My joyful celebration of the incredible work of Orson Welles continues, and the next part of this retrospective is one of Welles’ more exuberant works, the magnificent adaptation of William Shakespeare’s seminal tragedy, Othello. Welles, a notoriously brilliant scholar of The Bard, is perhaps the person who could be trusted most with his work, as evident by his career starting out on the stage, interpreting some of Shakespeare’s most significant characters. I adore Othello, and thus I was intent on devouring this film with great recklessness and profound fascination. In short, Welles did not disappoint at all and made a film that extends far beyond the stuffy confines that seem to define quite a number of cinematic interpretations of these historically-resonant works. By no means a perfect work, and one that does seem to pale in comparison to some of the director’s more noteworthy work, Othello is still a tremendously audacious production and one that presents a vision of the tragedy in a way that is not overly experimental, but still innovative in its own way.

I don’t think I need to summarize the plot of Othello – however, despite being perhaps the least-heralded of Shakespeare’s major plays – by no means obscure, but far from being as over-exposed as Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet, which I recall being told is a work of literature that has more work written about it than any other in history, with new think-pieces, interpretations and ideas on the Dane’s plight appearing on a nearly-daily basis. Othello thus has an oddly attractive allure to it – it is quite a popular work, but one that lends itself to some more subversive interpretations. Personally, I may be speaking from a biased perspective – Othello is my favourite of Shakespeare’s works, perhaps on equal par with Macbeth. There is a reason why I love Shakespeare, especially his major works, but that will be discussed in due course. First, let’s consider this play specifically, and why looking at Othello, particularly a cinematic production made between the late 1940s and the early 1950s, is so significant from a modern lens. Perhaps Shakespeare’s most revolutionary of the tragedies, it is focused centrally on themes of betrayal, disloyalty in politics, as well as more centrally the concept of race.

To have a character like Othello, an unapologetically ethnic Moor, as the protagonist of a sweeping play was radical enough in the period when Welles made this film, not to mention in the Elizabethan Era, where such a concept was almost unheard of. Considering Othello through Welles’ production takes on its own layered complexities in terms of cultural and social zeitgeist, and while I highly doubt there was much behind this film in terms of subversive commentary, being made in one of the most tumultuous temporal moments in American history – in the height of Jim Crow, at the start of the modern Civil Rights Movement and the era when notable figures on both sides of the divide were rising. When Welles was planning this film, Malcolm Little was joining the Nation of Islam and would soon adopt the name that would make him a groundbreaking figure of Civil Rights – Malcolm X. Four years after this film was made, Rosa Parks would refuse to move on the bus in Montgomery, Alabama, which would make history. Another young political leader named Martin Luther King Jr. started to define his career at the same time as the bus boycott. Perhaps reading too much into the political atmosphere at the time of this film is too heavy-handed and redundant, but it is difficult to detach the politics from the art, especially with someone as attuned to the cultural atmosphere as Welles.

Then, how did the proudly left-wing radical Orson Welles respond to the current cultural climate? He played Othello in blackface. Do not mistake this for derision or criticism – after all, despite the progressive nature of people like Welles, this film was still made in 1951, and there was a perceived acceptance of these cross-cultural portrayals of different ethnicities. Obviously, there isn’t much point in commenting on this performance, because countless think-pieces have already been written about performances such as these, and to dismiss a great film based on the lead depiction is not a worthwhile endeavour. Here’s where I think the truth to this performance lies: Othello is amongst Shakespeare’s finest characters, someone multiple actors have played to great effect. Here’s something else: Orson Welles was a self-loving, vain egomaniac who thought himself the greatest actor to ever life (and honestly, I’m inclined to agree on the odd occasion). This was not a case of not wanting to cast a black actor in the role – it was a matter of Welles casting the person who he felt could best portray the character, and that was always going to be himself. There have been numerous adaptations of this play, on stage, television and in cinema (and considering the first mainstream cinematic adaptation with a black actor in the titular role was in 1995 with Laurence Fishburne, it shows the great lengths this story had to go in order to eventually achieve accuracy). Welles had previously played the character in two stage productions, both in 1951 (the same year of this film’s release), and as one of the United States’ pre-eminent interpreters of Shakespeare, it is not surprising that Welles took on the role. Every bit of doubt is stripped away when Welles makes his entrance, and I can honestly attest to never having seen an actor be so effortlessly at ease with the Bard’s work – there is not a single inauthentic moment in Welles’ performance. The words fall from his mouth with such grace, and the mechanical, overly-calculated performances nearly every actor, regardless of their talent, gives when performing Shakespeare is entirely absent from Welles, who doesn’t only portray Othello, he becomes Othello. Welles was a great filmmaker, but as an actor, he was equally as astonishing. Perhaps he had the home-field advantage, starting his career in Shakespearean productions, but I’ll be damned if he isn’t just exquisite here.

Unfortunately, Othello is not one of Shakespeare’s most ensemble-friendly plays, as there are only a few noteworthy characters. However, this play also contains arguably Shakespeare’s greatest creation, Iago. Many point to Macbeth of Glamis or Prince Hamlet of Denmark as his finest characters, and while they are magnificent, complex roles, none of them reach the terrifying brilliance of Othello’s noble ensign, here played by Welsh thespian Micheál Mac Liammóir with great precision. I have seen a few adaptations of the play, both cinematically and on stage, and I normally find Iago to be played as a sinister, looming and ominously terrifying presence, which is effective, but also somewhat taut and over-worked. Mac Liammóir takes the character in a different direction, playing him as a meek, mousy but still mean-spirited Machiavellian, filled with malice and contempt. He is unlikable, but rather than being a menacing antagonist, he is shown to be morally-corrupt and sycophantic, and oftentimes, extraordinarily pathetic. It makes his eventual downfall all the more satisfying – as much as I love the play, I was always dissatisfied with how it resolves Iago’s fate, with many productions emphasizing his villainy, but giving him a relatively toothless conclusion. Through Mac Liammóir’s terrific performance, his apathetic resolution is far more effective – only the most honourably despicable villains deserve grandiose fates – someone as deceitfully obsequious as Iago does not deserve a true antagonist’s punishment. He deserves to be put in the naughty corner and told to think about what he has done, which is reductive but strangely fitting.

Its often difficult to write about an adaptation of Shakespeare’s work, because so much has already been said about his historically-significant literary output. It is important to differentiate between adaptations by not looking at the familiar underlying stories – we know that Romeo and Juliet are not supposed to fall in love, that Macbeth is jealous and wants power, and that Hamlet is just perpetually depressed. Yet, the reason these stories keep being told is not that they’re great, but because they’re effective. They were written centuries ago, yet their themes are so resonant – Christopher Marlowe, Ben Jonson and John Webster were magnificent writers, and their plays were undoubtedly the talk of the Elizabethan era – yet I don’t see producers rushing to stage Volpone, or actors dreaming of being in the National Theatre’s adaptation of The Duchess of Malfi. These are great works – but they aren’t nearly as good as Shakespeare. I am a distinctive proponent of his work, not because I’m old-fashioned, but because there is timeless significance to his work. The notion that Shakespeare is outdated or dull could not be further from the truth – and in the hands of iconoclasts like Welles, the electrifying brilliance of these literary masterpieces are made even more apparent. The settings may be antiquated, and the historical contexts may make them seem detached from the present, but the underlying stories, and the themes they evoke, are unequivocally resonant and bear a lot of relevance to current issues – one cannot look at a Shakespearean work and see it as entirely outdated, because there are concepts that persist to this very day and pertain to a lot of the cultural, social and political climate that we experience constantly.

Therefore, how does Welles capture the timeless spirit of Othello as well as set it apart from other adaptations? He breaks it down to the bare essentials, producing a gloriously beautiful but still minimalistic adaptation. The film is not a contemporary adaptation, and it is situated well within the era it was set in initially, yet Welles forgoes excess and extravagance to deliver something often extremely intimate and simple, which only allows the complex thematic content to become more resonant. The opening scene of this film is amongst the best work ever done (and there is a certain shot that I am almost certain Ingmar Bergman replicated in The Seventh Seal, where a group of soldiers carry Othello’s corpse, represented in silhouette as they walk along a hillside). This is a profoundly cinematic film – it is not merely a Shakespearean play filmed on location. Every intricate detail is intentional, and the way Welles represents this story is astonishing. The cinematography, as mentioned before, is the most significant part of this film, with no less than three cinematographers serving as director of photography – Anchise Brizzi (Shoeshine), G.R. Aldo (Umberto D) and George Fanto (The Naked Angel) all working on this film, bringing their knowledge garnered from years in neo-realism to this film, which takes the form of a bare-bones, gloriously simple adaptation. The framing is exceptional, and Welles and his team of photographers capture the chiaroscuro of light and dark in a way that is visually stunning and narratively profound. Perhaps not the defining work of Welles’ career, on a purely aesthetic level, Othello is utterly remarkable.

Therefore, what can be said about Welles’ exquisite adaptation of a well-known work of literature? Othello is exceptional, and the director takes a familiar story and repurposes it as a brooding, intense social drama, taking the play in new directions without losing an iota of what made the original work so resonant. Welles himself is at the top of his game here, portraying the titular Moor with such ease, it is hardly surprising that his career was defined by the works of Shakespeare. The film itself is a masterwork, and a large part of that is due to Welles’ precise visual style, opting to utilize his locations beautifully, but never resorting to excess. Other adaptations usually opt for lavish production design and extravagant visual style, but Welles’ is far more nihilistic and lucid, with the core of the story – the characters being the main focus. Welles’ manages to portray the character-driven story without simply staging an elaborate play and filming it. The complexities present in this film represent some of Welles’ most daring work, and the result is a film that is as riveting in how it tells its story as it is deceptively gorgeous. I’ve said it before, and I will likely say it every time: Orson Welles was one of the greatest to ever live, and Othello is just another of the multiple reasons for this assertion, which I will gladly defend to the grave. Othello is a perfect analogy for Welles’ as a filmmaker: unconventional, bold and brilliant to a fault, and I really did enjoy it tremendously.