SOURCE: Brantley, Ben. “A Revolt against God with No Apology.” New York Times (10 December 2001): E1, E4.

[In the following review of Othello directed by Doug Hughes at the Joseph Papp Public Theater, Brantley observes the dominance of Liev Schreiber's Iago in the production.]

The psychopath is running the asylum again. And isn't it wonderful to know that you're in such—shall we say—capable hands?

Playing the ultimate disgruntled employee in the fast-paced production of Othello that opened last night at the Joseph Papp Public Theater, the amazing Liev Schreiber presents a tic-ridden, sexually crippled Iago who is clearly as mad as a rabid raccoon.

Yet he also possesses the sort of gifts that are usually rewarded with keys to the executive washroom: charm, efficiency, discreet sycophancy, organization and excellent people skills, including an ability to plant an idea in someone else's head and make him think it's his own.

A pity about that motiveless evil thing. But if he lived in latter-day Manhattan instead of long-ago Cyprus, this Iago would be the head of a Fortune 500 company or perhaps be one of Broadway's few bankable directors. At least until someone discovered a body in one of his filing cabinets.

Anyone doubting that Mr. Schreiber has advanced to the top rungs of American stage actors need only check out his smart, flashy and extremely entertaining portrait of Shakespeare's most subtle destroyer of men. Last seen in New York in an exquisitely understated portrait of one of the cryptic adulterers in Harold Pinter's Betrayal, Mr. Schreiber here shifts into a more flamboyant mode.

But don't worry. The cool fireworks he sends off have been just as impeccably orchestrated as the elliptical silences of Betrayal. In Doug Hughes's swift and streamlined interpretation of Shakespeare's most relentless tragedy, Iago and the man playing him are unconditionally in charge.

Granted, this leads to a definite imbalance. No one else in the cast, led by the gifted Keith David as Othello, comes close to matching Mr. Schreiber's playful interpretive intelligence.

So Mr. Hughes really has no choice but to lead with the ace that is Mr. Schreiber, turning the whole evening into Iago's playground. For here is a Mephistopheles who was born, as he sees it, not just to rebel against God but to usurp his function.

Correspondingly, in ways beautifully enhanced by the staging and production design, all the world—or at least most of Cyprus—becomes Iago's stage. Mr. Hughes is expert in clearly configuring his cast members in the patterns of chess figures as seen through Iago's eyes.

Robert Wierzel's superb lighting takes us directly into the overheated workshop of Iago's mind, where we find him serenading his own shadow. And David Van Tieghem's sound design includes sinister bell noises that seem to signal those moments when Iago clicks another piece of his diabolical puzzle into place.

Even Neil Patel's minimal set, in which screens play an appropriately central role, and Catherine Zuber's costumes seem to feed into Iago's master plan. The mood is 18th-century rococo, recalling a time in which rank and class were elaborately stratified. In an inspired interpolative touch, Iago becomes Othello's valet cum dresser as well as his ensign. And who is more invisible than a valet?

Taking advantage of such handy camouflage, this Iago proceeds to write the script of the undoing of his charismatic boss, barely able to repress a murmur of delight when props, actors and scenery all conspire to fall into place. You'll often find him in an aisle of the theater, looking on like the archetypal nervous director, nibbling his fingers with a mixture of satisfaction and anxiety. He's like an evil urban twin of Prospero, the world-ordering wizard of The Tempest.

This Iago, for the record, is no bland-seeming, self-effacing functionary, which has become the fashion. The brilliant British actor Simon Russell Beale provided the last word in that vein in his landmark performance for the Royal National Theater several seasons ago.

Instead, Mr. Schreiber leaves no doubt that his Iago, addled by sexual resentment and class envy, is as bonkers as the serial killer played by Kevin Spacey in Seven or one of Thomas Harris's diabolical pleasure killers. This Iago knows he has to keep a somber mask over his enjoyment of the disasters he brings about, but every so often the mask slips in public. And there, fleetingly, in plain view are the compulsive flinches and twitches, that infernal smile of self-satisfaction.

The struggle to sustain the mask provides most of the real tension in this Othello. Mr. David's interpretation of the Moor scales down the usual majesty of presence. He's extremely composed and authoritative, a natural leader. But he doesn't have the hypnotic grandeur or the implicit force of passion that so famously won over Desdemona (Kate Forbes).

This means that when Othello does battle with that old green-eyed monster, he doesn't really have very far to fall. He suggests a self-involved businessman (too self-involved and self-confident to notice that his ensign Iago is subverting him at every turn). When he famously bids farewell to the “tranquil mind” and martial glory, it's as if he's saying goodbye to expense account lunches at “21.”

Christopher Evan Welch's foppish, foolish Roderigo is perhaps too easy a characterization, but it works. And Mr. Schleiber is never so creepy as when pulling Mr. Welch into a comradely embrace that seems mighty close to a stranglehold. Jay Goede is fine as the handsome Cassio, especially when in his drunkenness he says exactly what he shouldn't say if he wants to stay in Iago's good graces. Becky Ann Baker, an excellent actress, anachronistically brings to mind a whiny Shelly Winters as Desdemona's handmaiden.

Ms. Forbes, once you get past the self-conscious plumminess of her diction, is a refreshingly plucky Desdemona. She's heartier and more self-assertive than most Desdemonas, and it makes sense that she would stand up both to her father (Jack Ryland, in an enjoyably distraught performance) and her husband. She also does beautifully by the melancholy, introspective scene that precedes her murder.

Mr. David incisively conveys the uxorious sensual pride that Othello takes in his wife. But in this Othello it's Iago's relationship with Desdemona that seizes our imagination. Watch this Iago venturing, ever so tentatively, to touch Desdemona's neck as she weeps, simultaneously registering impulses both erotic and homicidal.

He's such a fascinating creature that you at first shrug off that no one else reaches Mr. Schreiber's level. After all, isn't that sort of appropriate, given the upper hand that Iago sustains for most of the evening?

By the second half, however, you're forced to remember that the play's title is indeed Othello. And this Othello's descent into tragic rage just doesn't intrigue except as it gratifies Iago. Tellingly, the audience was chuckling away even when Desdemona was being strangled (instead of suffocated as usual), not a good sign.

All the same, it isn't often that a production of a play as well known as Othello tells you anything new. And Mr. Schreiber, working with Mr. Hughes, draws an intriguing and persuasive new diagram of Iago's pathological web. Now if only his victims presented slightly more of a challenge.