Searching for Shakespeare
Until May 29; National Portrait Gallery, London

“One cannot readily imagine our essentially English Shakespeare to have been a dark, heavy man, with a foreign expression, of decidedly Jewish physiognomy, thin curly hair, a somewhat lubricious mouth, red-edged eyes, wanton lips, with a coarse expression and his ears tricked out with earrings.”

Don’t worry, that’s not me talking. It’s the view of one J.H. Friswell, writing in 1864, of the the Chandos portrait. This, the first picture ever owned by London’s National Portrait Gallery, is the prime contender for the exalted position of authentic lifetime portrait of William Shakespeare.

Celebrating its 150th anniversary, the gallery is revisiting the centuries-old debate about what Shakespeare looked like. The NPG has brought its own Chandos portrait together with the competition: five other contenders drawn from England, Canada and the USA. We are promised “the results of new technical analysis and research on several of these pictures casting new light on the search for Shakespeare's authentic appearance”.

It appears that the gallery may have made promises it couldn’t keep. Instead of a treasure trove of forensic evidence and art historical detective work, we are treated to a museum-style show full of first editions, costumes and theatrical paraphernalia, with only one back wall devoted to the six “contender” portraits. Discussion of their authenticity is disappointingly scant, and the Chandos portrait is presented, in one big fait accompli, as the obvious frontrunner.

It’s a bit like selling advance tickets to an archaeological dig, only to find that there’s nothing to find. Wall labels tell us that the Chandos portrait is of the correct style for the period (around 1600 to 1610), and that the subject is the correct age (about 40). Neither comes as a surprise. A special DVD helpfully adds that the varnish has darkened with age; this, too, is hardly a revelation.

It’s more interesting to learn that the pointy beard of the Chandos portrait is a later addition, and that the hair was extended too. The implications of this are not explored. Could it be that (as in the case of the one of the other paintings) this was an old portrait doctored to look like Shakespeare? Or, just as plausible, did some historical bright spark decide to bring the real Shakespeare more into line with the romantic idea of him?

Further detailed examination of the painting is frustrated by the fact that there is very little paint left on its surface; having hung in the Duke’s Theatre in the 1660s, and having assumed the status of a literary relic very early in its life, it’s rubbed flat.

Although they can’t claim to be lifetime portraits, we do actually have two reliable representations of Shakespeare to work from. The archetypal Droeshout engraving was made for the cover of Shakespeare’s first collected works, printed only seven years after the playwright’s death, and presumably with the authorisation of his family. In fact the writer Ben Jonson (whose portrait is by far the best in this show) praised Droeshout for his success in capturing Shakespeare’s face.

Then there is the bust erected in Shakespeare’s memory at Holy Trinity Church, Stratford-upon-Avon, about four years after his death. His family must have been closely involved with this portrait, depicting a stout-looking citizen with the familiar shiny pate, but lacking the elegant elongated nose of tradition. In fact, this sturdy gentleman has more of the trusty Countdown presenter about him than the saintly vision to which we are accustomed.

The trouble with looking at images of Shakespeare is that they are so ingrained in the western world’s consciousness that it’s impossible to look at them objectively. The Bard’s hallowed visage is a motif so closely wrapped up with England’s national identity that there have been more reproductions of his image, and more discoveries, during periods of war and national threat than at any other time.

As a result, the monstrous Gothic concoction that is the Flower portrait, a 19th century forgery floating atop a 16th century Italian Madonna and child, looks to our eyes more like Shakespeare than any of the serious contenders. The Flower Shakespeare is a steely-eyed copy of the Droeshout engraving, while the more authentic 16th century contenders are disconcertingly real depictions of real, vulnerable mortals.

Perhaps the most human of all the contenders is the Sanders portrait, on loan from Canada. The sparky young man – a dead ringer for modern Scottish actor Kevin McKidd – seems to wink at us with a laddish grin from under his red poodle hair-do. Technical analysis has proved the wooden panel and the paint to be old enough to fit the 1603 date traditionally associated with it, but that makes a mockery of the young man’s age – if this is Shakespeare, he should be 39 years old.

Manchester’s Grafton portrait hits the nail on the head, presenting a 24-year old man in 1588; the wood is old enough to support the date. Although x-rays show that the inscribed age has been altered from 23 to 24, paint sampling confirms that the change was made by the original painter. The delightful suggestion is made in the catalogue that the young man’s birthday came and went before the picture was completed. It has to be said though: he does look pretty gormless for a national bard.

That leaves the Janssen portrait and the Soest. The Janssen, borrowed from Washington DC, turned out in 1988 to have been a courtier’s portrait overpainted to look like Shakespeare. The Soest stopped being a real contender in the 19th century, when it was acknowledged to have been painted 50 years after Shakespeare’s death.

If you’re looking for in-depth analysis of the contender portraits, the exhibition catalogue has more to offer than the show itself. If you’re looking for the best painting the gallery can offer, you’ll also be disappointed, because the significance of these portraits lies, on the whole, in their subject matter rather than their painterly quality. But if you’re looking for an introduction to Shakespeare’s world, with all its gloves, manuscripts, monarchs and coins, then at least you won’t be disappointed.

Catrìona Black, Sunday Herald 19.03.06