THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
THE TRANSATLANTIC MAGAZINE
By William Shakespeare
Criterion Theatre, Piccadilly Circus, London, until March 30, 2024
www.merchantofvenice1936.co.uk
It was a lifelong dream of actress Tracy-Ann Oberman to bring The Merchant of Venice to the stage in a new way, reimagining Shylock as one of the tough, no nonsense Jewish matriarchs that she grew up around.
It’s an inspired framing and she pulls it off in a production directed by Brigid Larmour with great clarity and purpose. It usefully reminds you (as if you need it) that antisemitism was and continues to be a problem. It is sobering to watch the projected images of the propaganda attacks of the time and contrast them to what’s going on today on Twitter.
Instead of 16th century Venice we’re in London’s East End in 1936. There is political unrest, fascism is sweeping Europe and Oswald Mosley’s British Union of Fascists attempt a paramilitary march through this very Jewish quarter of the city. Strong-willed single mother Shylock (Oberman) runs a pawnbroking business from her house in Cable Street, where Mosley will march. That march of course drew together, in opposition, a motley collection of the multi-cultural mix in that area, supported by the trade unions (the dockers) and the anti-fascist movement.
When a wily aristocrat Antonio (Raymond Coulthard) comes to Shylock for a loan, a high-stakes deal is struck. Oberman commands the stage but it’s the defiance borne of exhaustion. Her demand for flesh seems less driven by vengeance here than outrage at the double standards of those engaged in systemic persecution - a last straw.
Oberman doesn’t shy away from Shylock’s bad points, and Shakespeare’s text is rich enough to provide those ambiguities. It’s an interpretation that is in line with modern readings of the play which portray Shylock as a victim, and which acts as a necessary corrective to centuries of the role being played as a grotesque Jewish stereotype. The play remains a challenge today, but Oberman must be commended for confronting it head on. It’s an object lesson in how to take an intelligent approach to a dusty classic, to preserve the great poetry but to mitigate the excesses of it.
Characters and subplots have been neatly trimmed by Larmour and Oberman which allows us to focus on the key characters and relationships. Gavin Fowler is a romantic and scholarly Bassanio, more than just a fortune hunter, and Coulthard’s Antonio is icily coldly and calculating, which contrasts greatly with his camp Prince of Arragon; he doubles up as one of the Portia’s affected suitors who fails the test to win her in marriage.
Liz Cook’s designs are spare, as you’d expect for a touring production, but their candlelit, noir-ish, atmosphere is perfect, and the mood is enhanced by Sarah Weltman's sound design (the horror of windows being smashed) and Erron Baron Cohen’s elegant music score.
Up until the famous court scene, in which she is disguised as a young trial lawyer, Hannah Morrish’s Portia resembles a patrician, witty, Mitford Girl in svelte satin gowns. She comes into her own in the male disguise, where she is a confident and cunning fixer. The scene is pivotal in showing the almost thuggish conspiracy of the establishment (they all bear Mosley’s arm bands) and proves how, in going to court, you get law but not necessarily justice.
