It is over six years since Frantic
Assembly’s cut-and-choreographed version was first seen here; however,
as virtually every day’s news reports seem to confirm, racism never
grows stale. And when the age band of characters and players is
narrowed and every figure is working-class, race is the only
differentiator left, the only conspicuous driver of Iago’s malignity
against his “commander”. No formal military structures here, either;
instead of being set on Cyprus, this version takes place in the
Cypress, a seedy northern English urban pub, with the army now simply a
gang.
By 2008 Frantic Assembly had definitively graduated from a maverick
theatrical cult into a substantial brand; their approach, somewhere
between physical and dance-theatre, was already familiar. What
surprises me on re-viewing is how much remains fresh and compelling.
The movement is firmly within the Frantics’ usual idiom, but far less
limited than I had feared (only a handful of instances, for example, of
their trademark of an actor flinging themselves akimbo across another’s
torso). Above all, it is almost uninterrupted. The physicality is more
or less as crucial throughout as the text… especially when that text
has been cut to an uninterrupted hour and three-quarters.
Some of the most poignant moments in the final act are jettisoned, but
in contrast the central phase of Iago’s Luciferic temptation of Othello
becomes as physically charged as it is emotionally. Steven Miller’s
Iago (excellent throughout – in this edit, it really is Iago’s play)
prowls around Othello, calculating where and when to fire the next dart
of jealousy, and leaping on to the pool table for his climactic,
treacherous declaration of loyalty. Meanwhile, Mark Ebulue seems to be
trying to retain control of his own movements (even though Othello’s
seizure is excised from this production), and when he finally gives in
to his insecurities, it is Iago on whom he unleashes himself. The walls
of Laura Hopkins’ set bow and snake, constructed as one continuous
screen that concertinas around and redefines the room or bursts open to
reveal the car park outside; the very space itself is constantly on the
move. Less isn’t always more here, but it’s hardly ever less.
Written for the Financial
Times.