Othello/Otello ‒ black or white?

What a problem Verdi left to us in casting his Otello.

It’s not such a problem nowadays with the original Shakespeare. As early as 1959 I saw the amazing Paul Robeson on the stage at Stratford (Sam Wanamaker his savage Iago, Mary Ure a delectable Desdemona). And later (in 1989) Willard White at the Young Vic (Iago ‒ Ian McKellen, Desdemona ‒ Imogen Stubbs).

If only Verdi hadn’t conceived his Moor as a tenor, both of those great black bass-baritones might have been just the ticket. But he didn’t. He demands not just any old tenor, but a genuine dramatic one, with a powerful ringing top and a baritonal timbre. What’s more, one who can act. These creatures are hard to find.

And all that is still not enough. In our enlightened times, it’s no longer satisfying to have a white man blacked up, often conjuring up stereotypical black gestures and accents. Shades of the ghastly Laurence Olivier performance.

When I saw the exciting Graham Vick production of the Verdi with his Birmingham Opera Company a few years ago, Vick cast the West Indian Ronald Samm in the role. Samm was good, perhaps very good. But not great.

So what was David Alden to do in his new production for ENO at the Coliseum?

He has at his disposal perhaps the finest dramatic tenor of this generation, the Australian Stuart Skelton, who has the ideal vocal equipment and acts powerfully, but is oh so white. Alden has left Skelton au naturel, no blacking up. And the result is an unforgettable evening in the opera theatre.

And yet. And yet, there’s still something missing in this wonderful evening, and that is the shocking fact that the Moor is black, not white ‒ a former slave, an outsider and misfit in Venetian society.

Pretending to be

When I was at school in the 1950s and early 1960s, it seemed to be generally accepted that Sir Laurence Olivier was, alongside Sir Ralph Richardson and Sir John Gielgud, the greatest of a great generation of “classical” actors.

Problem was, even at thirteen or so, he seemed to me to be a tremendous ham. On film both his Henry V and his Richard III appeared over the top (but just about tolerable), and his Hamlet reduced me to uncontrollable fits of giggles, so inflated was his assumption of the role.

He seemed to spend his time in so many roles gurning, unable to speak without addressing the throng in stentorian tones, both loud and soft.

Now, over fifty years later, his work remains for me completely unwatchable. Thank goodness for the Method, which has enabled actors to be (and not to be), rather than just pretending to be.

Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of… America?

Not that I go as much as I used to, but I don’t ever recall a spontaneous standing ovation at a straight play in a British theatre before. This is what happened at the Old Vic in London last Friday for Kevin Spacey’s Richard III.

I say Spacey’s because it was very much his show. Stanislavsky said, “There are no small roles, only small actors,” but in this case, the rest of the cast were seriously in the shadow of Spacey’s masterly performance. By contrast, Laurence Olivier’s 1955 film was a Who’s Who of outstanding British actors of that time.

One factor that will have led inexorably up to the ovation was his extraordinary declamation, close to the end of the play, of “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” Dramatic magic.

Does the ovation happen after every performance? I guess so. Does it betoken a change in the usually somewhat restrained response of audiences in Britain? Was the audience packed with Americans (who do this sort of thing rather as a matter of politeness)? Or is it simply the result of Shakespeare's genius and Spacey’s great acting skill?

One last question. Before Maestro Spacey, when was the last time a great American actor came to live and work in Britain, making such a tremendous contribution?