Many actors will tell you that the greatest parts -- the most fun to perform -- are the villains. This is nothing new, of course. English theatre's beginnings were in Christian dramas portraying events from the Bible. The priestly writers had thought to make the villains, such as Satan and King Herod, into buffoons that the audience were meant to vilefy, but in the end those were the most popular characters. They got all the good lines and the audiences loved them no matter how over the top they were portrayed -- hence, Hamlet's criticism of over-acting, that "it out-Herod's Herod."

Also, in times past, people believed in evil as a product of the Devil moving among them and inspiring men to wickedness. Shakespeare's villains often needed no more motive than to announce, "I am a villain." It was simple, but effective, much like westerns where we always knew the difference between the black hats and the white hats, but not always what drove each character.

Some of Shakespeare's villains are being reinterpreted, giving them believable motives and human frailties. Iago and Claudius may be amoral, ambititious men, but their plots are only half-baked and ultimately fail because they cannot control everything and everyone who stands in the way. MacBeth's ambitions are largely pushed by his wife, and her motives are ... well, that was how a woman, any woman, rose to power, through her man. The driving forces in the Capulets and the Montagues are the same as those driving any modern street gang. There is no "villain" in Julius Caesar (although some are quick to point out Cassius) -- the assassination of Julius Caesar was politically motivated, carried out by patriots who had a different vision of Rome's future. Surely the centuries have seen a goodly share of the same.

Take a good look at the villains and those struggling to be heroes in a world that so often values victory over virtue. Even in Shakespeare's day, despite pronouncements from the Church and admonitions from the wise, in the end might made right and history, as well as theatre, was written by the victors, not the virtuous.

Titus Andronicus

I confess that I have never seen this play nor had any great desire to. I have read enough of it to conclude that it is "Will Shakespeare does the Chainsaw Massacre." The Reduced Shakespeare Company's Complete Works chose to portray this as a "cooking show" alà Julia Child. Anyone who wants to know more without seeing the play should watch Theatre of Blood (a 1973 Vincent Price film).

Perhaps the most striking evidence of this play's unfamiliarity is that it has been rarely filmed. In checking the Internet Movie Database for a list of all the Shakespeare related films for cinema and television -- with versions going back to 1899 -- Titus Andronicus appears in the list exactly once. It was done by the BBC in 1985 as part of the Shakespeare series in which all the plays were performed. (Timon of Athens made it to film in this series as well -- its only listing.)

Romeo and Juliet

A plague on both your houses!
They have made worms' meat of me.
Romeo and Juliet, Act 3: Scene 1

I'm just old enough to admit that I prefer the 1968 film by Zefferelli. I was intrigued by the Baz Luhrmann film, but found (as many critics did) that the music and pace threatened to overwhelm the story, losing Romeo and Juliet in the midst of chaos. There were some nice visual jokes and interesting touches, new identities for the characters and uses of their lines, and I did like the last moments between the ill-fated couple, Romeo so bent on suicide that he fails to notice that Juliet is waking up.

Although this is clearly MTV-does-Shakespeare, I am delighted to see directors and actors taking a chance on the Bard. Shakespeare will undoubtedly survive almost any interpretation and the point is to keep finding new meanings, new ways of presenting the material to an ever-changing audience. There is no "right" or "wrong" way -- there is only what works.

Julius Caesar

Let me have men about me that are fat;
sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights.
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.
Julius Caesar, Act 1: Scene 2

Check out the 1953 film with Marlon Brando as Marc Antony, Sir John Gielgud as Cassius, and James Mason as Brutus. Antony's funeral oration is one of the best pieces of Shakespeare on film. The 1970 film with Charleton Heston as Antony, Jason Robards as Brutus, and Gielgud as Julius (first the killer, then the killee) has great merit, too. Regretably Robards' understated style does not capture the depths of Brutus, but Heston adds some interesting twists to Antony's ambitions. One tends to wonder if his character is as struck by grief as the words would have us believe. In ancient Rome, as now in every major capital, it's all politics.

Hamlet

O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
My tables -- meet it is I set it down,
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
Hamlet, Act 1: Scene 5

Although many thought that Brannagh's Hamlet was "too long," I found the added sub-plot immensely valuable. When played out against the backdrop of medieval politics, there appear greater depths of motives. Certainly to see that every layer of the play is involved with how sons avenge fathers -- young Hamlet for old Hamlet, Laertes for Polonius, and the ultimate winner, Fortinbras for the death of his father at the hands of Hamlet's father

Ophelia's madness:

Psych 101, college, far too many years ago, in a discussion of the types of schizephrenia I recall the suggestion that Shakespeare studied inmates of the Bethlehem Asylum (Bedlam). Ophelia has been said to be a perfect example of hebephrenia, the silly type of madness. Zefferelli's film produced what I think is the right sort of mad Ophelia, a girl (who may not have been too tightly wired to begin with) driven over the edge by her father's death and lover's desertion. Not pouring tears as usually portrayed, but hiding from her grief with chatter about nonsense. And only a very silly person, "as one incapable of her own distress," would try to hang garlands on a branch, fall in a stream and happily sing to herself as she drowns.

Have you ever wondered who was there to hear her sing and did not try to pull her out?

And just a note to Mr. Brannagh: with all that snow it was a wonder that Ophelia found any flowers to hang on the pendant boughs, and with the hardness of the apparent winter that the stream was liquid enough to drown in.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern: Innocent Victims?

For comments on the fate of these two characters, see Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

A motive unexplored

There is an aspect of Hamlet that I have yet to see portrayed. Perhaps the full version by Branagh will cover this. It has to do with Claudius, Laertes and their plot to murder Hamlet.

Claudius is a clever man, ambitious, ruthless -- everything you need to be to successful on a medieval throne (see the Histories section for more Kingship 101). He knows how to exploit the grieving Laertes' desire for revenge. Laertes is eager to assist, even volunteering to be "the organ" of the exploit. Claudius' plan is simple -- arrange a duel and in the shuffle Laertes will pick an unbated foil (one with a point on it) and "accidently" kill Hamlet.

And for his death, no wind of blame shall breath;
but even his mother shall uncharge the practice,
and call it accident.
Hamlet, Act4: Scene 7

Laertes takes the plot a step further and profers an unction "so mortal...that if I gall him slightly, it may be death." Claudius then adds his own cup of poisoned wine to offer Hamlet -- just in case the sharp envenomed steel in Laertes' expert hands proves not lethal enough. A good plan, certain to end in the demise of Hamlet -- except, of course, something goes wrong. Queen Gertrude drinks from the cup.

But what if she didn't?

After all, she wasn't supposed to. Skip to mid duel and play the scene.

Gertrude: The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. (She picks up the cup of poisoned wine)

Claudius: Gertrude, do not drink.

Gertrude: I pray you pardon me. I forgot that red wine gives me migraines.
(She sets the cup down)

Laertes and Hamlet continue the fight and (a) Laertes scratches Hamlet with the poisoned sword, or (b) Hamlet gets thirsty and drinks the wine. Either way, Gertrude and all the court will see the beloved Crown Prince die of a seemingly minor wound or from a sip of wine within minutes of the occurance.

Surely a man as clever, as capable and as ruthless as Claudius has considered what was supposed to happen when Hamlet fell. Even the unbated foil without any of the attendant poisons would have meant that the King's hands remained clean. I envision a scene something like:

Claudius: Laertes, you naughty boy! You've gone and killed the prince in revenge for your father and sister. Thou art a traitor. Off with his head! I will not dine until I see the same.
(oops, looks like a little Richard III crept in here)

So much for Laertes. He was doomed by his eagerness to avenge his father's death, just as Hamlet was doomed by his inability to avenge his. And whether the marriage of Claudius and Gertrude would have long lasted is anybody's guess. I suspect that Claudius would have to be careful never to fall asleep in the garden.

The problem is, of course, that the poisons selected were too strong. For the playwright's purpose it is necessary to get everybody "who is marked for death" dead in time for the groundlings to make it home for dinner, but it does make for an interesting interpretation of Claudius' motives when he enlists Laertes. And Laertes, so hellbent on revenge, cannot see his own danger from a manipulative king.

Othello

I ha 't -- it is engendered. Hell and night
must bring this montrous birth to the world's light.
Othello, Act 2: Scene 1

I have seen several productions of this play on stage and on screen, including Olivier's version, a community theatre production, a college theatre production, and the recent film by Oliver Parker.

As commonly performed I have never liked it, mostly because Iago's motives never seem substantial enough to support the bloody mayhem he creates. Iago is the lynchpin of the story and, until recently, he has always been played as pure malevolence with no redeeming qualities at all. How then did he ever gain the trust of Othello, Roderigo, and Cassio or earn the epithet of 'honest'?

Too often he is portrayed by an actor, no matter how skilled, who is far too old for the part of a 28 year old embittered ensign. The age factor turns out to be important.

I finally felt a kinship with the play when I saw it done by the Shakespeare On Wheels' company from UMBC (Catonsville, Maryland). For the first time I saw Iago played by an actor who was in his 20's. Iago clearly became the victim of his own wicked web, a plot that has whirled out of his control and I understood why Iago's age was so important.

A soldier of that time would leave home in his mid-teens and after about 10 years of service could expect to be at his proper place in life. A man in his forties would certainly expect the accolades to fall to younger men. If Iago were an older man he would already have been passed over so many times that he should no longer expect a plum job to come to him. Even in today's workforce those trying to advance in their middle years have to outshine younger, if less able, competitors.

But if Iago were 28? After faithfully following Othello for a decade Iago has now reached the highpoint of his service. He expects that promotion and to have it fall to someone less capable would have been infuriating. Moreover, Parker's film paints Cassio as a gentleman while Iago is clearly a common, up-from-the-ranks type. Brannagh plays Iago, not as evil incarnate, but as a devoted man who worships the Moor and feels betrayed when the socially sauve, but inexperienced Cassio is chosen.

And then there's the matter of adultery. Iago says that it has been rumored that Othello has done Iago's "office betwixt the sheets." Iago adds that to his list of why he is right to make Othello feel the same jealousy -- not that we ever see much love between Iago and his wife Emilia.

Personally I have this mental picture of the actor coming to the author and saying,

"Will, I'm having a problem with this Iago promotion thing. It doesn't seem like enough. I mean, what's my motivation here?"

"Okay," says Will, "how about I stick in a couple of lines about adultery? That's what the play's about, right?"

Happy actor and the show goes on.

Does Iago set out to kill everyone? Despite what he says about destroying Othello, I think his plot is only half formed. It is clear that he knows his players' weaknesses: Roderigo's pathetic gullibility; Othello's raging jealousy; Desdemona's naivity; Cassio's drinking problem. He is old enough to read people very well, but not to predict entirely what they will do.

So, what was Iago really after?

1. Get Cassio fired and take his place
   Method: get Cassio drunk and Roderigo to pick a fight with him, knowing that Cassio will manage to disgrace himself
   Outcome: complete success -- Cassio manages to take on Othello's friend Montano, wounding him and is promptly fired. Othello hands over the coveted job to "honest Iago."


2. Make Othello miserable by having him suspect Desdemona's fidelity
   Method: set Cassio to beg Desdemona's help in pleading his reinstatement to Othello while telling Othello that Desdemona is sleeping with Cassio; provide "proof" of the affair by planting the stolen handkerchief in Cassio's room
   Outcome: complete success -- again, better than even Iago had planned when Bianca gives the handkerchief back to Cassio while Othello watches.


3. And perhaps it is the ultimate intention of Iago to have the general's attention all to himself
   Now there will be no Cassio, no Desdemona hearing Othello's confidences -- only Iago, now the possessor of a deeply personal power over his commander.

So far Iago is magnificently successful. He could quit right now. He's gotten everything he wanted. Cassio is out of favor and Othello will never rest easy again. Fini at Act 3: Scene 3. But it is here that we see how much Iago's plan is out of his control. In the Oliver Parker film this is the scene on the beach where Lawrence Fishburne (Othello) nearly drowns Iago in his rage. Iago has no choice but to go on. His schemes now control him, as well.

It is also interesting that Iago does none of his own dirty work. Oh, he lies and connives, but it is Roderigo who is sent to ruin Cassio and Emilia who steals the handkerchef. Iago can defend himself as mistaken in his judgment or simply deny having ever said anything of the sort. He does have a reputation for honesty and can't be blamed if people believe what they thought he said. Although Iago takes on the task of killing Cassio, he never says how he plans to accomplish it. Of course, he hands it over to Roderigo. If Roderigo kills Cassio, fine. If Cassio kills Roderigo, that's even better. If they both kill each other, then Iago won't have to soil his hands at all. Of course, no plan is ever quite perfect.

In the end Iago has to gut the hapless Roderigo. This is really the first hands-on mischief he commits. By the time Iago stabs Emilia he desperatly improvising. Finally, all of his webs collapse around him, and he is ensnared with his victims. Only Cassio survives triumphant. Still I think it is wrong to assume that Iago intended so many deaths, including his own (which was probably really unpleasant).

Iago is far more fascinating when portrayed as a wronged young man in a dangerous game than he ever was as a balding malcontent.

Desdemona's last lines:

Thank you, Oliver Parker and company, for cutting the poor dear's last utterances. Nothing about the lines themselves, but the timing is terrible from a clinical point of view. Othello has smothered her, killed her by cutting off her air supply. If she is later holding an albeit brief conversation with Emilia she must be breathing since speech requires air flow over the vocal cords. If she is breathing, conscious and talking, then she is not smothered. Reducing her final words to a mere death gasp is sufficient to alert Emilia to Othello's crime.

MacBeth

I go, and it is done. The bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell
that summons thee to heaven or to hell.
MacBeth, Act 2: Scene 2

Long known in theatre circles as "the Scottish play," due to superstitions involving speaking the title "MacBeth" while in a theatre or naming the play anywhere while performing in it. The play, though immensely popular since its first performance, has a reputation for bad luck to actors and thus the superstition.

There are numerous theories about the origin of the superstition -- the earliest being the connection between the play's witch characters and the charms they speak. Some believe that Shakespeare used some actual spells in crafting the witches' lines and the invocations to evil powers are real, thus cursing the play, the players, and the theatre building. But the Globe didn't burn down because of this play (see Henry VIII for more information about the destruction of the original Globe.)

There was, of course, an historical MacBeth who slew King Duncan in battle in 1040 c.e. Duncan's claim to the throne was tenuous, coming through the female line, and he only managed a reign of some 6 years. Unlike Shakespeare's telling of the tale (often the only knowledge most people have of the historical people in his plays) MacBeth was a wise and well-respected monarch who reigned for 17 years. In 1050, he went to Rome and 'scattered money among the poor like seed.' He was slain in 1057 by Duncan's eldest son, Malcolm Ceann Mor ('Big Head'), who was raised in England, married a Saxon princess as his second wife, and began England's fatal interference in Scotland's history. Not exactly the way Shakespeare tells it, but he was writing for a particular audience with a certain point of view.

I have always been very fond of the Polansky film with Jon Finch and Francesca Annis, and its subtle ending suggesting Prince Donaldbain's royal ambitions. I can also highly recommend Cromwell Productions 1996 MacBeth with Jason Connery and Helen Baxendale. It isn't as gut-wrenchingly spooky or as gory as the Polansky, but Connery is a joy to watch in a role so unlike those he has done previously. And only at times will viewers be reminded of Connery's famous father -- something to do, I think, with a Scottish accent.

Another improvement in this latest MacBeth is the younger age of the characters. Lady M is usually played as a woman at the end of her childbearing years; the marriage is childless. Thus, the complaint about a "fruitless crown" seems silly since it is likely to remain so, and MacBeth's murder of his old friend Banquo becomes yet another body on the pile. But this version's younger leads lend credibility to the idea a future MacBeth heir, and the necessity of ending Banquo's line.

And never have I seen a better depiction of the MacBeth marriage falling apart after Duncan's death, the genuine love at the beginning followed by growing estrangement, deepening to Lady M's decline into madness (and MacBeth himself is not so tightly wrapped, either).

I have found no web links on this film, nor is it widely available in video stores, but it can be ordered from Barnes & Noble for about $25.00. Well worth it.