Written in 1596,
Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice
is generally classified as one of his comedies, along with masterpieces such as
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Twelfth Night and Much Ado About Nothing. While there certainly are comedic elements
to Merchant, it is not altogether a
comedic play in the definition generally used to classify Shakespeare’s work.
While it does encompass many scenes of focused around the idea of love, the
titular merchant is accosted by Shylock, a money-lender, because he defaulted
on the loan of 3,000 ducats and is thus required to pay the bond – the infamous
pound of flesh.
It’s a dark play,
full of politicking and financial matters, but underneath it all is that
wonderful Shakespearean sense of humanity and life, the very lifeblood that has
made him and his works what they are today. In the hands of the Sydney Shakespeare Company,
their Merchant
of Venice is a clear, honest and simple telling of this problematic
play, one which fills the tiny sixty-five-seat TAP Gallery theatre with a warmth
and generosity of spirit which is often lost in the hands of others.
Perhaps inspired
by Christopher Marlowe’s hit-play, The
Jew of Malta, Shakespeare’s Merchant
of Venice can be read as vilifying the character of Shylock as a kind of
monster. However, in Shakespeare’s play, Shylock becomes more than just the
Elizabethan caricature of a ‘Jewish villain’; in true Shakespearean style, the
caricature is subverted and popular expectation is turned on its head.
Initially established as a monstrous figure, by the time Shylock enters the
harrowing trial scene that comprises the entirety of Act IV, his villainy has
been eroded to the point where we can see what motivates him, what makes him
breathe and tick; the oft-quoted “If you prick us, do we not bleed?” speech,
when performed well, is gut-wrenchingly affecting – Shylock is no longer a
villain, but a human.
Set on a set with whitewashed brick walls, and a gauze curtain in a
corner hiding the three chests, this company’s ethos of “producing simple and
intimate performances of the [Shakespearean] canon, with a focus on actors,
clarity and text” is well executed and clear. Dressed (for the most part) in
suits and smart clothes, Venice
As the titular merchant, Antonio is barely on stage – he has a
meager six scenes on stage, though it is his plight which encompasses the
entire fourth act, and he is in a sense the point around which the whole play
pivots. Part of The Merchant of Venice’s warmth comes from its structure –
according to John Bell, it has “all the best elements of courtroom drama,
romantic comedy and melodramatic cliffhanger. At its centre is a fascinating
love triangle between Antonio, Bassanio, and Portia.” It is this love triangle
– like those found in Twelfth Night, As You Like It, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream – that keeps the play’s action rolling
over; when coupled with Shylock and the impending repayment date on his loan,
the play’s twin plotlines converge into one of those deliciously clever endings
which Shakespeare loved. Not only does Portia save Antonio’s life (in disguise
as Balthasar, a lawyer) but her [literal] interpretation of the law redeems
Antonio’s life in exchange for half of Shylock’s estate, and helps to give the
play its ‘romantic’ ending, effectively breaking the love triangle.
Portia, as played by Lizzie Schebesta, is strong and charismatic,
and Schebesta’s performance is, alongside Mark Lee’s Shylock, the strongest in
the production. Her wholly-believable turn as lawyer Balthasar not only helps
to cement Antonio’s freedom, but showcases her impressive and beguiling range
as an actor. She interprets the Venetian law with forensic skill, and throws
Shylock’s literal interpretation of the law and his contract with Antonio back
at him: when sharing the stage with Mark Lee in the court scene, Schebesta more
than holds her own and it’s a hard choice where to look, who to follow.
Hopley’s direction here, like the quality of mercy, is not strained
– under his assured and gentle hand, the exacting justice demanded by Lee’s
Shylock is directly contrasted by the elegance of Portia and Antonio’s brand of
forgiveness. This mercy must be freely given, and must be pure and free from
any impediments; likewise, the playing style generated by Hopley and his
company’s ethos is the living embodiment of this mercy, a testament to the
enduring power of Shakespeare’s innate humanity and skill at writing people,
not characters or cariacatures.
In the words of John Bell, for all its “cruelty, its racial and
religious tensions, its running commentary on a materialistic and exclusive
society, Merchant could be a cheesy
romantic comedy. As it is, it remains a troubling, ambivalent and exciting
work, both a challenge and delight for actors and directors.” Part of its
enduring charm is its lyricism and vicious rhetoric, its vision of the
sacredness of life and love – two principles which cannot be traded, violated
or tarnished, not even for a “wilderness of monkeys.”
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