The Merchant of Venice

Reviewed by Holly Bartges

Shylock doesn’t need a first name. Shylock is Shylock conjuring distasteful images, a character audiences love to hate. They love it when he’s played with a comic bent. They love it when he gets what’s coming to him for having the nerve to demand a pound of flesh. After all, he is a Jew. He asks too much. He demands too much. He’s a stickler for his own law.

Anti-Semitic some may cry. Of course it is. Shakespeare wrote it that way with good reason. Very few Jews lived in England during the time of Shakespeare. In 1290 they had been overtaxed, persecuted, imprisoned, and expelled. For those who sought solace in other countries, there were very few occupations available to them. Ironically, money lending was one in which they flourished. Those who persecuted them for their religious beliefs also depended upon them for borrowing to get out of a tight squeeze. Not so different from our society which borrows heavily, then sneers at the finance company for charging interest when a payment is a minute late.

Directed by Anthony Powell for the Denver Center Theatre Company’s production of The Merchant of Venice, John Hutton takes the breath away. His Shylock is not a buffoon. He is not a sneer of dishonest greed. Hutton gives Shylock a heart, soul, depth, intelligence. Only the hardest of heart cannot feel empathy for the character Hutton has magnificently constructed. Living by his convictions as a Jew, persecuted for who he is, and yet the people need him to save their own necks.

When Bassanio (Don Burroughs) desperately needs a large sum of money, his friend Antonio (Bill Christ) has the solution. A merchant waiting for his ships to arrive will borrow the money from Shylock. When his ships arrive, the debt can be paid. No problem. A sure bet. Consequently only a slight amount of squeamish reaction takes place when Shylock seals the deal by asking for a pound of flesh if the debt is not paid on time.

Shakespeare could well have called his play Shylock. However, even though Shylock gets a good deal of press, it isn’t his story. In another sense, it isn’t even Antonio’s story either, the merchant of Venice. The true story belongs to January LaVoy’s character, Portia. LaVoy gives Portia sharp intelligence, craftiness, wit, warmth, devotion, and compassion ever witnessed on stage. Devoted to her deceased Father’s request that her future husband must choose the right casket from gold, silver and lead ladened with far fetched riddles, her cleverness and wit leave her devoted to her Father, and yet guides Bassanio to chose the right one.

The only criticism of this production comes from the over the top clownish approach with the other two suitors, The Prince of Morocco, (Keith L. Hatton) and the Prince of Arragon, (Rodney Lizcano). Both got carried away with their off-the-wall stupidity, Comic relief, of course, written into the script, but both crossed the boundary into a far country miles from comic relief.

No one counted on the report Antonio’s mercantile would be shipwrecked. No one believed Shylock would stick to his guns demanding the pound of flesh from Antonio. LaVoy lives up to the strong intelligent words given to her when she assumes the identity of a man, a lawyer to assist Bassanio and Antonio.

An ingenious magnificent set designed by Michael Brown captures through modernized technology the time and place. The regalness of the Court matches the regalness of Tony Church as the Doge of Venice.

Having Jessica (Sarah Price) dissolve into tears at the very end over her Father’s fate was a brilliant move on Powell’s part. Jessica, the daughter of Shylock, rebels in disobedience for the love of Gratiano (David Ivers). Even in rebellion, her grief over his fate, drives her to her knees.

An exploration on love and devotion between friends, lovers, and families marks The Merchant of Venice as a major universal play. It certainly speaks to our culture, and one would be hard pressed to witness a finer production than this one anywhere, anytime, anyplace.