Since the theater company Bedlam burst on the scene—that is the proper cliché, isn’t it?—with a highly impressive 2012 take on George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan and followed shortly with Sense and Sensibility, the enterprise under Eric Tucker’s supervision hasn’t habitually hit those initial high marks. He’s too frequently tickled classics into not terribly inviting versions of themselves.
Well, the mandate states: “[C]ommitted to the immediacy of the relationship between the actor and the audience, Bedlam creates works of theatre that reinvigorate traditional forms in a flexible, raw space.” It goes on in flowery prose that clearly means something to Tucker and associates, if elusive to others.
That’s why I showed up at his four-actor Othello (Ryan Quinn, Susannah Hoffman, Susannah Millonzi, Tucker himself) not expecting much and am now extremely pleased to admit I had it all wrong: Tucker’s Othello is a bell-ringing winner and, to mix metaphors, a lengthy feather in Bedlam’s cap.
Just to pick up on the “flexible, raw space” with its immediate effect on me, the Othello at hand—Tucker both set and sound designer—whips up the tragic excitement in a large-ish, crudely finished room supplied with a few separate bleachers. For the first of the two acts the audience members face a soiled white wall that’s eventually furnished with a sting of colorful bulbs—and nothing more. What they’re meant to signify remains obscure.
Since seating is general admission, I chose a first row aisle seat which more than once had actors sitting on steps so close that they were nudging me. In the second act—when the bleachers had been moved into a circle, Millonzi as Emilia mentioned cuckolding husbands and looked me straight in the eye. Accordingly, I had a moment of feeling ashamedly cuckolded, which turned into a longer moment of assuring myself that as far as I knew I hadn’t been. Actually, I might be inclined to give it further thought.
So, with this current Othello: how in more detail does it reinvigorate its traditional form? Given the cast numbering only four, it’s likely Othello partisans will rightly conclude that Tucker, Quinn, Hoffman, and Millonzi will play, in that order, Iago, Othello, Desdemona, and, as already mentioned, Emilia. What’s also likely is that they all will assume other parts. Yes, even Quinn as Othello has brief instances when he drapes his loose shirt to become the prostitute Bianca.
Some of the casting is cutely clever, perhaps the most being Hoffman taking on Cassio, whom Iago has convinced Othello is the man with whom Desdemona is cheating on him. That, perhaps needless to say to some readers, involves the missing handkerchief supposedly given Cassio on the sly by the supposedly errant young and doting wife.
It should be pointed out that the specific role assignments often require the busy players changing in a nanosecond. Often, the policy is amusingly eye-opening. An example, without going too far into specifics is a late in the proceedings juxtaposition of the deceased Desdemona and the likewise deceased Cassio.
At other times, though, the need to emphasize the shift has the actors exaggerating their gestures. Any one of the four may begin sawing the air with their arms, committing just what Hamlet admonishes the players about to present “The Murder of Gonzago” not to do.
Given the demands on the actors and their constantly meeting the challenges, the performances are exemplary. Perhaps the highest point of many high points is the scene during which Iago plays on Othello’s being persuaded of Desdemona’s infidelity. Though Othello insists he’s not “easily jealous,” Iago sees through the demur and only accelerates his cunning.
Tucker’s playing and directing the scene, given the pressured closeness of the audience to the invidious action, is that much more theatrically intense. A spectator’s urge to reach out and shake Quinn’s succumbing Othello by the shoulders is hard to stifle. If there’s anything lacking in Tucker’s take as Iago’s invented falsehoods accumulate, it might be glints of self-satisfaction the conniver is villainously enjoying.
Scene after scene has that effect. For instance, when Quinn’s Othello adamantly refuses to believe Hoffman’s Desdemona reiterating her confusion about the sudden treatment she’s receiving, impresses as even more unfair when witnessed close up. Then there’s Millonzi as she’s asked to be a few of the men in Othello’s retinue—Roderigo and Lodovico. She’s keen at it. Moreover, through the final sequences her incisive Emilia is right on the damning button.
A last observation about Shakespeare’s employing men’s names in the Venice at whatever time Othello is unfurling. All monikers end in the letter O: Iago, Roderigo, Lodovico, Gratiano, Desdemona’s father Brabantio, and, of course, Othello, which even starts with an O. Is this historically accurate or merely a Bard trope?
Othello opened May 3, 2026, at the West End Theater and runs through May 31. Tickets and information: bedlam.org
