Rearview Film Review: The Merchant of Venice (2004)

Shakespeare's classic play gets the cinematic treatment from one of the Bard's biggest fans: Al Pacino

Al Pacino as Shylock, the multifaceted character at the heart of the play.

My wife got me Al Pacino’s new memoir, Sonny Boy, for Christmas. I finished reading it last night and I was struck by how much he truly preferred theater acting and how important it is to him even today at 84. He writes of how as a teenager, he carried Shakespeare scripts with him to practice his acting, projecting his voice in the alleys of the South Bronx (likely where his famous shout was honed). He went straight to performing in a Boston theater’s staging of Richard III fresh off of his iconic role in The Godfather, feeling the urge to be on stage performing in front of the intimacy of a theater audience. Pacino writes that he felt uncomfortable in front of cameras for nearly a decade, but performing on a stage was rejuevenating. He regularly returned to the theater throughout his career, and theater critics have been sharply divided about his stage performances. Some find him to be a master of the craft, others have called him a “stentorian parody.”

I personally want to find the tone-deaf fool at the San Diego Union-Tribune who wrote in their review of this film that Pacino’s performance carried more than a whiff of the ashen smell of Auschwitz. I do not know what that was meant to convey, but the fact that it went through the hands of three separate editors before running is a collective stain on the reputation of that newspaper.

It was this love of Shakespeare that brought him to stage one of the most famous of the Bard’s plays, The Merchant of Venice. Pacino chose to take on Shylock, the Venetian Jew both sought after and shunned in the land of Catholicism. The film’s directo cast a wonderful foil in Jeremy Irons, whose own deep voice is well known to fans of dramatic acting, delivering a well-pitched contrast to Shylock as Antonio. Joseph Fiennes brought improv sensibilities to his role as Bassanio, and does wonderfully (he improvised a kiss with Irons to demonstrate what he saw in the writing as an obvious homosexual longing), but sadly, Lynn Collins disappointed as Portia, whom Fiennes marries after solving the required riddle created by her deceased father (more on this later).

I mainly want to write about Pacino and Irons, though, discussing both the beauty of their portrayal of Shakespeare’s layered characters, and the legal/ethical battle between their characters. It’s hardly spoilers to discuss the plotlines of a five-hundred-year old play, so let’s dive in.

Antonio is an elder mentor to Bassanio, who finds himself in debt due to bad investments. Antonio himself is leveraged deeply to support his shipping concerns, and yet cannot resist Bassanio’s plea to lend him 3000 ducats (gold coins). Bassanio needs these funds to successfully contest for Portia’s hand in marriage. Portia is a beautiful redhead and very wealthy heiress, but her access to the wealth and marriage requires the solving of a puzzle her father designed. He is deceased, but by the laws of Venice, derived from the ancient Romans, Portia is still considered property to him, living or dead. Therefore, nobody can marry her without solving the puzzle. Obviously, this is highly problematic in today’s context, but back then, perfectly reasonable!

Antonio cannot fund this loan himself, so he goes to Shylock, a money-lender. The film establishes their relationship during the opening scenes, where Shylock approached Antonio on the streets, greeting him in a friendly manner, only to be spit upon by Antonio. You see, Shylock is a Jew in a Catholic city. Under the laws of Venice, Jews had to wear special red caps at night when venturing out, so it was known they were Jews (in case you were wondering where ol’ Adolf got the idea for yellow stars and all). Jews were assaulted and even killed by Catholic mobs for the crime of charging interest on loans (portrayed on screen while Antonio’s phlegm is still wet on Shylock’s clothing. All of this was the preamble to Antonio’s request for a loan. Shylock chooses, therefore, to create a penalty in which will ensure Antonio makes good on the debt, for his distrust runs deep. Shylock obtains a notarized bond where Antonio, should he not pay back the loan within the terms, will either owe twice as much back to Shylock in goods and/or ducats, or Shylock can, under the law, cut a pound of flesh from Antonio’s body.

Antonio is confident, almost braggadocious, that this will all be unnecessary, for his ships are sailing to multiple lands, including Mexico (which was colonized well before the American colonies existed, early enough that the Bard knew of them and inserted it as a plot point). He boasts that he will sell goods worth nine times the value of the loan. As things play out, Bassanio’s loan gains him entry to try his hand at solving the puzzle, and he successfully completes it. This allows him to marry Portia and rejoice in his good fortune (represented both in Portia’s beauty and her massive dowry, making Bassanio instantly wealthy). His celebration is soon interrupted by news that Antonio’s ships have been reported lost or shipwrecked. Bassanio knows this will cause Antonio to be in default on the loan, and with Portia’s urging, brings four times the amount with him back to Venice, where he can resolve the defaulted judgment. Meanwhile, she schemes a backup plan with her friend.

We cut back to Shylock, who refuses Antonio’s pleas for just a couple more days to pay the loan. Shylock is furious, as weeks before, Antonio and Bassanio invited Shylock to a banquet, ostensibly to cultivate a better relationship. In reality, it was a cover, so his daughter Jessica would be free to sneak off and marry Bassanio’s friend Lorenzo, converting to Christianity in the process. It is implied through his actions, and the famous speech he delivers (“hath a Jew no eyes so he can see, hands so that he can touch, etc) drives home that Shylock has deduced the contours of their plot, and is infuriated by it. He has been made a fool, and so now he wishes to humiliate Antonio—who has, remember, spit upon him in public, yet then asks to borrow money from him. Antonio signed the bond Shylock prepared, accepted the potential penalty, feigns a desire to mend relations, but instead serves as a provocateur so another man can steal away with Shylock’s daughter in the night, marrying her and converting her to Christianity without her father’s knowledge, robbing him of his only family and his faith of one of its adherents. Antonio has, by all accounts, behaved terribly, yet begs mercy. Is it any wonder that Shylock refuses, that he is belligerent in his desire for inflicting the maximum penalty?