The Shape of Tragedy

Many scholars treat plays as literary artifacts – words to be analyzed no differently from poetry or prose fiction. But creating language is only one of the tools a playwright uses in shaping a play. As Aristotle stressed in the Poetics, the essential building block of drama is not language, but action. A play, he said, represents human beings living their lives, not simply speaking. In Aristotle’s analysis what a character does is more significant than what he says. Language, particularly such complex language as that of Shakespeare, is often more distracting than helpful to an audience in trying to establish what is happening on stage.

Actors, directors, and dramaturgs often begin rehearsing a play by analyzing its action structure. In doing so they mirror the creative process of the playwright, who must determine the events of each scene before representing them in language. By reducing a play to what Aristotle calls the mythos or plot, the “order of the incidents,” we are able to view its fundamental structure more clearly than when we try to perceive it through the complex web of dialogue. In essence, a play is a sequence of episodes in time – something happens first, then something else, then something else, until there is nothing left to be done, at which point the play ends. This analysis may seem rudimentary, but to identify the precise action of a scene is a painstaking operation. Once assembled, the plot can reveal crucial details about the construction of the play which might otherwise escape our notice, and which prove useful when the director and actors are determining how to represent the play on stage.

The ancient Greek tragedies that Aristotle analyzed in the Poetics had relatively simple structures whose plots conformed to a standard paradigm – a prologue, in which the protagonists reveal to the audience a central conflict that must be overcome, followed by a sequence of scenes and choral odes in which the conflict is explored and deepened, and a final scene that provides at least a semblance of resolution. By the early seventeenth century playwrights were experimenting with far more complex forms, which reached their fullest expression in the baroque, five-act structures of Shakespeare’s tragedies. The plot of a single act of Othello is more intricate than that of an entire play by Sophocles or Euripides. Each scene is rich in structural parallels and echoes that continue to reverberate the more closely we examine them, until the grandeur of Shakespeare’s structure rivals the most elaborately wrought musical symphony.

The diagram on the right, which illustrates the action structure of the first act, was prepared by A.R.T.’s Literary Office before rehearsals began for the current production of Othello, and is taken from a larger chart that represents the plot of the entire play. Note that although Shakespeare’s earliest editors divided the act into three parts, each of these scenes is itself composed of several smaller units. Act I, Scene 1 is composed of three such events. Shakespeare opens the play in the middle of a conversation between Iago and Roderigo, and it takes some time for us to grasp the subject. Iago is relating the circumstances surrounding Michael Cassio’s promotion to Othello’s lieutenant. The abbreviated dialogue and complex exposition make Iago’s narrative difficult to follow, but his intention in speaking to Roderigo is clear. By revealing secrets of the military appointment, Iago hopes to win Roderigo’s confidence and loyalty – his action is “to secure Roderigo’s trust.” We don’t yet understand who either of these characters is, nor why one is attempting to win the other over. But something significant is clearly in progress, and Shakespeare immediately grabs our attention, leaving us hungry for more information.

Once Iago has succeeded in securing Roderigo, his action is complete. He precipitates a new event by suggesting that Roderigo should wake up Brabantio, Desdemona’s father. The two men yell in the street outside Brabantio’s house – a short, transitional episode, shaded gray on the diagram to distinguish it from the major events of the scene – until the old senator comes to the window, and a new action begins. Here there is no mistaking Roderigo’s intention. In love with Desdemona, he tells Brabantio of her elopement with Othello, and by rousing his fury he attempts to gain his trust, as Iago had secured his trust only moments before. Roderigo soon achieves his goal, and Brabantio disappears from the window to determine Desdemona’s whereabouts. In another short transition, Iago takes his leave of Roderigo, after which Brabantio appears on the street. Choking with rage and fear at his daughter’s conduct, he is at first barely coherent. At last, however, Brabantio regains his self-possession, and, setting off to find Othello, brings the scene to a close.

This short first scene, then, is comprised of three events, two of which dramatize the same action: one character attempts to gain the support of another. Iago precipitates the chain of events by spurring Roderigo into action, then takes cover before Brabantio has a chance to see him. This covert stage-management is characteristic of Iago’s behavior throughout the play, indeed it is a mark of Shakespeare’s virtuosity that so many of the key actions in Othello – political maneuvering, garnering allegiance, spying, the rousing of jealous passion – appear as motifs in this opening sequence.

The second scene is composed of two events. Like the preceding scene, it opens with Iago in the middle of a conversation, this time with Othello. Iago’s subject may be different – he describes Brabantio’s violent rage and questions Othello about his recent marriage – but his action is identical to that in his first encounter with Roderigo: he is trying to secure Othello’s trust. By playing both sides against each other, Iago sets up an inevitable confrontation between Othello and Roderigo/Brabantio, and he doesn’t wait long to see the fruits of his labor. After another brief transition in which Cassio arrives to summon Othello to the Duke’s palace, Brabantio and Roderigo enter, swords drawn. The encounter seems destined to end in a violent showdown, but Othello forestalls the attack. He suggests that the matter would best be resolved by the Duke, bringing the second scene to a close and precipitating the need for a third.

In just two scenes Shakespeare has set up both sides of a fierce conflict, brought the parties together, and denied them immediate resolution. This delay heightens the dramatic tension of the act considerably since we, like the protagonists, grow increasingly anxious to discover the outcome of the final confrontation. Rather than continuing at this fierce pitch, however, Shakespeare changes tempo and introduces a further delay, and with it a new phase of the narrative. The focus of the play shifts from a private feud to the realm of politics, as the Duke and senators of Venice await news of the Turkish attack on Cyprus. A series of messengers bring conflicting reports, and the air is heavy with confusion. For a considerable time both private and public plots are held in stalemate.

Eventually Brabantio, Othello, Iago, and Roderigo burst into the senate chamber, and Shakespeare initiates one of the oldest and best-known of plots, the courtroom drama. From the Eumenides of Aeschylus to the latest episode of The Practice, the fundamental structure of the trial scene has remained unchanged. First the plaintiff, here Brabantio, appeals to the court, then the defendant, Othello, makes his case. A surprise witness is introduced in the form of Desdemona, and the Duke sums up. His judgment seems to provide the act with absolute closure: the Duke not only sanctions Othello’s marriage, thus resolving the private quarrel that has dominated the act, but he also sends Othello to Cyprus, thereby ending the political deadlock in which this third scene began. His action in both instances is the same, and is approximately “to clear the decks” or “to resolve the situation.”

In a single act Shakespeare dramatizes what for a lesser playwright might have taken a whole play, a conflict born in the first scene, heightened in the second, and resolved in the third. It seems that Iago’s attempt to bring down Othello has been thwarted – or has it? Just as the act draws to its close, Shakespeare adds a coda. The court has been cleared of everyone but Iago and Roderigo, who find themselves in a situation elegantly similar to that of the play’s first episode. Roderigo’s resolve has been bruised, and Iago must once again secure his trust and rouse him into action. He does so brilliantly, and Roderigo exits in high spirits, determined to renew his attack on Othello. Iago remains and, alone on stage, addresses the audience directly for the first time. “Not only did I precipitate the events of this act,” his defiant presence seems to say, “I have now subverted its closure.” Iago’s machiavellian genius is felt in the very structure of Othello, and he is able to control the plot with the deftness of a playwright.

As the play progresses, the plot becomes increasingly complex, with each act dramatizing a complete episode in the play’s narrative: Act Two handles the downfall of Cassio; Act Three is structured around the two great temptation scenes in which Iago fuels Othello’s jealousy; Acts Four and Five – one continuous sequence – dramatize the final consequences of Iago’s machinations. Shakespeare orchestrates each section of the plot with tremendous care, and there is not one element in the play’s structure that does not grow organically from the whole.

Gideon Lester is A.R.T.’s Dramaturg and Associate Artistic Director Designate.