Theater review | Quirks, physicality in wrenching tragedy 'Othello'

Theater Review |

A central component of William Shakespeare's tragedy "Othello" is that its title character is a foreigner to the Venetian state he serves in battle — and a black foreigner in a blatantly racist culture, at that.

But what of Othello's comrade and artful nemesis Iago?

In the production now on at Intiman Theatre, Iago also seems alien to Venetian society. At least as he is embodied by the well-versed classical actor John Campion, who uses a thick, hard-to-place accent in the role (Eastern European?).

That is one of several unusual accents in this "Othello," mounted by Arin Arbus. A reworking of her well-received Off Broadway staging for Theatre for a New Audience in New York, the production — with its vigorous action and unusual characterizations — is a very mixed bag at Intiman.

Design-wise, Arbus takes a minimalist approach to a drama set in two contrasting worlds: cultivated Venice, and conquered, tropical Cyprus. Here Othello's tale unfolds entirely on a single setting (designed by Peter Ksander and lit by Marcus Doshi) of a scraped-up but glossily varnished floor, outfitted with a couple of wooden doors.

This visual simplicity puts the focus squarely on the actors and on a gripping tale of vengeance and jealousy that largely travels on a single track.

Its final destination? The tragic undoing of the noble warrior, Othello (played in elegant, well-spoken fashion, by stage-screen actor Sean Patrick Thomas), and his ill-fated, guilty-until-proven-innocent wife, Desdemona (Elisabeth Waterston).

Campion's deeply resentful, at times comically crafty Iago voices a couple of motives for his homicidal hatred of Othello, in the very first scene. And in another departure from the norm, this gray-haired military attaché appears to be at least twice as old as the usual Iago (whom the text indicates is only 28).

The effect of this conceit is certainly novel, turning Iago into a long-stewing senior adviser to Othello, and giving his betrayal and revenge Oedipal overtones.

As for Waterston's lanky, thin-voiced Desdemona, she is not the exquisite "divinity" of most productions, and the sexual energy between her and Thomas is iffy. She's also a head taller than he is, and appears anxious from the onset — as if bracing herself for the worst. (Understandable, given the harsh reactions to her 16th-century interracial marriage, but limiting theatrically nonetheless.)

There's some creative juice in shaking up audience expectations in this way, but you find yourself arguing in your head with such choices, or just being distracted by them.

They bear more fruit in the show's propulsive second half. One can eventually acclimate to Campion's pronounced accent, and admire his dastardly soliloquies, performed with the relish and intelligence of an old Shakespeare hand.

As the tragedy inevitability ramps up, Iago's embittered and scared wife, Emilya, vividly played by Kate Forbes, comes into better focus. So does Elizabeth Meadows Rouse's ill-used strumpet, Bianca (a more complete character here than in most renditions).

Lucas Hall makes a zesty young Michael Cassio. But his eye for the ladies and drunken mishaps are far more evident than the sober, gallant attributes that won Othello's admiration — and his promotion over Iago.

Some meaningful junctures in "Othello" can feel skimmed-over here, as when fragile Desdemona comforts herself with a children's song on the night she knows will be her last.

But a more salient aspect of this "Othello" is its physicality, expressed in bursts of fierce swordplay, shocking slaps, an extended brawl and Iago's emphatic gesturing.

That physicality also permeates the play's final moments. Then Thomas and Waterston at last give us a sense, overdue but essential, of the profundity of Othello and Desdemona's love. And the horror of its destruction.

Misha Berson: mberson@seattletimes.com