So, Is Othello Worth Nearly a Thousand Bucks a Ticket?

The hottest theater ticket in New York this spring is not some flashy new musical ear-worming its way toward Tony Awards, as is often the case. Instead, people are beating down the doors at the Barrymore Theatre to see a production of Othello, a 400-year-old tragedy by the successful playwright William Shakespeare. The draw, though, isn’t really the play itself. It’s the chance to see Denzel Washington perform the title role (his first time doing so since his college days, 50 years ago), with help from Jake Gyllenhaal as shifty antagonist Iago. Othello is a true theater event—if only the actual production lived up to it.

When I say that crowds are beating down doors, what I really mean is they are, in some instances, paying close to $1,000 per ticket, a boggling fact that has already been loudly criticized, with punitive results. This is a very expensive night at the theater, and one arrives at a performance keenly aware of all the high-risk anticipation gripping the audience. A lot has been invested in the coming two and a half hours, and one begins to worry that even Denzel Washington—among the greatest of the acting greats—can’t possibly deliver a suitable return.

Strangely, director Kenny Leon seems mostly unaware of, or unconcerned about, all that expectation. He directs this Othello with a lackadaisical straightforwardness, telling the story of a Venetian general’s descent into murderous jealousy with a casual shrug of the shoulders. The sets, by Derek McLane, are the stuff of well-funded college theater: moving columns painted to look like stone, a center platform that occasionally rises up from the stage to table or bed height, a stray bench or chair here and there. Until the second half demands more moodiness, Natasha Katz’s lighting is bright and flat. Leon has his actors stand around onstage in basic triangles; it’s rare that anyone sits or otherwise creates different levels.

There’s little stage picture to soak up here, not much mind paid to spectacle, or, really, any kind of visual grace at all. And yet, Leon isn’t exactly doing the kind of fancy minimalism so frequently favored in classical revivals these days. His production—perfunctorily set in “the near future”—is instead caught in a no-man’s-land of idealessness, a lack of perspective and insight that is echoed by a rote interpretation of the text. This is not an Othello that is trying to unearth some new facet of an endlessly studied work; it is not making any noticeable political allusions or turning long-held assumptions on their head. It’s just Othello, done with the wooden competence of a read-through.

It seems that Leon is relying on his two leads to bring the fire—to give this pricey production some purpose. Indeed, it is a thrill to see Washington first stride onto the stage, bringing with him a sense of almost royal occasion. If Washington is, at 70, perhaps a bit less steady on his feet than he used to be, his innate star presence is nonetheless intact. But, much like he did in Joel Coen’s film The Tragedy of Macbeth, Washington here chooses to play things at a simmer so low it’s barely perceptible. As the story darkens, with Othello becoming increasingly convinced that his wife Desdemona (a bland Molly Osborne) has been unfaithful to him, some more oomph is required. We ought to feel the mounting rage and anguish that will carry us to the play’s brutal, bloody climax. In these tortured moments, though, Washington gets lost in the words, his line readings so idiosyncratically syncopated that they strain legibility. It’s an odd take on the character—or, perhaps, no kind of take at all.

It’s perhaps a bleak irony that Gyllenhaal, as the master of lies pouring poison into Othello’s ear, registers so much more potently. He finds a credible human being in all of Iago’s grim and calculating poetry, making Shakespearean dialogue lucid and almost contemporary. Gyllenhaal plays the canon’s most enduring villain as an embittered pretty boy with a nice wristwatch (the subtlest and best touch in Dede Ayite’s simple costume design), the kind of sociable, put-together guy whose smart presentation masks a YouTube history of videos about the longhouse and benevolent fascism. He’s slimy and scary and the most vivid aspect of the whole production.

I suppose it’s not too hard to make Iago pop; he’s the bigger character, after all, and a well written villain role does a lot of the work for an actor. Washington’s task was trickier and came loaded with the burdens of expectation and cultural context. If only Leon had worked with Washington to really suss out a specific, compelling Othello, rather than letting the actor noodle around in his bag of tricks and figuring that was enough. This Othello will ride its pedigree into profitability, no doubt. But I’d guess that it otherwise won’t be spoken about much in the years to come. The production may mostly be remembered for how expensive it was to see. Meanwhile, you could fly to the real Venice next month for just over $1,000—and you won’t have to put your phone in a neoprene pouch for the duration of your trip.