The play, mind you, not the character. Because while I do love the play, Othello the character is by far the least interesting player in it. He’s not much to scream about.
(Also, I’m doing a 20-week Shakespeare challenge, so we may hear about my play-of-the-week occasionally. Heads up.)
But the play is. For those who skipped that day in their senior English class in high school (and for those of you who had mean teachers and read Romeo and Juliet instead), here’s a quick rundown of the plot. Othello, a Moor (which could have meant anything from North African to Sub-Saharan African to Arabic, in Shakespeare’s time), is a leader of the Venetian army who marries a Venetian woman named Desdemona. Through the machinations of Iago (no, not the bird), an “ancient” whom Othello depends on both in battle and in love, everything goes to pot, and the play ends with 4 deaths, 2 woundings, and general sadness. But never fear — along the way there are some brilliant monologues, lots of analogies, and a fair number of phallic jokes. So, in other words, it’s a work by Shakespeare.
So why love the play? The same reason we love the Disney classic “Aladdin” — because of Iago.
Iago, who hates Othello for reasons unknown (he offers up two or three, another 1/2 are implied, and Iago himself refuses to say for certain), decides to ruin Othello’s life — and does so with masterful subtlety, wit, and planning. He is, though he ends up in custody at the end of the play, the ultimate villain — to hear it from himself, “every way makes my gain”. We’re lucky enough that, due to the format of the play, Iago has the ability to address the audience and the unknown, giving insights into how he’ll wheel and deal to reach his ends.
Iago is not moral, truthful, likable, loving — he has no redeemable virtues beyond the obviously sweeping girth of his intellect. There is no reason why we should find Iago even a bit compelling.
And yet we do. Not just because there is something to be said for a good villain, but because there is something to be said for the ambiguity that Iago offers. We don’t know how he ends up — we know he is taken into custody, but a man with brains like Iago cannot be held for long, if he doesn’t want to be there. We don’t know why he does why he does — we know nothing about him other than the many, many faces he presents to the world. And as he ends declaring that he won’t speak a word to his captors, we will never know anything else.
Iago’s not just a chess master, or the villain. He’s a true (and possibly the true) Magnificent Bastard, both to the characters and to the reader.
And people find what they cannot understand fascinating. Why do you think we have scientists?
But the other party I find fascinating (and puzzling, and irritating…) is Desdemona.
And people look at me oddly for this, I know. But if Iago drives the plot through his genius, Desdemona drives it through her selfishness.
Bear with me; this is not to say that Iago is not selfish — no one would say that, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever. But Desdemona is uniquely selfish.
She marries Othello, knowing that it will cause problems for him in his work and his social sphere. She volunteers herself to go with him to the warfront (or rather, the supposed warfront), for heaven’s sake. She may have thought she was working for what is best for her, but did she stop for a moment to consider what would be best for Othello?
((That’s what marriage is, after all.))
But no. This was a man who was ambitious, and strong, and caring, and had withstood all prejudice against him — until she came along, until she came to him, claiming to love him but never acting in a way that would tell of it.
Iago may have stoked the embers into flames, but it was Desdemona who provided the fuel.
I don’t say this to demonize her — though some radical feminists will certainly think that of me — but rather to call attention to her. Shakespeare was a very careful writer, and nothing passed through his pen that was not carefully considered. Is it so much to believe that Iago was not the only character created with decided purpose? Is it so much to believe that there can be a villain and an antagonist, and that these two can be different characters?
The beauty of Shakespeare’s plays is that they are infinitely re-readable. Every time you read it, you can focus on a different theme — a different object — a different character. It is not a different play — but perhaps you are a different person reading it.
And I think that’s something to scream about.
Something to Scream About 