Othello, Ethel Barrymore Theater, New York, May 2025

American Dream, Part One: The End of a Love Affair

Othello, Ethel Barrymore Theater, New York, May 2025

American Dream, Part One: The End of a Love Affair

Othello may well be the ideal play to stage on Broadway in 2025. At its core, it is a story of resentment and the insidious drip-feed of lies used to dismantle another person’s life. It serves as a potent metaphor for the current American political landscape, reflecting the corrosive power of disinformation and the manipulative tactics of a self-entitled administration.

Donald Trump rose to political prominence by promoting the lie that Barack Obama was not born in the United States and was therefore ineligible to be president. He continued to exploit this ‘birther’ conspiracy — along with a host of other falsehoods — to manipulate a gullible, disenfranchised, and disillusioned public, weaponising fear, ignorance, and latent racism.

Iago, like Trump, doesn’t appear to believe in anything beyond his own advancement. He craves success for its own sake and operates from a deep sense of entitlement. When Othello overlooks him for promotion, Iago’s disappointment curdles into loathing, unleashing a campaign of destruction. Again, like Trump, his actions and lies are fuelled by spite and an innate cruelty.

Iago’s sense of entitlement is so entrenched that the perceived slight he endures triggers a reaction disproportionate to the offence. Othello’s race is not the root cause of his malice — merely a convenient hook on which to hang his vitriol.

Is Iago a racist or an opportunist? Perhaps, like Trump, he’s both.

Trump’s lies about Obama would not have taken root in the minds of so many had it not been for Obama’s race. By politicising Mr Obama’s Blackness, Trump effectively branded himself a racist — perhaps the sole honest act he has ever committed.

I am not generally an admirer of the play Othello, but I was genuinely intrigued by the prospect of Denzel Washington — one of the greatest actors of our time — and Jake Gyllenhaal taking on these roles in a production directed by Kenny Leon.

My only previous experience with the play — aside from having read and studied it — was Nicholas Hytner’s 2013 production at the National Theatre, featuring Adrian Lester and Rory Kinnear: a solid, if uninspired, telling. In my view,Othello isn’t a great work. Like The Merchant of Venice, it belongs to the category of Shakespeare’s ‘problem race plays’.

Scholars and critics have long sought to justify both plays beyond their blatant racism, with varying degrees of success — they remain frequently produced and studied, but also divisive.

Racism aside, to me, ultimately they are unsatisfying as drama. I find the characters of Shylock and Othello two-dimensional and, frankly, rather uninteresting. Both feel like supporting figures in their own stories — Othello especially is far less compelling than the complex Iago. More than that, the plots of both plays are fundamentally cruel. The suffering Shylock endures does little to highlight the injustice of persecuting those who are different; instead, it seems to suggest that he somehow deserves his fate.

The Merchant of Venice was written as a comedy — I, however, find nothing remotely amusing in the plot, the characters, or the manner in which the story is told. In Othello, the title character ultimately comes across as a malleable figure whose downfall feels less tragic than it does simply pathetic.

Written around 1603—1604, Othello is often described as a tragedy propelled by jealousy — but a more accurate reading might frame it as a play driven by white privilege and inherent callousness. The play’s dramatic engine is not Othello’s jealousy, but Iago’s calculated malice rooted in entitlement and racial superiority.

Othello, a Black man, is initially presented as rational, eloquent, dignified, and with social nous. He has risen through the ranks to achieve professional and societal success in white, Venetian society. Yet he is also presumed by others — particularly Iago — to possess traits more commonly associated with a wild animal: an innate rage, and a passion of greater intensity than that of his white peers. These racialised tropes are imagined to lie dormant in polite company, only to be unleashed either on the battlefield or in the bedroom. Iago gives voice to these prejudices when he describes Othello as “an old black ram” and a “Barbary horse.”

How does Iago know that Othello is susceptible to paranoid jealousy? Is he relying on past knowledge — some undisclosed incident that revealed this vulnerability — or is his scheme based entirely on racial stereotype and guesswork? Did he simply get lucky? The text offers no clear answers. Nor does it provide meaningful insight into Othello’s inner life beyond his jealousy, leaving a gap that feels like squandered dramatic potential.

Iago tells us:

The Moor is of a free and open nature,

That thinks men honest that but seem so,

And will as tenderly be led by the nose

As asses are.

It would be dramatically more compelling to witness Othello embody these traits directly, rather than relying on Iago’s questionable perceptions to define them for us. This would allow the character greater depth and autonomy — and offer the audience a more complex emotional journey. And yet, Iago’s assessments prove correct — the flaws he identifies in Othello ultimately manifest. Which again begs the question: how did he know? If his powers of perception are indeed that astute, then I agree — he ought to hold a higher professional rank.

Shakespeare was a poet — his strength as a dramatist lies in the language. His weakness, however, is often revealed in the storytelling and narrative construction, and the heavy reliance on coincidence.

The text of Othello provides contradictory evidence regarding the length of time over which the story takes place — anywhere from three to five days, or several weeks or months. Most directors tend to favour the shorter timeframe to intensify the dramatic action. This approach, however, further diminishes the character of Othello, as his descent into irrationality and manipulation suggests not merely a malleable psyche, but also a lack of emotional intelligence.

The text implies that Othello and Desdemona married quickly after a short courtship; this, too, is contradicted by Othello’s remark that he has “kept away” from her for a time before the crisis, suggesting a longer period of married life than is usually acknowledged.

Othello is African, yet a Christian — walking a precarious line, granted insider status while remaining unmistakably an ‘other.’ His success as a general in the Venetian army makes this conditional acceptance possible. He is the exceptional outsider: tolerated and lauded, but only for as long as he continues to deliver for his ‘masters’.

What has Othello sacrificed to achieve this status — complete with the recent acquisition of a young, white wife? These are questions the play neither raises nor addresses. Yet they are precisely the kinds of questions that could make for a richer, more complex, and ultimately more fulfilling drama.

In both The Merchant of Venice and Othello, Shakespeare grants Shylock and Othello moments of eloquence and poetic grace — only to undercut them soon after. These characters seem to exist primarily to be humiliated and punished. Their so-called flaws — greed in Shylock’s case; jealousy, in Othello’s — are laid on so thickly, and are so singularly defining, that their downfalls feel inevitable, almost preordained. By contrast, consider how Shakespeare handles the protagonists Macbeth and Hamlet, both of whom are imbued with rich and complex inner lives, moral ambiguity, and the capacity for self-reflection.

It's notable that The Merchant of Venice and Othello not only share similar geographical settings (with Othello beginning in Venice before shifting to Cyprus), but were also written just a few years apart (The Merchant of Venice, 1596—1598). These foreign settings may have granted Shakespeare a kind of creative licence, allowing him to explore difficult themes — such as racism, antisemitism, and otherness — at a safe distance. For Elizabethan audiences, the exotic backdrop may have enabled them to engage with morally complex stories without feeling directly implicated.

Much of the discussion surrounding this production — the first Broadway staging in over forty years — centred on its star power and the eye-watering ticket prices, which reportedly reached as high as $1,000. In its first full week, the production broke the box office record for the highest weekly gross for a play — only to be overtaken the following week by Good Night, and Good Luck, a stage adaptation of the film starring George Clooney. However, Good Night, and Good Luck was staged at the Winter Garden Theater, which seats 500 more people than the Ethel Barrymore, home to Othello.

Broadway enjoyed a record-breaking, boffo 2024/2025 season, taking in more than $1.89 billion at the box office — the highest-grossing season in Broadway history. A roster of genuine A-list stars powered the box office juggernaut, while a strong slate of productions led by acclaimed stage actors also drew audiences — in both new work and revivals. Of the 41 shows running at the end of May, 21 were grossing over $1 million per week. Unsurprisingly, the top earners were Good Night, and Good Luck and Othello, each grossing more than $3 million weekly. Good Night, and Good Luck even surpassed $4 million in a single week.

Denzel Washington began his career on stage. After more than a decade spent establishing himself as a major Hollywood star, he returned to the theatre. Throughout his stage career, he has periodically revisited Shakespeare, reaffirming his theatrical roots. In many ways, Washington’s career mirrors that of British actors such as John Gielgud, Alec Guinness, Robert Stephens and Maggie Smith — as well as that of the American actor James Earl Jones, the last Othello on Broadway before Washington — all performers who moved effortlessly between stage and screen. Washington describes himself as “a stage actor who does film”. His continued dedication to the theatre is commendable; at seventy, he is still willing to test himself, eight times a week.

Othello marks the third collaboration between Washington and director Kenny Leon, following their work on the Broadway revivals of Fences (2010) and A Raisin in the Sun(2014).

Leon’s is a very American production — but even more so, a distinctly New York one. Like the city, it is loud, brash and often compelling.

The actors bring a confident, muscular approach to the language, lending the material not only freshness, but also a strong sense of identity.

The production is conceived as a modern-day multi-racial society — a concept that is not without its challenges. The Venetians, Cypriots, and Othello all share a similar energy and manner; there is little to distinguish them from one another, and as a result, this Othello seems less clearly an outsider. The contemporary setting further dilutes the play’s central premise. The production lacks the crucial sense of Othello’s isolation as his world begins to collapse. Here, he is not a lone Black man in a white world — dependent on his one perceived ally, Iago — which diminishes the impact of his downfall. For Leon’s concept to truly succeed, casting a non-white actor as Iago would have been a provocative and potentially illuminating decision — seemingly offering Othello with a confidant who shares his experience, and thereby rendering the betrayal all the more devastating.

One of Leon’s more interesting choices is to cast a Black actor as Emilia, Iago’s wife. This raises further questions about Iago’s true stance on race and introduces a welcome layer of ambiguity to a play so often interpreted in stark terms.

Kenny Leon has firmly established himself as part of the “Broadway club of directors” — due, in no small part, to his work with Washington, who draws audiences regardless of a production’s merits. Othello demonstrates this perfectly.

Perhaps the main reason audiences keep returning to see Washington on stage — no other Hollywood A-lister returns to the theatre as regularly — is that, beyond his celebrity, they know he will deliver. The public sees him as a ‘real’ actor who happens to be famous, and they can sense his respect for the craft.

Leon’s Othello is uneven and, at times, veers into questionable taste — notably in Act V, Scene I, when Roderigo attempts to murder Cassio. He stages the scene using handheld torches (flashlights), evoking the mood of an overly ambitious 1970s amateur dramatics society production.

Natasha Katz is a brilliant lighting designer, and I wonder what she might have achieved with this scene had she not been led by such clichéd trappings.

I also found myself questioning the scene change into Act V, Scene II, when Othello kills Desdemona. The music was jarring — it pulled me out of the storytelling, and added nothing to the drama. The scene was also far too brightly lit; I couldn’t help but wonder how Desdemona was supposed to fall asleep under such glare — was the production trying to suggest that she was indulging in a Mediterranean midday siesta? A more sombre and atmospheric lighting state at the outset, gradually brightening as Iago’s lies unravelled and Othello’s realisation took hold, would have more effectively underpinned the drama of this pivotal moment.

Overall, Derek McLane’s set is very effective — sparse and atmospheric, with ample playing space for the performers. The moving columns and the set’s height lend it an imposing quality, creating the impression that the walls are literally closing in on Othello as his world unravels. However, the least successful element is, as with Katz’s lighting, the final scene: Act V, Scene II. I found the design of Othello and Desdemona’s bedroom both bland and visually unappealing; the scene is also awkwardly stage by Leon, further highlighting these design deficiencies.

An element missing from this production — as with Nicholas Hytner’s — is a sense of water. Venice is an archipelago, and Cyprus is an island; water renders both settings simultaneously vulnerable and dangerous. A sense of its proximity could have grounded the world of the play more firmly, while adding atmosphere, tension, and an undercurrent of threat.

Dede Ayite’s costumes have once again left me unimpressed. The non-specific military attire is serviceable, but the styling of Desdemona is perplexing. She resembles a particularly uninteresting, suburban 1950s middle-American housewife. I am unsure of the intention behind this choice, or what it is meant to convey within the context of Leon’s production. Throughout, the costumes have a generic quality and seem oddly out of sync with the rest of the staging.

Justin Ellington’s sound design is well judged and unobtrusive. The performers are not miked, which makes a pleasant change. I was seated in the mezzanine and could hear every word. Leon deserves credit for assembling a company of actors who can perform this basic — but rarely witnessed — stage-acting requirement.

Washington, in the title role, is not an unqualified success. He has a firm command of the language and speaks the verse with ease, understanding, and authority. He’s often very funny, and he uses his star quality to convincing effect — we see why Desdemona has fallen for him.

He moves beautifully and is physically convincing as a military man, carrying the energy of someone much younger. His Othello is clearly a man who has taken care of himself and is imbued with a certain vanity. He has a commanding presence, which supports the story — the attraction between the lovers feels mutual. Though no longer a young man, this Othello knows he’s still a catch: Why would my new wife cheat on such a fine specimen? he seems to ask himself. That this vanity fuels his jealousy is one of the most nuanced and intriguing aspects of Washington’s portrayal.

Leon has allowed Washington to indulge in some of the habits he has acquired over time as a film actor — a certain way of moving his head, along with familiar vocal and physical tics. The performance would be twice as effective if he did 20 percent less. It’s regrettable, because all the ingredients for a great performance are present.

Washington’s Othello may eclipse Jake Gyllenhaal in sheer star power, but Gyllenhaal’s Iago is well-conceived, well-executed, and quietly compelling — a portrayal that has stayed with me not only for its quality, but for the potential it revealed and the way it sparked my imagination about new ways the role might be approached.

His is a deliberately subdued performance — as if he’s purposefully dimming his personal charisma so the character can avoid suspicion. It’s a convincing choice, but one that also invites speculation. I find myself wondering how the dynamic between Othello and Iago might have shifted had Leon encouraged Gyllenhaal to lean into his own version of star power, even slightly. Doing so might have underlined — or disrupted — the power balance between the characters, potentially revealing previously unearthed nuances and meaning. Alternatively, Gyllenhaal could have been encouraged to unleash this magnetism in Iago’s soliloquies, offering a glimpse into his inner life — or at least into how he sees himself.

For Iago to work fully as a character, he must be a convincing actor. One false note would surely set off alarm bells for those he needs to deceive in order for his schemes to succeed. Charm, as one of the tools in his arsenal, would be a particularly potent weapon. Gyllenhaal, like Rory Kinnear, offers an unassuming characterisation — perhaps, in part, to avoid the moustache-twirling villain stereotype — but on stage, as in life, a little charm can go a long way.

Gyllenhaal also adopts a laid-back approach to the language, which suits the tone of the production, and, like Washington, he delivers the verse with confidence and skill. His Iago is no white devil; he’s recognisably human — despite committing monstrous acts. In Gyllenhaal’s portrayal, there comes a point at which Iago cannot undo what he has set in motion: he must keep going, driven by the harsh logic of self-preservation. That Gyllenhaal weaves this subtly into his performance makes me, like Washington, eager to see him revisit the role in a more fully realised production — one in which Washington does a bit less, and Gyllenhaal, a bit more.

Leon has cast the young British actor, Molly Osborne, in the role of Desdemona. Upon seeing the production, one can’t help but ask: why? He has chosen a British actor to play Desdemona as an American.

The thought that there are not hundreds — if not thousands — of equally capable American actors who could have taken on this role lingered in my mind throughout the performance.

Osborne is perfectly fine in the role — but no more than that. It’s not a great part, true, and Leon seems to have little insight into the character, nor a clear vision for her place within the production beyond what lies on the surface of the text.

As written by Shakespeare, Desdemona is little more than a MacGuffin — a plot device that is never fully explained or developed. Osborne speaks the verse well, has a solid American accent, and possesses a modern presence, that suits the production, but that seems to be all that’s been asked of her. She’s an intelligent actor and easily holds her own among her more famous castmates. Perhaps the performance — and the decision to cast her — would have been more convincing had she been allowed to use her natural dialect.

Like many of his American contemporaries, Leon seems to have a particular fondness for British performers — even when an American actor might appear the more logical choice. One begins to ponder: could it be that American directors and producers are grappling with a kind of national artistic inferiority complex?

The production has several standout performances from the supporting cast: the consistently excellent Andrew Burnap as Cassio; Anthony Michael Lopez as Roderigo; Kimber Elayne Sprawl as Emilia; and Julee Cerda as Bianca. It seems the supporting actors received more guidance and were more effectively directed than the two leads.

Leon may have overextended himself this season, having directed three revivals on Broadway: Home, followed by the back-to-back productions of Our Town and Othello, both staged at the Ethel Barrymore Theater (his Broadway house of choice). Our Town closed shortly before Othello opened. Three productions in a single season is a heavy lift for any director — and under the Broadway’s bright lights, there’s nowhere to hide if inspiration or ideas are lacking.

Leon has Othello cut his own throat once he realises how he has been manipulated and the enormity of his actions — rather than merely stabbing himself, as the text states. This is a striking choice, but it could have been taken further: the moment would have been more powerful had we seen the blood such an action would inevitably produce.

It brought to mind the ritual suicide practised by female samurai, jigai, and might have gained additional impact from even a brief suggestion of ritual. Granting Othello a similar dignity in his final moments would have been poignant and lent the scene greater gravitas.

Othello is a Christian; for him, suicide is not only a profound act of the flesh, but also of the soul. Yet as directed by Leon, the play’s climax feels oddly lightweight — a mere gesture, lacking any impact beyond the initial surprise.

Like other Shakespearean tragedies, the body count rises as the play reaches its end. That Iago survives Othello’s attempt to kill him is a surprising dramaturgical choice — particularly given that most of the principal cast are dead by the final curtain.

The most exciting part of the entire experience was the audience. Their commitment, focus, and energy were exhilarating — I felt honoured to be among them. The strict no-phones policy was especially welcome, helping to create an atmosphere in which one could focus entirely on the production.

Upon entering the theatre, you were instructed not merely to turn your phone off, but to power it down completely. It was then placed in a pouch, sealed, and could only be opened by the staff as you exited. The process was quick and efficient — and it was a joy to experience a performance without the distraction of ringing phones or photos being surreptiously taken, with the audience fully present and engaged in the story.

This may not be a great production — but it was certainly a great way to see one.

The Kael Report