London’s West End Stage to Film
I invited a dear friend to join me for another Shakespeare adventure at the movies. Last year it was Macbeth with David Tennant. This year it was Othello with David Harewood and Toby Jones.
When I first read and studied Othello, I found it fascinating and relevant in any society. Iago was a very recognizable character from real life.
Years ago, I shared professional space with someone whose behavior followed that same pattern of whispering, scheming, and quiet manipulation. It was subtle and persistent. It was the kind of influence that works in corners rather than in daylight. Eventually I recognized the pattern for what it was. I plainly told him that he should never apply for any position I might advertise following my next promotion. That experience left me with a clear understanding of the kind of personality Shakespeare presented in Iago. He was not promoted.
Per my usual habit before attending a Shakespeare performance, I refreshed my memory of the play. I confirmed the characters and revisited several key lines. I prepared for full immersion.
I picked up my friend and we drove to the Angelika Film Center. After enduring the usual advertisements and trailers, some of which looked fascinating, the film began.
This production is a stage-to-film presentation from London’s West End. I understand and expect such productions to rely on minimal sets, modernized costuming, and strong performances to carry the play. The first two expectations were met. The third is where this production faltered.
I have since read many responses praising this performance as brilliant, beautiful, and extraordinary. I regret to say that I do not share that opinion.
Because I stream a great deal of classical music, I have noticed that many streaming services flatten the sound to create a continuous listening experience. The dynamics disappear. Quiet passages and crescendos lose their contrast.
My sense of this Othello was much the same.
Throughout the performance I waited for the drama to ignite. Shakespeare’s language was spoken clearly. Recitation alone does not create atmosphere, set a scene, or draw the audience into the tragedy.
Toby Jones delivered Iago’s thousand lines with precision and confidence. His performance felt curiously without emotional force. I saw his lips move. I wanted to see Iago scheme. I wanted to see him whisper. I wanted to watch the quiet manipulation that slowly poisons Othello’s mind. The lines were delivered clearly. They were delivered without the emotional architecture that gave the character his terrifying power. I wanted to dislike Iago and root for Desdemona. I found that I cared about neither.
David Harewood presented a plausible Othello. He was physically convincing as a general and commanding as an authoritarian figure. Desdemona, played by Caitlin FitzGerald, was visually striking and entirely believable as the beautiful object of Othello’s infatuation. The character lacked the humility and innocence that traditionally anchor Desdemona’s role. There was, instead, a noticeable note of modern attitude that felt out of place within Shakespeare’s tragic world.
Venetia Robinson’s Emilia was strong and believable. I sensed that she was trying to carry the magnitude of the play on her shoulders. The remaining roles were competently handled.
When watching theater, I allow myself to be enveloped by the performance. I want to enter the world of the play and remain there until the curtain call.
That did not happen. The experience felt more like looking into minimally decorated Christmas windows where scenes are suggested and not lived. The sense of immersion never arrived.
Without emotional contrast, the play felt flattened.
I admire the discipline required to perform a role as demanding as Iago. Memorizing and delivering that volume of text is no small achievement. Toby Jones deserves recognition for that accomplishment, as does David Harewood for his portrayal of Othello and Venetia Robinson for her compelling Emilia.
Good Shakespeare is not meant to be flattened. His plays breathe through contrast—whispers and outbursts, suspicion and innocence, tenderness and violence.
Those dynamics never appeared. The tragedy remained intact on the page. It did not live on the stage, and certainly not in our theater.
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**Aside: Emdashes are grammatical tools and not the invention of AI. My work is personal and not contrived.
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