Too overwhelming

Olivier's conception of the character lacks the nobility, or at least the dignity, that one normally expects of Othello, and what emerges is a kind of crudely-drawn Uncle Tom given to wilful fits of rage and self-pity (or whatever the sobbing, slobbering and gymnastics are meant to indicate). What is important, however, is not the validity of Olivier's interpretation but the fact that his technique is simply too overwhelming for the intimate eye of the camera. What may have been impressive on the stage turns out to be ludicrous on the screen, and it is unfortunate that Olivier's antics cast a bad light on the entire proceedings.

Frank Finlay as Iago succeeds admirably. His quiet playing and subtlety of gesture is in the style of a film performance, and he is consequently treated kindly by the camera. This contrast between Finlay and Olivier brings out the most vital point which could be made about this Othello. If one is making a film (in the cinematic sense, again) of a play then all the techniques of the cinema will be employed. The acting, for example, will of necessity be film acting. Observe how John Glelgud in Julius Caesar was out of place in the company of Brando, James Mason, Edmond O'Brien and Louis Calhern, all of whom acted as if they were in a film studio and not the Old Vic.

On the other hand, if one sets out with the aim of making a permanent record on film of a performance in the theatre, then the procedure should be entirely different. The camera should be put in the middle of the "audience" and left there. The trouble with this is that, lacking the live presence of the theatre, the film will probably be a bore. But there seems to be no way out of the problem; as soon as the camera starts roaming around amongst the players or moving in for close-ups, the oversized emoting and large-scale theatrics will be mercilessly revealed. The difficulty is that if the players compensate for the presence of the camera by underplaying their roles, then the film, in this one respect at least, will cease to be a valid record of the stage performance.

The sets and staging of the action did little to offset Olivier's performance. Paradoxically, the object-lesson in stage direction comes from the cinema. I refer to Eisenstein's Ivan The Terrible (part 2), a film which should be compulsory viewing for all those interested in the theatre. This is not to say that plays should be as choreographic as, say, a Busby Berkeley spectacular, but at least the movement of the actors should provide some interest. The sets in Othello are no better than most local theatre I have seen. Once again a lesson could be learnt from another medium. Recent productions at Bayreuth have shown how lighting and scenery can be used to startling effect. But I suppose the late Wleland Wagner was more interested than most theatre producers in psychoanalysing the drama and revealing the symbolic content.

My final point about Othello will doubtless be regarded as a minor criticism, but those who accept the fault it attacks sell themselves short. It may very well be beneath the dignity of knights and dames of the theatre to hold their breath for any length of time, but I personally find nothing more damaging to a rousing Shakespearean lament than a corpse which wheezes like a pair of rusty bellows. Both Desdemona and Othello exhibit this peculiar physiological reaction, a ridiculous state of affairs which could have been avoided by a little effort on the part of the actors and some judicious editing. Olivier has done this before, notably in Hamlet, but he is by no means the only culprit. There are few directors or actors who will take any trouble over this point, but a corpse which breathes is a phenomenon that requires an outrageous suspension of disbelief. I am continually surprised at the number of people who are willing to make this concession to such an absurdity.