Historical antecedents aside, Shylock is to Shakespeare what Jesus Christ became to Mel Gibson – an aesthetic creation that so tramples upon profound sensitivities that the art itself becomes tantamount to contraband. Hitler, for understandable reasons, appreciated the propagandist potential of “The Merchant of Venice” – a play that provided an opportunity to both enjoy Shakespeare and exploit every conceivable anti-Semitic stereotype there is, all for the price of the same ticket.

There are those, myself included, who simply will not patronize “The Passion of the Christ” on moral grounds; the movie undeniably promotes a vision of vile anti-Semitism that the Catholic Church has itself renounced. Many of the same people feel “The Merchant of Venice” is similarly pernicious.

Nevertheless, “The Merchant of Venice” has many redemptive lessons: about the pathological consequences of indignity; and the damage done from misplaced, inexpressible rage. And it makes a particularly timely case that the legal system is not the place to resolve deep grievances, especially if they are driven by emotion, which is the story behind most lawsuits. In “King Henry VI, Part II,” Shakespeare has Dick the Butcher remark, “[T]he first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.” In “The Merchant of Venice,” the Bard merely suggests we not rely on them so much.

In these politically correct, sometimes culturally tyrannous times, director Michael Radford should at least be congratulated for bravely bringing Al Pacino’s Shylock to the silver screen. For adapting “The Merchant of Venice” for film has not been either an easy or a welcome undertaking. There has not been a feature-film version of the play since the silent era. Even Orson Welles abandoned his own attempt at an adaptation, despite having successfully directed film versions of “Othello” and “Macbeth.”

The problem on the screen is the same as on the stage: Is Shylock going to be presented as a villainous cartoon or as a complex victim? In other words, what kind of a person would insist on a “pound of flesh” as a remedy for a commercial dispute?

Shylock’s inflexible, legalistic demand is often seen as an example of Jewish righteousness, stubbornness, and, even worse, Christian-bloodthirstiness. But Shylock is a man who has been harshly exposed to a lifetime of prejudice and indignity, a man who – in an effort to placate those who have made his life miserable and gain friendship and peace – he offers to provide Antonio, the merchant of the title, with an interest-free loan. Only when Shylock’s daughter leaves to take up with one of Antonio’s friends, and absconds with his money, does Shylock sink to a new depth of bitterness.

It is, indeed, the damage that arises from such pervasive indignity, and not lust for Christian blood, that accounts for Shylock’s steely resolve to receive a pound of Antonio’s flesh as forfeiture for the failed loan. He comes to court determined to get the very thing that he doesn’t need, and doesn’t really want. Antonio’s flesh has no material value, but it will satisfy Shylock’s desire for revenge. He bargained for friendship, and failing that, now looks to the contract for the relief – emotional, and not necessarily legal – that has been denied him.

Yet, the legal system – and, unfortunately, Mr. Radford’s film, as well – takes a man like Shylock too literally, and therefore not seriously enough. The law listens to his words and weighs his demands, but it is not sensitive to the language and gestures of pain represented by his misdirected ravings before the court. Shylock claims that he stands for judgment, but what he really wants is something the legal system does not usually provide.

The law offers only legal, not moral justice, because the legal system does not respond to human pain. This accounts for why Antonio’s flesh is so irrationally important to him. Shylock’s legal claim, as irrational as it is (precisely because it is irrational), is actually, a cry for help. The law doesn’t know how to hear or interpret Shylock’s pain, and so it misinterprets his plea.

In the film, Mr. Pacino plays Shylock as surprisingly sober – lawyerly, even – instead of a man who has reached an emotional abyss and has nowhere to turn other than the soulless caverns of the court system. But the more we see Shylock in control – measured, calculating (both in terms of money and deviousness) – the more the stereotype of a Jew in lust of judgment is reinforced. The film robs Shylock of the kind of fleshed humanity that should summon up our sympathy rather than our distaste for his villainy.

Had Mr. Pacino acted more like a man in grief rather than as an implacable plaintiff, audiences, perhaps, would more easily regard Shylock as a tragic figure, and Shakespeare as someone talking up to his audience, forcing them to look more deeply at themselves, rather than feeding them ethnic stereotypes. But since the film lacks nuance and complex characters, there is nothing left to do or say other than to call Shylock a monster.

The film thus also fails to deliver Shakespeare’s cautionary note about the legal system. Portia, the wise but clandestine judge – portrayed in the film by Lynn Collins – reminds Shylock that the path to spiritual salvation is found not in courts of law, but through acts of mercy. Masquerading as a lawyer, she offers a vision of restorative justice that is far more interested in repairing relationships than in vengefulness and retribution.

While Ms. Collins is an engaging screen presence, and delivers an otherwise winning performance, somehow her “mercy seasons justice” speech is stripped of the moral force that underlies Shakespeare’s deeper intentions. There is a social comment here, and a cautionary note to both the Elizabethan English and present-day Americans. Don’t depend on the legal system for moral and emotional satisfaction; as presently constituted, it leads only to spiritual ruination.

Mr. Radford’s film buries Portia’s line, and Shakespeare’s message, which is a shame. The law, and its lawyers, can always stand for a new judgment on reform.

Mr. Rosenbaum is the author of “The Myth of Moral Justice” (HarperCollins).