The Merchant of Venice (RSC)

Acting at its best is a self-expressionist art; an art that communicates minute expressions of the human condition to the audience. Constrain actors in any way and the result is likely to be a piece of dead theatre. Forcing an actor to stick rigidly to the de-dum-de-dum rhythm of Shakespearean iambic pentameter has such an effect in Tim Carroll‘s new production of The Merchant of Venice for the Royal Shakespeare Company.

Instead of a clear rendition of the plots (Antonio’s bond with Shylock to fund Bassanio’s wooing of Portia, Antonio’s subsequent near-forfeiture of his life in exchange for a pound of flesh, and Portia’s legal wranglings that save Antonio and condemn Shylock to forfeiture of his religion), the style of verse-speaking clouds the meaning. Sticking strictly to the rhythm forces the actors to concentrate on technique, to the point where interpersonal relationships on the stage suffer. Unable to communicate emotion through the lines, the speeches more often than not become declamatory.

Coupled with a lack of nuance emitting from the spoken text is Carroll’s bizarre staging. The play, which is definitely a problem comedy in this post-Holocaust world, began and ended with a jig. The effect is quite possibly to jolly the audience along in the Elizabethan method used at the Globe (where Carroll directs regularly); it’s out of place on the Courtyard’s thrust stage where there are no groundlings to treat as imbeciles.

This production mostly keeps with the Globe’s principles of “original practice” in that there are very few props. Instead of actors costumed in “Elizabethan” garments, however, they’re dressed in a hodge-podge modern wardrobe culled from varying 20th-century decades. The look doesn’t serve the production (or the actors) because it leaves the audience without a sense of a society for the characters to inhabit. The double effect is to leave both actors and audience without reference points for either the monetarist or romantic plots.

Perhaps most disturbing in an ill-conceived production is designer Laura Hopkins’ fuschia set. Not only does the colour clash with most of the costumes, it adds to the impression of a rootless non-society. This also is true for Belmont and Portia’s casket scene, which is mired in large stalactites making Portia some sort of modern-day ice queen. Although ice is an apt metaphor for a very cold production indeed.

– Jami Rogers