For those of you who remember Shakespeare in the Park’s 2019 performance of “Making Up About Nothing,” as I miss it, this sight awaits them. “Hamlet” this summer I’m worried about being in the same place.
Upon entering the Delacorte Theater, you’re immediately confronted with what appears to be a set copy from an earlier show, depicting the imposing grounds of a grand mansion in Atlanta’s black suburb. But now it is completely in ruins. Façades slanted, SUVs tipped into puddles, and Stacey Abrams presidential banners were torn and tattered. The flagpole with the Stars and Stripes sticks out of the ground at a steep angle like a spear that has failed to land.
Director Kenny Leung and set designer Beowulf Boritt will both revive Hamlet, making it the fifth public theater in the park since 1964 and the thirteenth overall. Strange, but this is coup theater. No matter how cleverly this setting provokes a shiver of terror in those who perceive it, and the terror is certainly fitting for a play in which nine of the main characters die, it stands shoulder to shoulder from everyone else. I can only shrug it off. An approach designed to welcome audiences to new takes on Shakespeare in 2019 now seems destined to weed them out.
Unfortunately, I think the same applies to the work as a whole. The production is full of insight and echoes for those who already know, with some lovely singing (by Jason-Michael Webb) and some great performances for everyone to enjoy. (Atou Branson-Wood brings the titular rant to the titular role.) But this “Hamlet” is placed in a frame that doesn’t match what the work actually offers, and it’s not the kind of thing that can be seen. Good, but I was hoping for something more harmonious. .
Part of the problem is that its frames (both black and military, like Leon’s “Much Ado”) are very noticeable at first, but then irrelevant. Instead of opening the play with the ghost of Hamlet’s father as scripted, Leon plays Hamlet’s funeral as a prologue with Marine coffin bearers, a praise team singing Bible verses, and Ophelia (Solea Pfeiffer) channeling Beyoncé. will be staged.
Only after this welcoming opening comes the gruesome scene in which the dead king appears to Hamlet to prompt revenge on his brother, who murdered him and married his wife. A giant funeral portrait of Hamlet, provided by Samuel L. Jackson in Darth Vader mode, is brought to life with psychedelic special effects, lip-syncing the voice beyond the grave in a confusing way.
But as with the sets and the Marines and the military cuts of Jessica Jahn’s men’s outfit, don’t let its belligerent vibe fool you. (For women, they are colorful and gorgeous.) The war story they seem to promise is not really told in this piece. Because almost all the material on Danish and Norwegian beef is about the need to guarantee succession to the throne as a result. cut.
Well, something must have happened. Hamlet, the longest of Shakespeare’s plays, is uncut, so without an intermission he could run for over four hours. Here it is 2 hours and 45 minutes for one. How different directors do the trimming is effectively determined by their interpretation. Is this play a melodrama about a dysfunctional family? A moral inquiry into suicide and murder? A satire on courts and courtiers? everyone is there.
Leon focuses on Hamlet’s own inner drama, an inevitable excerpt from his famous monologue. Branson-Wood puts them well, if not yet, with a lighthearted expression that turns free-flowing thoughts into action instead of words, words, words to work with.
Still, the soliloquies follow so closely, giving the rendition that jerky feel of a musical that doesn’t have enough books, we find his Hamlet more about interiority and moodiness than an excuse for murdering his father. You can clearly feel that he is the person who precedes. After (accidentally) killing Ophelia’s father, you wouldn’t be surprised if he turned her bad boyfriend on Ophelia. Ophelia herself is also hoisted by the same cinder. Her descent into madness, which is not explicitly depicted in the text, is made even more abrupt by the addition of the cut.
A similar thing happens with many other characters, such as brotherly Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who make a first impression and then all but disappear. The players were scaled down as well, and Hamlet’s version of “The Mousetrap”, which aims to “capture the king’s conscience”, became a pantomime show. And Horatio, despite being Shakespeare’s last remaining figure, seems to be largely absent from the start. As Hamlet dies, he is commanded to “tell my story.”
Even if that story is a little vague in this piece, it’s perfectly clear in others. John Douglas Thompson as Claudius, while displaying his usual solemn authority, exudes a charming atmosphere of unease that helps explain the character’s ruthlessness. Daniel Pierce portrays Polonius as a hilarious, pedantic desk jockey and bad idea bear. (The downside is that he doesn’t care if he gets stabbed with a knife.) When Nick Lehrberger played Laertes, the character’s grief, anger, and anger, despite being portrayed almost simultaneously in the cut. Forgiveness sounds like everything is true.
And Lorraine Toussaint plays Gertrude, a very sensitive and emotionally intelligent person who, while grieving her husband’s death, realizes the need to love her murderer. For me, she is the tragic center of the piece, and best expresses Claudius’s observation that “when grief comes, it comes in a battalion, not a lone spy.”
It’s a rare road that runs through the play, but I’ve seen it many times, so I’m happy to run on a road that isn’t traveled by many people. Throughout this piece, I heard a charming poem I had somehow missed before (“A pair of creepy kisses”) and saw old ideas revived with bright new details. (When Polonius sent Laertes off with tired advice, he also gave him an N95 mask, just in case other fathers slipped condoms on their kids.)
But I feared that those who were unfamiliar with Hamlet, much less those who were into the traditional staging, would be left unfixed in the undulating sea of meanings. Played under the wide open skies of Central Park, it often worked, but the thought (as Claudius puts it) “never goes to heaven.” They’re leaning like houses, and they’re leaning too weirdly, like that javelin.
Hamlet
Until August 6th at the Delacorte Theater in Manhattan. Public Theater.org. Running time: 2 hours 45 minutes.
