The Merchant of Venice

Start making cents: Pacino tones it down for a comprehensible Merchant of Venice

By Mike Prevatt

The problem with Shakespeare film adaptations--especially if you haven't read or seen more than a few of his plays--is trying to catch all the subtleties while simultaneously absorbing the story. The nuance and distinctiveness of the language, the thematic undercurrents, the complexity and morality of the characters, the hairpin shifts of the narrative--these are but a few of the constructions for those who are not Bard devotees to mentally chew while also trying to appreciate the emotional payoff of the story. This is, after all, an entertainment, and whether comedy or drama, Shakespeare makes you earn whatever feeling you're able to extract from it.

Which brings us the latest of his cinematic representations, The Merchant of Venice, taken on by Briton director Michael Radford, most famous for his go at George Orwell's 1984. Hardly the most straightforward of Shakespeare works, the play version of Merchant resides in the gray area between comedy and tragedy--skewing more to the latter, one might argue--and Radford keeps it there, focusing on the gravitas of passion, whether stemming from love or spite. It is this attention to humanity, as well as presenting such a rich story with unforced clarity, that makes Radford's interpretation ultimately engrossing.

Shot in Venice and making full use of its coastal dankness, Merchant begins with merchant Antonio (Jeremy Irons), a Christian, protesting Jewish lenders, including Shylock (Al Pacino), whom he and other Italian businessmen need in order to keep the city's market afloat. Later, when his close friend Bassanio (Joseph Fiennes) looks to finance a trip in order to win the hand of Portia (Lynn Collins), the already-indebted Antonio requests a loan from Shylock, who in turn begrudgingly accepts the loan request on the conditions that, should Antonio default on payment in three months' time, he would offer Shylock a pound of his flesh. Antonio, who would do anything for his friend, unflinchingly accepts, hardly expecting to forfeit his flesh even if he is late on the payment.

The conflict arises when Antonio is indeed overdue, and Shylock is intent on repayment from his person, regardless of higher monetary compensation. The case is played out in court, where Shylock stands alone, looking for justice--not so much in terms of business, but as a Jew constantly berated by the Christian majority. As it turns out, the law favors Shylock, who is literally ready to collect Antonio's heart right there on the stand.

It's hard to pick a bad guy here, though Shylock is painted as a shady character, and thus bigotry comes to the forefront. In this day and age, it's easy to empathize with him, though because of the romantic intentions behind seeking the loan in the first place, both cast and audience favor Antonio and Bassanio. This also calls into question the not-exactly-faint traces of homosexuality, given those two characters' obvious if nonsexual affection for each other (this, to say nothing of Portia's cross-dressing, calculated last-gasp plea in court).

Radford steadily builds the drama toward the court scene, which becomes a riveting spectacle thanks to the acting talent. Fiennes is at his most passionate not as Portia's lover but Antonio's friend and defender; Irons, in turn, displays the perfect amount of melancholy and resigned fatalism, fueling the potential of his romantic love for his pal. Collins, who is competent as Portia, is more of a revelation as the civil doctor, duplicitous in her test of Bassanio's love.

However, Pacino is in rare form here in that he eschews his typically histrionic delivery and opts to play the maltreated Shylock with an assured, steely intensity instead. And yet, of all the performances, his is the most instinctive--especially when it comes to the arcane dialogue--and dynamic, a man whose grab for revenge is literally and almost principally defensible. He's as much the soul of Merchant as Antonio, another element allowing for an emotional lucidity where the source material might not.