There Will Be Blood

Review: The Merchant of Venice
Cutler Majestic Theatre, Boston
April 1, 2011

"If you prick us, do we not bleed?... And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?" Shylock utters these stinging words as he comes to collect his bond: a pound of flesh from the merchant Antonio, who cannot repay Shylock's loan on time. Modern takes on The Merchant of Venice shy from making Shylock a mere villain set on vengeance. Ever more, directors have mined from William Shakespeare's "comedy" the racism and bigotry that pervade this Venice. After all, Shylock is not the only merchant in town. Money lenders make deals left and right, yet only the Jew is punished for capitalizing on the system.

Darko Tresnjak sets his characters' troubling actions in the present, a world dominated by MacBooks and Wall Street brokers. The relentless drive of the stock market and ever-ripening technology deserve blame for the degradation of Venice. F. Murray Abraham anchors the play with his wise, human Shylock. He is eloquent but fast of tongue; quick to deal but reduced to tears by the consequences. He sees how anti-Semitism runs in the blood of Venetians, and reminds in the words above that he also bleeds. And he loses his amassed wealth, first to a daughter who steals his riches, then at the hands of Portia, who cons a courtroom to save Antonio's life.

The exact law behind Shylock's condemnation feels like a deus ex machina, but I was convinced in this production that this was deliberate. Portia willingly bends the rules, certain that fortune favors her privileged, Christian class. As a Moroccan prince fails to win her hand, she says that she wouldn't marry a man of his complexion. Even once she and her maid Nerissa are matched, they toy with their men over their rings, perpetuating the lending game.

Despite the visible mechanics, Tresnjak's staging is not too cold. Kate MacGluggage as Portia radiates warmth considering her craftiness, matched by Lucas Hall's youthful Bassanio (apparently too naive to know whether he's in love with Portia or Antonio). The more comedic roles, unfortunately, are overdone, which includes Gratiano as a grating frat-boy. Better are the dramatic moments, as when Shylock is sentenced: the cast stands silent in fixed cells of light, trapped in their fear. I remain unconvinced by the final act where the lovers reunite. Who wants comedy after such a dramatic shift? But maybe Shakespeare's playing games, too: deceiving even his audience with a happy ending.