost before we've seen him move. Captured, he's brought on in handcuffs; unable to plot more, his natural response is to give up speaking. Words as thought, without consequent action, mean nothing to him. There's a blank puzzlement on his face as he looks on the bodies of Othello and Desdemona. It's weirdly as if his earlier words, spelled out in Read My Lips mode first to Roderigo, then to the audience 'I. Hate. The. Moor' have no connection with these corpses. Now all that's done, it doesn't exist. Moral sense is absent.

Lorraine Ashoburne's Emilia grows through cheerfulness and honest desire to please Iago, to shock at Othello's behaviour and horror at her husband. Emma Darwall-Smith makes a peaceful, compliant Desdemona. As her dad John Branwell is sympathetic in his as-much-sorrow-as-anger railing: his worst crime is probably the sheltered upbringing he's given his daughter. Desdemona's 'I have not deserved this' is a quiet plea for acceptance to Emilia.

Joseph Murray is an adequate Cassio, most telling in his supercilious comments on Katherine Kelly's fond yet foul-tempered Bianca. Among the women, it's Emilia who's the sensible centre between her ladylike mistress and this street-girl.

Emilia: Lorraine Ashbourne
Brabantio/2nd Gentleman: John Branwell
Lodovico/1st Gentleman: John Cording
Desdemona: Emma Darwall-Smith
Othello: Paterson joseph
Bianca: Katherine Kelly
Montano/Senator: Richard Metcalfe
Cassio: Joseph Murray
Iago: Andy Serkis
Roderigo: Sam Spruell
Duke/Gratiano: Will Tacey
Officer/Gentleman: Ben Toye
Ensemble Officer: Dan Willis

Director: Braham Murray
Designer: Johanna Bryant
Lighting: Robert Brown
Sound: Steve Brown
Music: Chris Monks
Fights: Malcolm Ranson

2002-09-18 11:32:13