The first theatrical film of The Merchant of Venice, which took so
long to arrive here it might well have been transported by gondola, reminds us
of the difficulties accompanying the production of a volatile and controversial
work in our time.
Whatever its merits, over the span of
centuries, and especially in an age that can never forget the genocide of the
20th century, Shakespeare’s puzzling and problematic comedy appears
increasingly cruel, dark, and of course, as everyone realizes, quite blatantly
and uncomfortably anti-Semitic. To turn the play into a movie required not only
a talented cast and stunning cinematography, but in view of its subject, a
certain amount of daring on the part of the screenwriter-director, Michael
Radford.
Like every director interpreting any
Shakespeare play for the screen, except perhaps the tiresome and literal
Kenneth Branagh, Radford cuts a considerable amount of material from the
original work. Although the film retains the basic situation, characters, and
plot, it also omits a great many speeches and drastically reduces the function
and importance of a number of roles. The picture nicely handles the play’s
structure and movement, but simply neglects the several complications of the
play, perhaps necessarily simplifying the action, but as a result flattening its
emotional and intellectual impact.
Despite the general viciousness of
its depiction of the Jewish moneylender Shylock (the more literary Mafiosi now
use the term for loan sharks), the play mixes all sorts of fairytale elements
in its several plots. Shylock’s agreement to lend money to the merchant Antonio
on the condition that he pledge a pound of his flesh recalls all those stories
of foolish promises made to malevolent dwarfs and scheming witches, while the
will that requires Portia’s suitors to choose among three caskets to win her
hand derives from the tests and trials of hundreds of other myths and legends,
as well as the long comic tradition of parents attempting to control the sex
life of their children.
In addition to the whimsy of those
plots, the play (and the movie) also naturally show the usual uneven course of
romantic love. The beautiful Portia (Lynn Collins) must pray that all her
inappropriate suitors choose the wrong caskets and that Bassanio (Joseph
Fiennes),whom she loves, picks the right one; in addition, in the famous trial
scene, she must argue the case against Shylock (Al Pacino) taking his pound of
flesh from Antonio (Jeremy Irons). Two other love stories, including a romance
between a Venetian and Shylock’s daughter also reach their appropriate
fulfillment, thus guaranteeing the necessary comic triumph of the young over
the old, children over parents.
Whether because of Shakespeare’s
genius or the director’s ingenuity, the movie seldom exhibits the usual
appearance of a filmed play, but moves its camera all over Venice without any
sense of staginess or artifice. Shakespeare himself provides the basis for a
great deal of crosscutting between the various love stories, the casket
choices, and some minor comic material, which creates and maintains a lively
pace. The movie almost never slows down to show off a particular speech or
actor, and some of the minor characters shine for a brief moment or two.
Aside from the gorgeous
cinematography, the most complex and profound emotions in the play grow out of
the character of Shylock, whom Pacino turns into an almost tragic figure. His
hint of an Eastern European accent, contrasting with the clipped upper-class
British intonations of Joseph Fiennes and Jeremy Irons, his hunched posture,
his shambling walk, his apparently offhand delivery of some important lines,
powerfully distinguishes the character from his antagonists.
The virtual elimination of most of
Shakespeare’s broad comedy and the diminution of Antonio and Bassanio’s lines
underline the dark pathos of the despised and ultimately ostracized figure, who
through legal trickery loses his fortune, his daughter, and his faith at the
hands of the purportedly righteous Christians.
Because Pacino so dominates his
scenes, other people, especially his adversary Antonio, who may deserve better,
virtually disappear. The polite, well bred, and aristocratic manner of both
Irons, an especially passive actor anyway, and Fiennes, who seems just a bit
too cute and winsome, simply cannot stand up to the magnetic presence of
Pacino, who can sweep them off the screen with a hoarse word, a glance, a
simple gesture; he leaves them very little to do except to try to behave
themselves in the presence of an actor whose virility almost overwhelms them.
The play and the picture remain
problematic, but Radford contrives to show how well Shakespeare writes for the
screen and how fluidly his work adapts to the camera. The Venetian setting, the
cinematography, and the performance of Al Pacino constitute the most compelling
elements of a movie that displays a good deal of unevenness as well as
considerable courage.
The Merchant of Venice (R), starring
Al Pacino, Jeremy Irons, Joseph Fiennes, Lynn Collins, Zuleikha Robinson, Kris
Marshall, Charlie Cox, Mackenzie Crook, Heather Goldenhersh, John Sessions,
Gregor Fisher; screenplay by Michael Radford, based on the play by William
Shakespeare; directed by Michael Radford. Little Theatre
This article appears in Mar 2-8, 2005.
