Summary 
At times cleverly staged modernization of the jealousy tragedy, featuring an excellent Iago - a pathologically resentful ancient bent on revenge - but a miscast young Othello. Some awkward costuming and spotty supporting performances, but a strong second-act drive to an effective conclusion.
Design
Directed by Drew Fracher. Set by Lex Van Blommenstein. Costumes by Heidi Jo Schiemer. Lights by Sara Watson. Sound by Christopher Guthrie.
Cast
Billy Chace (Montano), Sara Clark (Bianca), Jeremy Dubin (Iago), Sherman Fracher (Emilia), Andy Gaukel (Duke of Venice), Jim Hopkins (Brabantio), Jeremy Dana Larson (Gratiano), Kelly Mengelkoch (Desdemona), David Ryan Smith (Othello), Josh Stamoolis (Roderigo), Kristopher Stoker (Cassio).
Analysis
Drew Fracher stages Othello on the black-box stage of the Cincinnati Shakespeare Company with colorfully modern costuming and a fluorescent and neon palette of glowing colors. Fifteen lanterns of various shades hang overhead, and the upstage wall features an array of orange lamps and yellow electric candles. Exposed wooden beams line the ceiling over a raised stage platform with black columns. The upstage brick wall is as fractured as Othello's mind will become during the production, and Fracher cleverly uses the rectangular space to literally frame illustrative images, like the opening embrace and passionate kiss between the Moor and Desdemona that blacks out as lights come up onstage to reveal Iago - "I am not what I am" - plotting with Roderigo. Fracher employs modern costuming occasionally to good effect, with Iago looking almost naval paramilitary in cargo pants with black boots, a big-collared white shirt beneath a royal blue waist coat, and a wicked-looking hunting knife in a black scabbard on his belt. He holds Roderigo's gaudy orange sport coat while Roderigo stuffs a lime-green dress shirt into his orange-striped pants and struggles with zipping up then tying a knot in his necktie.
Jeremy Dubin's superb portrayal of Iago is the cornerstone of Fracher's production, a complex portrait of a suave and confident, affable and efficient soldier who is also a devious and self-absorbed schemer, frightening in his sociopathic bloodlust. Dubin's Iago, short in stature but with compensatory big sideburns and posture, reveals a bit of envy, a smattering of resentment, and a hint of racism, but for the most part seems like an overlooked lesser officer with a Napolean complex and a motive for revenge: "until I come even with him wife for wife." Dubin's asides and soliloquies - spoken directly to the audience with sly confidence - are the strength of the show, compellingly delivered and mesmerizing in their deliciously malignant intensity, so much so that Dubin seems to be in his own play - and a superior one - at least until the hard charge toward the tragic conclusion. After deceiving the gawky Roderigo, hiding onstage as Othello and his fellow soldiers exit, Dubin's Iago steps downstage as the lights darken behind him, confidently articulating his evil intentions until the upstage lights re-rise at "give me sport." Dubin's Iago shows masterful manipulation, nuzzling Emilia affectionately after her display of the stolen handkerchief - "I have use for it" - then callously pushing her aside, or kneeling beside David Ryan Smith's Othello to link arms and swear allegiance - "world, take note!" - as the lights glow red and they salute each other in a sudden blackout to end the first act.
Guest artist Smith, the physical antithesis of Dubin's diminutive Iago, presents a big and brooding young mid-20s Othello. While his youth and considerable military rank may account for some of career soldier Iago's envious venom, Smith's Othello seems far too youthful to be a world-wise and battle-seasoned warrior. Facially inexpressive, Smith's Othello only registers emotion vocally with degrees of volume, although he uses his brooding brawn effectively in a physical evocation of confusion and rage. His head shaved but wearing a thick dark goatee, Smith's Othello never quite seems a gentle giant with his Desdemona, and Smith and Kelly Mengelkoch share little chemistry onstage. Burly and intimidating, Smith's Othello devolves quickly into angry self-doubt, drifting to the fringe of the stage, thinking aloud to himself. His fierce interaction with Mengelkoch's cowering Desdemona shows little progression, leaping right into vicious bluster, as he berates her publicly in front of the shocked Emilia, then later shouts at her so loudly that she cringes from him with tears in her eyes and moves away, her responses frail and quavering as he menacingly pursues her around a table. The lack of chemistry and the too-swift change to threats of violence deprives the production of its searing drama, leaving the audience with little to witness of the poisoned emotional decline of an honorable soldier.
Dubin's Iago manipulates both Cassio and Roderigo with crafty ease, although Roderigo seems more a dupe than Cassio, who plays as an intended victim. Iago's resentment of Cassio - who twirls Desdemona in a flamboyant dance move in 2.1 - becomes plainly evident when Cassio passes him rudely, elbowing him aside - "the lieutenant before the ancient" - although Iago's vengeance is swift. Dubin's ancient continually refills Cassio's tankard - the lieutenant's "craftily qualified" becomes "quaftily crawlified" in an amusing slur - until he becomes belligerently drunk. The brawl is well-staged, a sprawl of strutting hubris and physical intimidation, and Cassio chases the lanky Roderigo down, tackling him onstage and flailing away, then scrumming with two soldiers - even biting one's nipple - who only attempt to restrain him. After Othello's rebuke, Cassio lowers his head into his hands - "reputation!" - and groans. Dubin's Iago gifts the audience with a big self-satisfied smile at the success of his machinations, and when he is later confronted by Roderigo, sporting a comically swollen and discolored black eye, he must wrestle him to the ground and subdue him with a behind-the-back arm-bar.
The female supporting roles, while effectively played, are diminished somewhat by the modernized costuming, which seems to seek to pigeon-hole them as an ingénue, a secretary, and a sex kitten. Mengelkoch's strawberry-blonde Desdemona is most effective in early and late scenes, concealing the embroidered handkerchief in her sleeve before gaping in shocked belief as her father coldly turns his back upon her, later crying softly, seated and hugging Emilia, singing "willow" song snippets as her attendant unpins and brushes her hair for the last time. During the scenes between, she ranges only from military groupie to newlywed seductress, arriving within the thunder-and-lightning sound and lighting effects at Cypress with schoolgirl glee, twirling and posturing in a purple dress before the senators and soldiers and naval officers. Later, she paces the stage in a gray-and-blue mini-dress, her big chunky heels pounding an echo off the wooden stage, and she urges forgiveness of Cassio with seductive poses and alluring gestures, sitting in Othello's lap, then teasing him with her foot. Emilia and Bianca play like polar opposite extremes, but to distracting effect, Emilia an officious clerk in a dark gray business suit or a beige skirt with a jacket over a scarlet blouse, her reddish hair in a tight little bun, and the super-sexy Bianca vamping in hooker make-up and a platinum wig, strutting across the stage in a skin-tight flesh-toned mini dress and spiked high heels in an eye-candy jaw drop that is nonetheless overtly gratuitous.
Fracher has less success with the smaller supporting performances, which range from adequate to weak. Low points include an over-emotive Brabantio, all showy bluster and shout rather than concern and stridency, and a group of maritime accountants in black plastic eye glasses - and terrible fake mustaches - along with suspenders and rolled up sleeves on work shirts. But Fracher directs the action well, especially as the second act drives toward the final confrontation, using brief musical interludes between scenes and inventing a portrait of Desdemona and Cassio upstage within the makeshift picture frame, lit in pulsing green and taunting Smith's Othello into an epileptic seizure at the images of them in sexual rapture, groaning in ecstasy. Dubin's Iago squats beside the spasming Othello, watching with clinical fascination rather than gloating or offering help. Smith's Othello takes his head-scratchingly short step into violence, standing pointedly offstage to eavesdrop on Cassio's conversation - "marry her? a customer?" - about Desdemona: "I'll chop her into messes." When he confronts her, he slaps her across the face - "devil!" - and when Desdemona shies away, stunned, avoiding even looking at him, Smith's Othello seizes her by the wrists and hoists her to her feet.
Mengelkoch's best moments come as she awaits the murderer amid strobe lightning effects and peals of thunder. Her canopied bed, the production's only substantial prop or set piece, rests center stage, replete with pillows and candle-lit, while Desdemona rests beneath a violet blanket. Smith's Othello, his glowering expression underlit in red, appears like a demonic ghost - face only - before entering and extinguishing the candles one by one. He gives Desdemona three kisses but she wakes and tries to flee, and he drags her screaming back to the bed by her ankle. Smith's Othello, not brutish but firmly resolute, covers Mengelkoch's face with a pillow and leans over her as she squirms and kicks and flails, even punching at him, in a graphic depiction of suffocation that is painfully difficult to witness. When Emilia enters, Smith's frantically roaming Othello conceals Desdemona's corpse beneath the bed coverings, and Emilia soon realizes what has taken place - "my husband?" - and stands to defy the looming Othello: "do thy worst!" Smith's Othello then makes his own realization, sagging to his knees and rocking rhythmically back and forth - even as the captured Iago slashes Emilia's throat with a vicious knife swipe - then uses a tiny dagger to puncture his neck and collapse to die beside Desdemona and Emilia.
Fracher concludes with the disturbing image of Dubin's captive Iago, kneeling downstage but off-center, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, staring out beyond the audience with an amused expression, perhaps a little pleased with what he has wrought.