The Dudley House Drama Society is not without guts. It takes a certain amount of courage for a house to attempt a Shakespeare production in the first place, and to take a stab at the often treacherous Merchant of Venice requires valor well beyond the ordinary. The astonishing thing is that those Dudley people just don't give a damn. They go right out onto that tiny Lehman Hall stage and play The Merchant of Venice. They seize the work by the lapels, shake it for nearly all they can hope to get out of it and throw what they find at the audience. If you are there to catch what they have, you'll be a pretty happy person.

What happens before the evening runs out looks simple, but isn't. Director Vic Koivumaki, rather than trying to tackle some strikingly original conception of this rather sober comedy, relies on a fairly traditional presentation. With lousy actors and an unsure director, such a conception would wind up an uninteresting bore. But in the hands of Koivumaki and his cast, the whole thing takes on a gentle charm that is contagious.

Needless to say, the lovers count for a lot in this version. The actors are more than up to the weight of the burden. Relaxed and elegant from first to last, Janet Bowes as Portia sails through the play with an effortlessness one almost never finds in a house production. As far as I'm concerned, Dudley House can put her in any part they want.

Playing opposite her, an ambitious chore in itself is David Hammond. He makes Bassanio a shade more sympathetic than might be appropriate, but the characterization has been so carefully worked out that his performance overrides most doubts as to its legitimacy in terms of the play. As the subsidiary love interests, Lorenzo and Jessica, Pope Brock and Phyllis Ward create some of the production's finest moments. The scene in which Jessica escapes with her lover evokes a spirit of tender innocence that would find a nice home in any Romeo and Juliet.

Still, at the ambiguous center of The Merchant of Venice is Shylock. No one knows exactly what to do with this embittered Jew, and Claudio Buchwald is no exception. Kenneth Tynan once described this character as "sort of a capitalistic Caliban." If that is the case, Buchwald is more a capitalist and less a Caliban. Yet though he misses much of the humor in Shylock. Buchwald's creation will be a tough one to forget. Wringing his hands and shakily glancing over his sagging shoulder, he fails to miss a physical or vocal nuance for his chosen portrayal. His feet drag, his voice rasps and clutches, even his eyes seem to sweat. The line between patheticness and soapiness is a thin one, but Buchwald keeps to the right territory.

Gary Byrne's Launcelot Gobbo, wide-eyed and Cockney, gets his laughs, by never pushing for them. His timing is impeccable. And while Byrne's polish doesn't always extend to the other comedians in the cast, there are no actively annoying performances. Whatever the minor actors lack in ability, they do not make up in pretentiousness. That in itself is a blessing these days.

Another blessing is director Koivumaki's coordination of the individually engaging performers. They always work well with each other--even in the crowd scenes the level of concentration is high. Koivumaki also makes full use of his theatre and Arnold Clapman's attractive set by taking advantage of the balcony, both stage levels and the seating floor for his brisk blocking. He has at his disposal a set of costumes (credited to four girls) that have been carefully designed rather than simply produced.

While nothing about this Merchant of Venice will change anybody's thoughts on the nature of the play, Dudley House has still built an evening with more to it than nerve.