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Shakespeare Drowns in Venice- or, Why the Bard Doesn't Need Big Budget FilmsDateline: 14th January, 2005In all fairness to director Michael Radford, it has to be said that there is much to enjoy in his lavish new film version of The Merchant of Venice. Notorious scenery-chewer Al Pacino gives an unusually restrained and moving performance as Shylock (although the character's black humour and bad puns go for nothing), Jeremy Irons is the most effective Antonio I've ever seen, and even Joseph Fiennes - an actor more noted for the length of his eyelashes than for the breadth of his talent - manages to make Bassanio more sympathetic than usual. On the distaff side, Lynn Collins looks exactly like a Botticelli Venus in the Belmont scenes and really comes into her own at Antonio's trial; she is remarkably convincing as the young lawyer and even sports the designer stubble so popular in late sixteenth century Venice (did no-one own a decent razor?) Every five minutes or so we are treated to the sight of a well-known British character actor popping up in a minor role, which is fun. Radford also introduces some clever directorial touches. The film opens with a mob throwing Jews into the canal and burning Hebrew books, we first meet Shylock buying kosher meat in the marketplace, and Antonio literally spits upon his "Jewish gabardine". Much to Radford's credit he doesn't shy away from an aspect of the play that must be obvious to any reasonably sophisticated reader - namely that Antonio is deeply in love with Bassanio, and his otherwise inexplicable gloom is due to a foreboding that his young protégé is planning to leave him. Their first scene together actually takes place on Antonio's bed, and it's obvious that the older man's love has not been unrequited. So far, so good. But unfortunately the film's biggest selling points, its lavish production values and attention to period detail, are also its downfall. The few outdoor shots not cluttered by dozens of extras are tremendously effective, mainly because Venice looks more like a stage set than any other city on earth, but the many interior scenes provide a sensory overload that make Shakespeare's words almost irrelevant (and frequently difficult to hear over the background hubbub). Every flat surface is painted, gilded, mirrored, bristling with objets d'art or draped with brocade. The cumulative effect soon becomes oppressive - it's like being forced to eat a whole box of expensive chocolates in one sitting. Radford never uses two extras when twenty will do, so the Prince of Morocco brings half his tribe to Belmont and Portia's unsuccessful suitors hang about to stuff themselves with her food and drink rather than return to their native lands. Most stage productions make a clear distinction between the "real" world of Venice and the fairytale castle of Belmont; no such demarcation is attempted, or indeed possible, in a film that wears its budget on its sleeve. As a result the device of the Three Caskets, which might have been more at home in one of Shakespeare's late romances, comes across as a rather silly parlour game. However, there's no denying the fact that Bassanio got his - or rather Shylock's - money's worth for three thousand ducats. When he disembarks from his delightful little ship at Belmont, wearing a sequinned shirt straight out of a New Romantic pop video, we know that poor Antonio is doomed to a lifetime of languid loneliness in his Renaissance bachelor pad. Radford's obsession with realism also draws our attention to minor problems that pass unnoticed on the stage. Why, for example, is Shylock allowed to employ a live-in Christian servant in the otherwise strictly segregated ghetto? Wouldn't the Venetian court make a bit more effort to check the credentials of a novice lawyer before entrusting him with such a bizarre case? Would any rich man in his right mind risk allowing his only child's inheritance to fall into the hands of a lucky fortune hunter? Questions such as these never enter our heads whilst watching even the most run-of-the mill production of The Merchant of Venice in the theatre, but they're never far away here. I was also baffled by a flashback in which Jessica exchanges her father's treasured turquoise ring, a betrothal gift from his late wife Leah, for a pet monkey - yet she was still wearing the ring after her return to Venice. This little oddity lingered in my memory long after the rest of the film had faded into a melange of murals and fancy frocks. Did Jessica get a refund for a substandard monkey? Was it a continuity error? Or did I simply miss something? Film adaptations may play a part in encouraging people to see Shakespeare on stage, although I'm not at all convinced that this is the case. Shakespeare's language is at the heart of his enduring appeal and most big-screen adaptations are heavily cut (as in Olivier's Hamlet, in which the camera explored every nook and cranny of Elsinore at the expense of lots of text), or feature stars cast for their box-office appeal rather than for previous experience in Shakespeare. Radford's Merchant, although by no means a bad film, is further proof that Shakespeare belongs on the comparatively bare boards of today's theatre where his words can speak for themselves. Articles Indices:
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