Cami and Liev

Marla, Cami and Liev -- Gail and Liev

Marla and Liev

Cami and Liev -- Gail and Liev

 
Chicken

Marla and Liev

Photos (December 8, 2001)

Melissa's After-Show Photos

 
Suzette, Samantha, Pinky, Liev, Brenne, and Melissa
Melissa and Keith David

Pinky's After-Show Photos

Suzette, Samantha, Melissa, Brenne, and Pinky /
Samantha, Pinky, Liev, Brenne, and Melissa

Brenne

by Ben Brantley
Photo: Sara Krulwich, New York Times

The psychopath is running the asylum again. And isn't it wonderful to know that you're in such — shall we say — capable hands?

Playing the ultimate disgruntled employee in the fast-paced production of "Othello" that opened last night at the Joseph Papp Public Theater, the amazing Liev Schreiber presents a tic-ridden, sexually crippled Iago who is clearly as mad as a rabid raccoon.

Yet he also possesses the sort of gifts that are usually rewarded with keys to the executive washroom: charm, efficiency, discreet sycophancy, organization and excellent people skills, including an ability to plant an idea in someone else's head and make him think it's his own.

A pity about that motiveless evil thing. But if he lived in latter-day Manhattan instead of long-ago Cyprus, this Iago would be the head of a Fortune 500 company or perhaps be one of Broadway's few bankable directors. At least until someone discovered a body in one of his filing cabinets.

Anyone doubting that Mr. Schreiber has advanced to the top rungs of American stage actors need only check out his smart, flashy and extremely entertaining portrait of Shakespeare's most subtle destroyer of men. Last seen in New York in an exquisitely understated portrait of one of the cryptic adulterers in Harold Pinter's "Betrayal," Mr. Schreiber here shifts into a more flamboyant mode.

But don't worry. The cool fireworks he sends off have been just as impeccably orchestrated as the elliptical silences of "Betrayal." In Doug Hughes's swift and streamlined interpretation of Shakespeare's most relentless tragedy, Iago and the man playing him are unconditionally in charge.

Granted, this leads to a definite imbalance. No one else in the cast, led by the gifted Keith David as Othello, comes close to matching Mr. Schreiber's playful interpretive intelligence.

So Mr. Hughes really has no choice but to lead with the ace that is Mr. Schreiber, turning the whole evening into Iago's playground. For here is a Mephistopheles who was born, as he sees it, not just to rebel against God but to usurp his function.

Correspondingly, in ways beautifully enhanced by the staging and production design, all the world — or at least most of Cyprus — becomes Iago's stage. Mr. Hughes is expert in clearly configuring his cast members in the patterns of chess figures as seen through Iago's eyes.

Robert Wierzel's superb lighting takes us directly into the overheated workshop of Iago's mind, where we find him serenading his own shadow. And David Van Tieghem's sound design includes sinister bell noises that seem to signal those moments when Iago clicks another piece of his diabolical puzzle into place.

Even Neil Patel's minimal set, in which screens play an appropriately central role, and Catherine Zuber's costumes seem to feed into Iago's master plan. The mood is 18th-century rococo, recalling a time in which rank and class were elaborately stratified. In an inspired interpolative touch, Iago becomes Othello's valet cum dresser as well as his ensign. And who is more invisible than a valet?

Taking advantage of such handy camouflage, this Iago proceeds to write the script of the undoing of his charismatic boss, barely able to repress a murmur of delight when props, actors and scenery all conspire to fall into place. You'll often find him in an aisle of the theater, looking on like the archetypal nervous director, nibbling his fingers with a mixture of satisfaction and anxiety. He's like an evil urban twin of Prospero, the world-ordering wizard of "The Tempest."

This Iago, for the record, is no bland-seeming, self-effacing functionary, which has become the fashion. The brilliant British actor Simon Russell Beale provided the last word in that vein in his landmark performance for the Royal National Theater several seasons ago.

Instead, Mr. Schreiber leaves no doubt that his Iago, addled by sexual resentment and class envy, is as bonkers as the serial killer played by Kevin Spacey in "Seven" or one of Thomas Harris's diabolical pleasure killers. This Iago knows he has to keep a somber mask over his enjoyment of the disasters he brings about, but every so often the mask slips in public. And there, fleetingly, in plain view are the compulsive flinches and twitches, that infernal smile of self-satisfaction.

The struggle to sustain the mask provides most of the real tension in this "Othello." Mr. David's interpretation of the Moor scales down the usual majesty of presence. He's extremely composed and authoritative, a natural leader. But he doesn't have the hypnotic grandeur or the implicit force of passion that so famously won over Desdemona (Kate Forbes).

This means that when Othello does battle with that old green-eyed monster, he doesn't really have very far to fall. He suggests a self-involved businessman (too self-involved and self-confident to notice that his ensign Iago is subverting him at every turn). When he famously bids farewell to the "tranquil mind" and martial glory, it's as if he's saying goodbye to expense account lunches at "21."

Christopher Evan Welch's foppish, foolish Roderigo is perhaps too easy a characterization, but it works. And Mr. Schreiber is never so creepy as when pulling Mr. Welch into a comradely embrace that seems mighty close to a stranglehold. Jay Goede is fine as the handsome Cassio, especially when in his drunkenness he says exactly what he shouldn't say if he wants to stay in Iago's good graces. Becky Ann Baker, an excellent actress, anachronistically brings to mind a whiny Shelly Winters as Desdemona's handmaiden.

Ms. Forbes, once you get past the self-conscious plumminess of her diction, is a refreshingly plucky Desdemona. She's heartier and more self-assertive than most Desdemonas, and it makes sense that she would stand up both to her father (Jack Ryland, in an enjoyably distraught performance) and her husband. She also does beautifully by the melancholy, introspective scene that precedes her murder.

Mr. David incisively conveys the uxorious sensual pride that Othello takes in his wife. But in this "Othello" it's Iago's relationship with Desdemona that seizes our imagination. Watch this Iago venturing, ever so tentatively, to touch Desdemona's neck as she weeps, simultaneously registering impulses both erotic and homicidal.

He's such a fascinating creature that you at first shrug off that no one else reaches Mr. Schreiber's level. After all, isn't that sort of appropriate, given the upper hand that Iago sustains for most of the evening?

By the second half, however, you're forced to remember that the play's title is indeed "Othello." And this Othello's descent into tragic rage just doesn't intrigue except as it gratifies Iago. Tellingly, the audience was chuckling away even when Desdemona was being strangled (instead of suffocated as usual), not a good sign.

All the same, it isn't often that a production of a play as well known as "Othello" tells you anything new. And Mr. Schreiber, working with Mr. Hughes, draws an intriguing and persuasive new diagram of Iago's pathological web. Now if only his victims presented slightly more of a challenge.

OTHELLO
By Shakespeare; directed by Doug Hughes; sets by Neil Patel; lighting by Robert Wierzel; costumes by Catherine Zuber; original music and sound by David Van Tieghem; fight director, Rick Sordelet; production stage manager, Buzz Cohen. Managing director, Michael Hurst; associate producers, Bonnie Metzgar and John Dias. Presented by the Joseph Papp Public Theater, New York Shakespeare Festival; George C. Wolfe, producer. At the Anspacher Theater in the Joseph Papp Public Theater, 425 Lafayette Street, East Village.

WITH: Liev Schreiber (Iago), Keith David (Othello), Jay Goede (Cassio), Kate Forbes (Desdemona), Becky Ann Baker (Emilia) and Christopher Evan Welch (Roderigo) and Jack Ryland (Brabantio).

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by Donald Lyons

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by Howard Kissel

Although it is one of the most popular of Shakespeare's tragedies, "Othello" has been slightly out of fashion in recent years.

Shaw questioned how tragic a play could be if it hinged on losing a handkerchief. Some have found Othello's gullibility irritating. Others have noted it is the only Shakespeare tragedy that does not involve royalty.

Myself, I can tolerate tragedies without royalty as long as the costumes are rich, as they are in Doug Hughes' excellent production of "Othello."

Watching it, I was struck by how "modern" the play is in three respects. One is that it focuses on how fragile civilization is, how much rage rests just below the surface, even in as noble a man as the Moor of Venice.

The second is the play's assertion that there is such a thing as evil. Iago has a lot of motivations for his dastardly behavior, but the incitement need not have resulted in the hideous bloodshed he creates. Given his evil nature, it does.

The third "modern" thing about "Othello" is its ugliness. It has, of course, a lot of great poetry, but there is also a lot of verbal coarseness befouling the Venetian air.

Hughes' production has a bare-bones simplicity. Neil Patel's set is dominated by two Corinthian columns. The moods stem less from props than from Robert Wierzel's evocative lighting.

Hughes' staging stresses that this is an intimate play, a series of conversations between people who think they know each other well, which also reinforces the brutality of Iago's betrayal of his "friend," his friend's wife and his own.

In some of his other work, Liev Schreiber has an animation in his features that suggests sexiness and intelligence. Here, as Iago, he projects a surly determination that reminds us of his relentless malignity. In this context, even his flippant humor is deeply disquieting.

In the title role, Keith David has a dark, mellifluous voice that conveys the poetry with great power. When Othello rages, his lithe body suggests not a man in vicious attack but someone being torn on a rack.

The vulnerability is moving. What is missing is the sense of the noble, aloof warrior, which would intensify our feeling of how deep is his decline.

Kate Forbes is a moving Desdemona. Becky Ann Baker has a wonderful earthiness as Emilia. Jay Goede is an unusually sympathetic Cassio, and Natacha Roi is strong as his tart.

David Van Tieghem has contributed his customarily unsettling subliminal sound effects.

There are many stark pictures, like the moment Iago kills Roderigo. The lighting is harsh, the sense of violence sharp. When it is done, Schreiber turns from his deed like a dancer in some grotesque ballet. It is an instance of Hughes' ability to create visual poetry akin to the play's.

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Magnifying the Bard's Rich Words:
Liev Schreiber's Iago adds depth to NY Festival's 'Othello'

by Linda Winer
photo: Ari Mintz, Newsday

ON THE SURFACE, Liev Schreiber does not have a heroic, or even an especially expressive quality. He has an implacable, almost comic face that at some angles seems to have been dashed off by a cartoonist's pen.

As anyone watching must already know, however, Schreiber is quickly becoming one of the real actors of his generation, a spirit that shapes itself around the essence of Pinter on Broadway, Shakespeare at the Joseph Papp Public Theater, Orson Welles on HBO and scary business in the "Scream" movies with a transformational lack of vanity.

And now, we have Schreiber's Iago, a performance that speaks for itself about the progress of Papp's dream for American Shakespeare. In Doug Hughes' vaguely 18th century update of "Othello," which opened last night at the New York Shakespeare Festival, Schreiber is so far beyond the beautiful sounds and versifications that the words are merely the beginning, the rich ground on which character is grown.

Indeed, if Shakespeare had written "Iago" and not "Othello," the tragedy would have led us triumphantly into the darkest corners of the complex heart. Instead, this is a respectable, earnest, thoughtful production that, except for Schreiber's quicksilver Iago, seems actorly and a little square.

Keith David makes an elegant but somewhat dull Moor, a well-spoken warrior who has learned to wear the trappings of foreign success. We have to wait until this Othello gets crazy with jealousy - and turns out a hyper-realistic seizure - to see something primal, even twisted, burst through the raffish ruffles of Catherine Zuber's costumes.

In some ways, this, and Shakespeare's grand play, are enough. Not for nothing, however, did choreographer José Limon see "Othello" as a pavane, a tightly coiled dance of death and betrayal for four equal players. Critic Kenneth Tynan said it was a theatrical bullfight, with the Moor as the noble bull charging the handkerchief waved by Iago, the manipulating matador. For Verdi, it became the ultimate operatic duel.

For the power of Shakespeare's "green- eyed monster" to take hold of all the corners of our psyche, this must be at least a trio, and, with Iago's wife Emilia, preferably a quartet. Kate Forbes makes a womanly, lyrically dignified Desdemona, Becky Ann Baker's Emilia is earthy and oddly neighborly, Jay Goede's Cassio is benignly self-possessed and Christopher Evan Welch's Roderigo, Iago's sometimes partner in crime, has the petulant pout of a '90s slacker.

Hughes' Venice and Cyprus are civilizations where people dress with more care than they decorate. Zuber's costumes put men in britches and boots, and most clothes are variations on the colors of dried blood.

Neil Patel's sets are minimal, the cities suggesting the grime of living. Hughes, who made theater headlines recently when he left the Long Wharf Theater in New Haven, Conn., in a power dispute with the head of his board, mostly lets the story unfold without distraction.

The flash comes in the imaginative transitions between scenes and in Robert Wierzel's lights, which make Venice come alive with just a flicker of water on the walls. The rest is Schreiber's Iago, whose interior monologues are focused in the rumble of thunder and the nakedness of white light. The expressionistic device could seem like a gimmick, except that Schreiber keeps throwing off our expectations with wit and horror. At one point, he becomes captivated by the size and presence of his giant shadow. And so do we.

OFF-BROADWAY REVIEW

OTHELLO. By William Shakespeare, directed by Doug Hughes. With Keith David, Liev Schreiber, Kate Forbes, Becky Ann Baker, Jay Goede. Sets by Neil Patel, costumes by Catherine Zuber, lights by Robert Wierzel, music by David Van Tieghem. New York Shakespeare Festival, Lafayette Street, south of Astor Place. Through Dec. 30. Seen at Friday's preview.

by Charles Isherwood

Destruction is raised to the level of art in "Othello," and audiences couldn't ask for a more captivating creator of chaos than the Iago of Liev Schreiber, the latest and finest in this exemplary young actor's growing gallery of Shakespeare performances for the Public Theater. Title notwithstanding, Shakespeare's tragedy is dominated on the page and often on the stage by its nihilistic antihero, and such is the case with Doug Hughes' clean-lined, efficient production. Keith David's performance as the manipulated Moor has many fine attributes, but it ultimately lacks the grandeur to wrest the play from the cool, confident grasp of Schreiber's bewitching Iago.

Schreiber, who has previously won major acclaim for his Iachimo (in "Cymbeline") and his Hamlet in Public Theater productions, is the rare American actor of any generation who lives so comfortably inside the sound and sense of Shakespearean verse that centuries of developments in syntax, vocabulary and grammar seem to evaporate as soon as he opens his mouth. While some other actors merely bellow fancy language at us (here Jack Ryland's overacted Brabantio is an egregious example), Schreiber seems to be whispering Iago's thoughts clearly into our ear.

That's a particularly happy aptitude for this inventive schemer, who makes the audience his unwilling confidante by way of some of Shakespeare's richest soliloquies. The role is significantly larger than Othello's, and one of the longest in the canon, but it's also multifaceted and mysterious, and the great achievement of Schreiber's Iago is that we can never pin him down.

At first he seems unhinged, as the show opens with a whirl of whispering voices inside his head (David Van Tieghem's aggressive sound design and electronic music have both effectively unsettling and overbearing moments). A certain twitchiness, a straining of the neck as if to escape the sufferings of his skin, arises when Iago speaks of his humiliation at being passed over in favor of Cassio for promotion by Othello, and he seems equally disturbed at the rumor of his wife's infidelity with the Moor. His eyes become slits, his voice takes on a seething, sullen tone when the subject of women arises.

But most of the time, Iago's cool as a cucumber, a puppeteer pulling strings and taking a cheeky, casually chilling pleasure in doing so. The scene in which Iago languidly plants the suggestion of Desdemona's unfaithfulness in Othello's gullible heart is brilliantly played here by both actors. Throughout, as Iago flits between a kind of seething incipient madness and nearly diffident manipulation -- his famous avowal "I am not what I am" made manifest -- Schreiber's seductive voice, his sly charm and sheer intelligence lend Iago's machinations more than enough of the malignant fascination that are necessary to keep us from recoiling; on the contrary, when he's offstage, and we're watching his plots unfold without his sardonic commentary, we miss him. (The production's sharp, expressionistic lighting design by Robert Wierzel also serves to emphasize the character's centrality: The play ends with the spotlight not on the doomed lovers but on the shivering figure of Iago, for instance.)

Poised in opposition to the negative energy of Iago is the love between Othello and Desdemona, of course, and the piteousness of the play comes from our discovery of how easily the match is won by Iago's wanton destructiveness. The play offers a sad commentary on the fragility of faith in the face of reason, of love when opposed by hate: Our hearts should break at the ease with which Othello's great love for Desdemona is undone by the insinuating arguments and feeble "proofs" Iago puts before him.

Here Hughes' production disappoints -- it doesn't give rise to real anguish. For the play to acquire the tragic dimension it needs to transfer our engagement from the mind of Iago to the heart of Othello, the profundity of Othello's love and the paralyzing pain of its loss need to come across forcefully. It doesn't quite, here.

David is in many respects a fine, respectable Othello. He cuts a virile figure, and the sensual attraction between his Othello and Kate Forbes' serene, sensible and lovely Desdemona is palpably felt. He is an experienced, accomplished handler of Shakespearean verse, too, and has a baritone of supple richness to do it full musical justice.

Othello's jittery unease as Iago's poison works its way into his heart is effectively rendered, but as we listen to David's handsome voice rise in anger or drop suddenly to a smooth basso aside, it's often the sculpted phrases we hear, not the volcano of feeling behind them. The superficial nobility of the warrior and hero are here, but the greater nobility of the full-hearted lover, in which resides the character's grandeur and significance, is not. As a result, Othello's duping is a sad waste, but not quite tragic, so its consequences don't carry the horrific force they should, despite Forbes' fine work in the last scene.

The supporting cast, clad in Catherine Zuber's handsome if somewhat generic 18th century garb, is competent. Becky Ann Baker's Emilia is surprisingly lacking in color, as is, less surprisingly, Jay Goede's Cassio (that's a reflection on the character, not the actor). The set design by Neil Patel is an odd mixture whose cement pillars and walls sometimes recall contemporary Venice, Calif., more than Venice, Italy, and Cyprus.

But the evening belongs to Schreiber's Iago, and he's no less fascinating at the conclusion than the start. The character's final lines, in answer to Othello's demand to know the cause of his hate, are among the most bluntly stunning in Shakespeare. "Demand me nothing. What you know, you know./From this time forth I never will speak word." Iago's sudden silence is a rebuke to the comforting idea that human evil has a cause, and thus a cure. All we really know about Iago, in the end, is that he's awful and he's fascinating. And, thanks to the lucid complexity of Schreiber's performance, he's disturbingly real.

Sets, Neil Patel; costumes, Catherine Zuber; lighting, Robert Wierzel; music and sound, David Van Tieghem; fight director, Rick Sordelet; production stage manager, Buzz Cohen. Producer, George C. Wolfe. Opened Dec. 9, 2001. Reviewed Dec. 6. Running time: 3 HOURS.

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Photo: Michael Daniel

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by Martin Denton

Liev Schreiber's Iago makes the new production of Othello absolutely must-see theatre. Schreiber's work here is extraordinary: an arresting, endlessly fascinating characterization that makes us pay attention to a too-familiar play; makes us understand the work and the world anew, in fact. It's acting of the finest caliber: the performance of the year, probably.

Have I got your attention? Good: I can't remember being this excited by an actor's take on a classic role in a very, very long time. What Schreiber gives us in his Iago is a portrait of an ordinary man drawn to do evil. It's a very contemporary take that never feels untrue to Shakespeare: this Iago is a weakling and a coward, one who has positioned himself as a victim; one who, as the promotions and women and other imagined entitlements pass him by, rages and rails in his powerlessness and then plots revenge on the world that has snubbed him. No single-mindedly evil monster, this; nor a diabolical scheming genius. This Iago is an Everyman, perhaps a bit shrewder than average, whose petty grievance against what feels like an unjust conspiracy against him turns into an obsession.

Schreiber's Iago, in short, has something in common with the terrorist. What we get to witness, in this Othello, is the derailment of a beautiful mind. In the intimate Anspacher Theatre, each arched eyebrow, each nervous half-laugh, each wince of pain or perverse pleasure registers acutely. The actor places this tragic figure under a microscope, and lets us chart his disintegration with excruciating and exquisite detail.

I wish I could tell you that the rest of Doug Hughes' staging of Othello equaled Schreiber's Iago; unfortunately, it doesn't. The trappings, first of all, are bigger than they need to be--lots of portentous music and grandiose lighting and sparse but overdone scenery mar the proceedings (and on more than one occasion, they bring things to a complete halt). The work of the ensemble is only spotty: George Morfogen's wise, noble, and beneficent Duke of Venice adds a good deal to our appreciation of the play, as does Kate Forbes' secure, vibrant, altogether grown-up Desdemona. But Becky Ann Baker 's Emilia is shrill and coarse; and she doesn't seem to be up to making sense, let alone beauty, out of the verse she's called upon to speak. And Keith David's Othello is finally unconvincing: he's impressively commanding as the wounded, angry cuckold, but when it comes time to carry out Desdemona's death sentence I sensed the actor pulling back--the passion and the conviction both seemed strangely absent.

But Hughes' work with Schreiber in creating this Iago is masterful. Scenes like Brabantio's tirade against the Moor and Iago's eleventh-hour comforting of Desdemona play as if you've never seen them before, feeding and fueling the vision of Iago as the real tragic hero of this complicated play. There's a clarity and sharpness of focus that cuts through the complexity and forces us to see this fellow anew. It's a thrilling experience.

Schreiber speaks the words in a gorgeous sonorous voice that brings to mind Burton's; his unshakable sense of hangdog supercilious inadequacy made me think, at one point, of Wile E. Coyote.  Schreiber's work here is electrifying: I found myself watching him wherever he was, whether reacting impassively in a corner or brazenly claiming his destiny center stage in a blazing pool of light.

This is, I think, a performance they'll be talking about for years. Even if this isn't an Othello to remember, Liev Schreiber's Iago is one you'll never forget.

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by Jeremiah Kipp

Esteemed rock critic Richard Meltzer once wrote in an article about professional wrestling (bear with me here) that "Rowdy" Roddy Piper was not a tremendous athlete, nor did he have particularly flashy moves within the ring. His gimmick was being a remarkable coward, a stage villain who cheated, mocked, and got himself into no-win situations with Hulk Hogan where he’d have to use increasingly ridiculous tactics to sneak his way out. It may seem odd to compare Iago to Roddy Piper, but Liev Schreiber’s broadly silly take on the role reminded me of Piper’s Pit, where the jocular wrestler was a badass with braggadocio. He was so verbally dexterous and so over-the-top cunning-slash-stupid, you couldn’t help but love the guy. (Well, I couldn’t.)

It’s a surprisingly goofy production of Othello from the Public Theater, which is surprising but not altogether a bad thing. Schreiber plays Iago as an obtuse punk who can’t keep his mouth shut. Far from the canny manipulator archetype he’s been seen as over the years, this portrayal still has him hit his poisoned marks while orchestrating his master plan against Othello (winning the Moor, wife Desdemona, and friend/captain Cassio over by his increasingly ridiculous arguments), but it seemingly takes him forever to figure out exactly what he wants to accomplish, hence his stalling verbosity, and he doesn’t know when to let up. This yammering gnat overreaches his case so much at one point that Othello is tempted to strangle him, and not Desdemona. Everyone seems to trust Iago, but he also seems to piss them off by his unrelenting "candor". It’s a smart take on the role (if a little broad), and Schreiber steps up to the plate with a loopy clownishness punctuated by sullen, dark cloud pouts.

Iago has always been the role in Othello, a Machiavellian villain with seemingly no redeeming qualities. His only purpose is to stir up havoc, orchestrating subplot upon subplot without any cast iron motive, other than that he hates the Moor. Even he can’t make up his mind on why he feels so strongly about the guy: he claims that Othello has slept with his wife; that Othello passed him up for promotion; that he feels inferior; that he loves Othello but disguises it in bitter hatred, etc., etc. The comic potential is dizzying, and often productions wind up becoming unintentionally hysterical because anyone who trusts sneaky Pete Iago winds up looking like a big fool. Joke’s on them.

Director Doug Hughes adds a layer of protection to his Othello by keeping the material on a level of heightened reality, sometimes bordering on satire or parody. The stately Colonial-era costumes of rich crimson and creamy white, warm, rich-hued lighting, and clipped precision staging save it from becoming too much of a joke. Hughes’ long opening sequence in the royal court of Venice plays like an episode of Archie Bunker, with Desdemona’s blustering father (grouchy character actor Jack Ryland) engaged in hearty, race-baiting debate with Othello (Keith David), who secretly married his daughter (Kate Forbes). It’s a domestic dispute interfering with the affairs of state, with the Duke calling an emergency meeting to declare war on Cyprus. Hughes doesn’t milk the scene for the comic potential it deserves, but certainly captures the downright stupidity of grand soliloquies about love and honor when the country is marching off to war. It’s borderline Dr. Strangelove, though one wishes Hughes had gone all the way with his sarcastic push. He treats Othello with enormous reverence, doting on reliable stage actor Keith David’s center of gravity charisma. Without a credible Othello, the entire play falls to pieces. David, who’s deserved the part for years, doesn’t disappoint in the early going, lending his regal presence and rich, melodious voice to the role. His overt "let’s jump into bed" playfulness with Desdemona is a bit much, though Hughes seems to emphasize repetition with all of his actors (Schreiber grabs his crotch at least five times, or wagging around props as a giant penis. We get it.)

Hughes handles the Iago-Roderigo (Christopher Evan Welch) scenes with a lighter touch, having Iago goad his moneylending sidekick Roderigo into fights to further his purpose (with Brabantio, with Cassio) before running away like a chicken ("I must leave you!"), only to return minutes later with a small army, sword drawn, exclaiming, "Put a stop to this madness! I’ll take Roderigo!" Yes, it’s a Roddy Piper type of slapstick violence. This run and hide mentality is further emphasized by Schreiber dabbing at his head with a towel, giggling inappropriately, and saying, "Uhhhhh…" when he’s at a loss for words, before launching into his next arsenal of malarkey. As Indiana Jones said, he’s making it up as he goes along. Welch makes for a game Roderigo, thankfully less hyperactive than his clown from this summer’s Measure For Measure in Central Park.

Relocating to Cyprus, Othello quickly strengthens his garrisons and moves on to enjoying his honeymoon bliss with Desdemona. For his part, Iago befriends the soldiers and turns them against Cassio (Jay Goede), painting him as an argumentative drunk after plying him with alcohol. Remaining everyone’s best friend, Iago encourages Cassio to entreat Desdemona to return him to Othello’s favor, thereby creating the dynamic of jealousy that brings out Othello’s inner green eyed monster. All hell breaks loose soon after, and Iago finds himself swept up in a situation that spins wildly out of control. Like Josh Hartnett’s interpretation of Hugo/Iago in the film O of the past summer, Schreiber seems to become increasingly baffled by circumstances much larger than himself. But Iago’s other fatal flaw seems to be pigheaded stupidity, a nice touch. He’s no match for Othello’s leadership and forcefulness, nor can he neatly corral the thrust of Othello’s emotional ferocity.

Aside from an appropriately stark final scene that captures the claustrophobia of domestic tragedy (with an opulent bed and bright red curtains brought onstage in stark contrast to the previous near-bare stage minimalism), the post-intermission Othello has run out of places to go. This is partly because of the directorial decision of having the Moor break down too much too soon, but also because the final acts of the play depend on a strong Desdemona, and bland Kate Forbes doesn’t have the acting chops to keep up with David and Schreiber. She’s also saddled with an unimaginative interpretation of Desdemona that doesn’t allow her to emerge with a jolt of passive-aggressive neediness or as a key adversary to Iago -- her final exchange with him could be interpreted as powerless rage.

The most Forbes is allowed is a slightly annoying Wifey Knows Best quality, which only makes David’s Othello seem like a chump. For all the faults of Tim Blake Nelson’s O (and for all the play’s melodramatic redundancy, it trivializes Othello’s plight and Iago’s desire by making them high school basketball jocks), it had three lead actors of equal charisma, each given their fair share of character defining moments. In this production, Desdemona is lost and the emotional backbone of the play goes with her. Our sympathies go out to the least likely candidate: Iago. An odd but interesting moment occurs where Schreiber winds up comforting Forbes, unclear whether it’s guilt, desire, pity, or all an act. Still, the effect is strangely touching.

Othello is an enormously difficult play to get right, relying on contrivances around lost handkerchiefs, secret rendezvous, preserved secrets, and unwavering emotional states. It also has long scenes where Othello erupts into ferocious anger and even an epileptic fit, tempting actors into screaming histrionics. For a while, this production seems to avoid those traps. Keith David is steady and cool in his early scenes where Iago plants seeds of doubt in his mind, but by the halfway mark David’s early restraint has worn off and he’s reduced to the limiting choices of howling his way through monologues, leaving Schreiber with no choice but to follow suit. Both fine actors, David and Schreiber lend considerable weight, finding nuance and detail in even their most melodramatic lines, but Othello winds up exhausting and overripe. Thankfully not as inconsistent or downright misguided as other Public Theater productions (keeping to a single, consistent time period), this makes for a credible Othello as brutal satire, bedroom farce, and beguiling in-the-spotlight character study of Iago. Yes, he’s so delighted in himself that he dances a little jig, does a flying leap, and outstretches his hands to the audience as if to say, "Hey, how ‘bout them apples?"

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Get Out Your Handkerchiefs
Liev Schreiber meets Iago in the Public Theater production of Shakespeare’s Othello.

by Brian Scott Lipton

Liev Schreiber may not be a household name, but Schreiber’s face is familiar in a great many households. The constantly working, 34-year-old actor, whose latest role is Iago in the Public Theater’s production of Othello, has been seen by the majority of American teens in one of the three Scream movies as the oddly named Cotton Weary. If you don’t have a teen at home, you may have seen him in such indies as Big Night, The Daytrippers, and this year’s critically acclaimed two-hander Spring Forward; on cable in HBO’s RKO 281 as Orson Welles; or in such big-screen, big-budget vehicles as Twilight (with Paul Newman and Susan Sarandon), Ransom (with Mel Gibson), and Sphere (with Dustin Hoffman and Sharon Stone). Later this month, he’ll turn up as the present-day inventor who inadvertently makes a love match between 21st-century gal Meg Ryan and 19th-century aristocrat Hugh Jackman in Kate and Leopold, directed by his close friend James Mangold.

But the place where Schreiber has truly made his mark is the theater, a none-too-surprising choice for someone who studied at both the Yale School of Drama and the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London. While others of his generation have gravitated to Richard Foreman or Richard Greenberg, Schreiber has been the Bard’s best boy, having trod the boards of the Public Theater/New York Shakespeare Festival as Sebastian in The Tempest, Banquo in Macbeth, Iachimo in Cymbeline (for which he won the Obie Award), and the Holy Grail of acting: the title role in Hamlet. (He also played Laertes opposite Ethan Hawke in last year’s modern-dress film version of the play).

Now, he has taken on the evilest of the Bard’s villains opposite Keith David as the Moor, Kate Forbes as Desdemona, and Becky Ann Baker as Emilia. Giving Schreiber the rave of a lifetime in The New York Times, Ben Brantley wrote: “Anyone doubting that Mr. Schreiber has advanced to the top rungs of American stage actors need only check out his smart, flashy, and extremely entertaining portrait of Shakespeare's most subtle destroyer of men.” Yet the actor initially had very mixed feelings about taking on this challenging role.

“George C. Wolfe [the Public’s artistic director] and I are friends,” Schreiber tells me. “We talk all the time, and I told him I wanted to see Keith do Othello. Then he asked me to do Iago. My first thought was that Iago was just another bad guy—this two-dimensional, Machiavellian character—and it’s such hard work to do this kind of play, so why not just save myself the tsuris? But then you get inside the play, you realize just how remarkable the characters are, and all bets are off.”

Having accepted the part, Schreiber was pleased to find that director Doug Hughes had settled on a more-or-less traditional production. (Shockingly for Public Theater devotees, the only person of color on stage is Keith David.) “So many people try to put their own ‘interpretation’ on Shakespeare, and what happens is that you get the characters and the language but you lose the narrative,” Schreiber says. “Doug let the play itself determine the structure. Shakespeare is really the master of structure and form; so, when you let the narrative lead, amazing thing happens.”

As for his own vision of Iago, Schreiber has also eschewed too much embellishment. “People are always looking for big thematic innovations in playing Iago, but I think it’s just that Shakespeare has written a portrait of a classic sociopath 300 years before Freud coined the term,” he says. “Iago’s behavior shows the lack of compassion of a sociopathic personality and, as a result, he lacks the ability to create relationships. So he has this lonely and terrifying existence. We can be compassionate or shut ourselves down. It’s not about being born evil.”

That said, Schreiber adds that there are specific triggers that cause the character to do what he does: “Yes, he may be jealous of Cassio being promoted over him. He may fear that Othello slept with his wife or worry that Desdemona doesn’t care about him. In that, we can see Iago in ourselves. We all have envy, lust and greed—and God bless us for having them! We all feel like we’re the smartest person in the room sometimes, and we all feel very isolated and struggle not to be. I think Iago decides first to try not to be isolated and then, when he feels shut out, he decides to destroy it all.”

Schreiber has had a true affinity for Shakespeare since his first encounter with the Bard’s work, when he played Bottom in a school production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. “I took to it immediately, this language that was evocative of something bigger in life,” he recalls. “I always felt a great discrepancy between my articulateness as a ‘normal’ person and as an actor. I think that Shakespeare allows me the maximum form of expression. Something about the rhythm of his language keeps your brain from getting in the way and lets your emotions flow uncensored from the physical body.”

 

Liev Schreiber and Kate Forbes (foreground) with Becky Ann Baker in Othello (Photo: Michal Daniel)

This concept of rhythm in language is the reason that Schreiber feels equally comfortable performing the work of Harold Pinter. Though the actor made his Broadway debut in 1993, in JoAnne Akalaitis’ production of In the Summer House at Lincoln Center, he first came to many theatergoers’ attention two years later in the Roundabout’s production of Pinter’s Moonlight, starring Jason Robards and Blythe Danner and directed by Karel Reisz. “It was a very odd piece,” he says. “You simply had to let go of any idea of narrative and just go with language. But I found that I liked that freedom. I knew about things like Mabou Mines but I never felt I could get into that kind of company, so Pinter was my introduction to that sort of theater. Karel said to try to follow the play like it was sheet music.

“Working with Karel, Jason, and Blythe was also remarkable in that, as a young actor, I got to see their level of commitment to doing plays and not making any money,” Schreiber adds. Last season, he returned to Pinter and the Roundabout as the man who cuckolds his best friend in Betrayal, earning himself a Drama Desk nomination for Best Actor. “Somewhere in the structure of Pinter’s language is the emotion,” he says. “So, if you play the language, you get the emotion. It was fun.”

Not to mention short: Betrayal is literally only half as long as Othello. “It was great to do a play where you’re out in time for dinner,” Schreiber observes with a laugh.

by Clive Barnes

There are two remarkable one-person shows currently playing at the Joseph Papp Public Theater on Lafayette Street: "Elaine Stritch: At Liberty," which stars the ineffable instant legend Elaine Stritch and is headed to Broadway next February, and a play called, oddly enough, "Othello," with Liev Schreiber.

I say oddly enough because Schreiber is not acting Othello. Schreiber is Shakespeare's nastiest villain, Iago.

Don't get me wrong. This is in no way a bad production of "Othello." But what makes it fascinating is Schreiber's wickedly runaway Iago, who with disarming ease picks the production up and makes it into a combination looking-glass and kaleidoscope for the character.

It is not that he upstages anyone. It is simply that the rest of cast, as it were, downstage him.

Presumably, director Doug Hughes had a great deal more than an inkling of what was happening, for in effect he often conspires with his Iago, setting off many of his soliloquies in a spotlight, and letting music put quotation marks round his speeches.

Many a time an Iago has whisked off the play from his Othello. I have seen this done by the likes of Peter Finch, John Neville, Christopher Plummer, Christopher Walken, Ian McKellen and Simon Russell Beale.

For one thing, Iago - one of the three longest roles in Shakespeare - has substantially more lines than Othello, who only comes to dominate the play in the last act.

It is also the more interesting role. Iago is the arch Machiavellian villain, motivated at heart by pure, self-justifying evil, whereas Othello is little more than an enraged, noble bull. And in a bullfight, the matador has all the fun.

But what is remarkable about Schreiber and his quicksilver and vicious Iago is his utter authority as an actor.

For some, it has been evident that Schreiber is a stage actor with the potential for greatness - as evidenced recently by his Hamlet and his performance in Harold Pinter's "Betrayal."

With this Iago, he stakes his claim as one of the two or three leading actors of his generation in the English-speaking theater (with Beale and Richard Lester).

It is curious that although he is certainly effective on television and in movies, he has a special incandescence on stage. He eats up an audience like a flame consumes oxygen.

This theatrical authority, particularly as a Shakespearean, is all the more remarkable because of his comparative inexperience.

It would have been fascinating to see him flash his Iago against a more naturally flamboyant Othello, Denzel Washington, Andre Braugher or Don Cheadle. Yet I think the result would probably have been the same.

Schreiber is that rare actor, the natural classicist, who finds Shakespeare's thoughts and images his mother tongue, and is on colloquial terms with history.

Now one wants to see him as some of Shakespeare's tragic kings, as Mosca in Ben Jonson's "Volpone," in Ibsen and Chekhov, in Schiller's "Don Carlos" - indeed gleefully running the gamut of the classic repertory.

The only difficulty is, where does he find the running track - and the other competitors?

Go East, young man.

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