Sitting watching Chiwetel Ejiofor recently in the Donmar’s production of Othello, I was struck by the face of the man sitting next to me during Othello’s legendary ‘Her father loved me, oft invited me’ speech of the first act. He was clearly mesmerised by Ejiofor’s portrayal of the Moor. But more interesting was his look of slight bewilderment; unwittingly mirroring the faces of the Venetians onstage.
The Othello of the first act is a figure that captivates, intrigues and inspires white Venetian society and the soldiers serving under him. We are made immediately aware of Brabantio’s initial fascination with the Moor, ease with inviting him into his home and desire to hear his stories, which quickly descends into fear and accusations of witchcraft when he learns that his daughter Desdemona has fallen in love and married him. In short, he is allowed to be a brilliant warrior and orator — but a son-in-law is a little too close for comfort. The audience knows that this is because he is black. Brabantio is a concerned father, but however one looks at it, he is still a racist. In these first scenes, Shakespeare illustrates the ease with which awe can mutate into something entirely different. It is a process of mutation that continues to this day, albeit less overtly — witness the complex brew of emotions surrounding Barack Obama and his ascent. The Senator for Illinois is almost universally acknowledged as inspirational, charismatic and a master of rhetoric, a campaigner — emboldened by his win in Wisconsin — who brings hope, and energises people previously disengaged from politics.
But is he the next president? For all the misty eyes, it is becoming commonplace to allege that he is somehow ‘lacking in substance’, too heavily dependent upon such vague notions as ‘hope’ and ‘unity’.
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