Seeing this production of Hamlet was one of those experiences after which I found it impossible to talk about it. Normally, I see a performance, leave the auditorium, and spend the next half hour discussing it. I couldn’t do that last night; I needed time to let my thoughts settle, to fully digest the truth of how magnificent the performance was.
I was first awed by the sheer size of the stage: it must have been two or three times wider than any other stage I’ve seen, and at least twice as deep. This was an ideal setup for the amount of running that happened in the play, for it was surprisingly active. Hamlet, for one, barely ever stood still, and was more often than not moving frenetically around the stage as he spoke, like an excited boy. At certain climactic moments, that frenetic movement extended to the entire cast as they dashed across the stage in time to dissonant music.
Intriguingly, there were disparities in the passage of time in the performance, and there were anachronisms aplenty. The performance opened with Hamlet sitting by himself in a room listening to music on a gramophone, suggesting that the play was set around the 1950s. Horatio’s entrance, with modern spectacles, tattooed arms, and a canvas backpack placed him in the 2000s. But at dinner, the women’s costumes suggested 20th century, and the opulence of the stage set suggested, perhaps, even earlier. As the play progressed the costumes became increasingly modern: Claudius, who began the play in military suits and tails, ended it wearing a business suit. Guildenstern entered wearing bright red Converse, and Hamlet, by the end, was wearing jeans, Converse, and a hoodie. It seemed that the producers of the play were trying to prevent it from being pigeonholed into one time period, thus avoiding any critique of why a particular era was chosen in which to set the performance.
Another creative choice was the staging of soliloquys. I wondered before the performance how delivering soliloquys would work if there were other people on stage, since having everybody else but the speaker freeze doesn’t seem like a particularly appealing option. This show chose to have the speaker continue at a normal pace while having everyone else onstage continue their normal actions but in slow motion. For example, in the dinner scene in Act 1, Hamlet’s soliloquy expressing his regret that he has lived to see his mother married to his uncle is delivered as everybody else finishes eating and leaves the table in slow motion, giving him ample time to deliver his speech.
Each actor’s interpretation of their character’s response to the tragedy was beautifully developed, and their renditions revitalized the meaning of Shakespeare’s original words. Much was done in the performance, often by Cumberbatch, to render the language and subject matter accessible to the audience. There is humor in Hamlet, visible even when reading the script, and Cumberbatch (often abetted by Polonius) took every opportunity he had, both scripted and unscripted, to make that humor palpable.
Cumberbatch’s willingness to throw himself into his roles made me expect a fair use of floor space: crawling on it, mainly, which definitely happened. What I didn’t expect was the use of other kinds of space—namely, the two instances in which he simply climbed onto a cluttered table and proceeded to proclaim a speech on it. The fluid grace with which he was able to march undeterred down a table crowded with papers and desk lamps was wondrous to behold.
There is a lot of talk about what kind of Hamlet each actor plays. Cumberbatch’s Hamlet was boyish and energetic, passionately in love with Ophelia (though this wasn’t explicit until his declarations at her graveside), and most definitely not insane—Cumberbatch’s incredibly sudden jumps from amusing pretenses of madness to complete gravity made that quite clear. These shifts and the surprising amount of humor also made his Hamlet seem like an actor attempting to figure out whether he is in a comedy or a tragedy, and perhaps one who sees the farce in the entire story.
The one character whose interpretation I couldn’t understand was Ophelia’s. I’m not sure what I expected, perhaps something merrier, but Siân Brooke’s interpretation was not it. She incorporated many jerky, nervous movements into Ophelia’s madness, and I thought she sang her songs too fast, almost like a recitation; I’d always imagined them slower, more carefree. Thinking back on this, however, I applaud her performance. The song speed, for example, now suggests to me the image of Ophelia as an actress, playing at being mad while really just trying to get the entire thing over with: hence the hurried quality to her singing.
She and Gertrude together also created what I think was the most moving scene in the performance: Ophelia, during her last appearance, brought out a trunk and laid it on the floor. At the end of the scene, Gertrude was left alone onstage, and she opened the trunk. Inside were photographs, as well as Ophelia’s camera. She considered it for a moment, and then gasped and sprinted offstage, following Ophelia. I had wondered when reading the play how Gertrude was able to narrate Ophelia’s death in such specific detail to Laertes—watching the play yesterday, I was given an answer.
Acting of this caliber is what made the performance such a beauty to watch. Everything was done perfectly, and even though some aspects took me by surprise, they were entirely apt. It was truly an outstanding work of art.
