V.ii. Duel and Deaths - Zeffirelli '90

Though not the most verbose of scenes, Zeffirelli still manages to cut a fair bit of material, making the sequence of triumph of staging over text.

Hamlet is herded into the throne room where a fighting area has been erected, and where people mill around unceremoniously until the trumpets sound and the Royals enter. Hamlet makes an apology to a smirking Laertes, but does not blame his madness or paint himself as a victim. Consequently, the crowd is heard to cheer Laertes on, not Hamlet, but in the second exchange, the Prince plays the bout for laughs - acting like his sword is too heavy, winking at the Queen, running around the room, calling a time-out to sneeze in Osric's face - and regains the crowd's favor.

Zeffirelli's excision of the word "unbaited" and failure to mention what weapons are being used means he can stage the action with heftier swords. Each exchange has a different arrangement of blades and armor - sword/chain mail, heavy sword/chain and plate combination, and two swords/frilly shirt - to give them a distinct flavor. Laertes is violent and eager right out of the gate, Claudius feigning shock when he exchanges a look with the Queen, and this does highlight the fact this combat could be deadly, poison or no. After Hamlet scores the first touch, Laertes tries to have a go at him right away, but is stopped by the judges. Combat often goes just a little bit too far, and in the third exchange, Osric must break a hold for the fighting to continue. When Hamlet breaks it is when Laertes takes advantage and scratches his arm with his green-tipped blade. Enraged, Hamlet attacks him hand to hand, the poison sword falls, Hamlet picks it up, and Laertes spends the right of the "fight" looking deathly scared of its point.

Meanwhile, the Queen has drunk from the poison cup, and gone from wiping her son's brow to wiping her own. Sweating gives way to pain and the editing makes it clear she knows what's happened. The culprit is also easy to determine. When she looks at Claudius, he can't endure her gaze. She knows. Her death will be as violent as everyone else's, with spasms and cross-eyed indignity. It's a bit much, actually.

Laertes' turn, from anger to regret, is one of the weakest elements here. It seems barely justified. One minute he is frustrated and angry, the next the fear of death has shocked him into friendship and the rejection of the King's plan.

The poisoned Hamlet, for his part, acts drunk. He pokes at his wound, pathetically, stumbles over to his mother, gags on the poison, and slips to the ground dangerously - the mark of an actor who doesn't mind the stunt work. Throughout, the assembled audience stares in shock, Horatio included, with frequent cutaways to stunned swordsmen just standing there. Eventually, Horatio will go to him, but never will he attempt to follow him in death. They just don't have that close a relationship in this adaptation. Absent any notion of Fortinbras, we will simply accept that Horatio will tell the tale to whoever wants to hear it, and the camera zooms out from above, as if representing Hamlet's soul finally free of his wretched physical existence. If there is hope in the tragedy, it is through devices like these, subliminally indicating that the hero goes to his peaceful rest.

V.ii. The Readiness Is All - Zeffirelli '90

Having already shown Hamlet switching the letters on the ship, the sequence actually starts with Osric walking in. But this isn't the comic relief we're expecting. Zeffirelli's thuggish Osric is a threatening presence, contemptuous of the Prince. He's deadly serious, impatient with what he views as Hamlet's much-touted madness, refusing the "reality" the King's nephew would impose on him. When Hamlet tells Osric to put his hat on his head, the latter just starts talking of royal wagers, and leaves with a nasty smirk and putting his hat on a little too deliberately, as if in defiance. Zeffirelli really wants Osric to be a harbinger of Hamlet's death here, and Hamlet certainly responds with foreboding, letting as little emotion as possible cross his face, unflinching in the face of this obvious threat. Massive cuts are required to make this work, of course. We have no reference to Osric being a lowly sycophant, nor do Hamlet and Horatio share banter mocking the man. Osric's lines have been severely curtailed to remove the appearance of foolishness. The film is the poorer for it, but there's a certain efficiency to it as well.

After "we defy augury", we cut back to Laertes and Claudius, still plotting. As far as the time line goes, we must assume the duel/wager was called and only later did the conspirators think of it as an opportunity for assassination. Or else Claudius set things into motion before insuring Laertes' participation, which works too. It provides motive for his seduction of the younger man. When we cut back to Hamlet, he is now alone, looking out a window at the sea, smelling in the sea air, ostensibly for the last time. The short "readiness is all" speech is turned into a soliloquy, something he comes to terms with rather than a comfort to his friend. There's something slightly ironic about his enjoying one last sight of Denmark, a country he has railed against steadily since the start of the play, or perhaps we're meant to look at the water and think of the undiscovered country on the other side, Hamlet's final destination.

V.i. Ophelia's Funeral - Zeffirelli '90

Zeffirelli cuts so many lines from this sequence as to cut its INTENT. The funeral is no secret burial, attended by dozens, singing hymns in broad daylight. Naturally, the priest's part is cut, his exchange with Laertes contradicting all of this. In this version then, Ophelia is not suspected of suicide, or if she is, the director has sapped the Christian mores of the past out of the play. There is no casket, Ophelia is naked (so to speak) to the sky, on a stretcher. Gertrude goes to her, kisses her, and sheds a tear, her words private. So when Laertes takes her in his arms, there is no melodramatic leap in her grave, no hellish irony. He merely does what the Queen just did, Ophelia is on the ground, not in a pit, and his words are soft and kind, not spectacle for the assembled grievers.

Hamlet walks into the scene with as little fanfare. He doesn't announce himself, and the dialog is cut to shreds, his list of Herculean tasks gone. What we're left with his Laertes trying to strangle him, both men standing tall, not much of a brawl; the Queen going to Hamlet to kiss and calm him down, as if her were a wild beast whose emotions needed constant managing; and the Prince allowed to walk away after he kisses flowers and puts them on Ophelia's body. The lines that remain give Hamlet a sense of futility, which isn't quite the same as fatalism, but may run in parallel. "What wilt thou do for her?" is sad, more than angry, because there is nothing more to be done (I echo here the priest's cut lines). "Dog will have his day", not slung at the King or anyone else, but that same understanding that what will be, will be, and that Ophelia's corpse is somewhat the manifestation of that idea.

As Hamlet leaves, Claudius shares a long look with his Queen, trying to share a smile or smirk with her, but narrowing his eyes. Has he stopped trusting her, or is he realizing he can't openly condemn Hamlet because she loves her son too much. We know he's plotting something, because in the restructuring of the play, only THEN does he approach Laertes to seduce him into killing his stepson (just like in the Olivier version).

V.i. The Gravedigger Scene - Zeffirelli '90

Hamlet and Horatio on horseback, coming down a winding road. They come upon the graveyard, where singing can be heard, and Hamlet stops to ask whose grave they're digging. "They" because the second gravedigger is present, even though his exchange with the first is cut from the film. It seems he wasn't even ask to fetch some liquor, and just stands witness to the Prince's conversation with his elder. Horatio has the same role to play - all his lines are cut - though we at least cut to his reactions. Horatio perhaps enjoys himself more than Hamlet does in this sequence. While both men get a kick out of the Gravedigger's wit, possibly the reason they dismount and talk to him a while longer, Hamlet eventually stops smiling, faced as he is with an open grave which might as well be his own.

Hamlet's reaction to Yorick's skill is really quite sweet, a good take for Gibson's rawer emotional Hamlet. Though he manages to show some repulsion, he seems transported to the past, to the laughs and the better times. There's affection, tenderness and melancholy in his eyes and speech as he shares his memories of the court jester. In the staging of it, Hamlet uncharacteristically sets the skull on a mound where he would usually hold it in one hand. That may be to give Yorick more autonomy as a character, make him "come alive" if you will, or more likely allows for a steadier close-up on Hamlet's face. Regardless, because the sequence ends with this instead of Hamlet's meditation on History's dead emperors, Yorick necessarily becomes our link to Hamlet's mortality and doom.

And that's an interesting image to focus on. Though Hamlet's death is presaged in that of Caesar and Alexander - great men returning to the earth - our "identification figure" in the realm of the rotting dead is Yorick, a simple clown unceremoniously buried in a common grave. The mirroring between First Clown (gravedigger) and Yorick, and between Yorick and Hamlet (who has taken the mantle of the fool) is unavoidable. Hamlet is looking at himself in the past (in happier times, but also in his guise as a madman) and the future (dust to dust), and this is more relevant than the more grandiose comparisons to powerful men in History, something Hamlet might have aspired to, but which was always denied him.

IV.vii. Ophelia's Death - Zeffirelli '90

In Zeffirelli's restructuring of the play, Ophelia's last scene is immediately succeeded by her suicide. We see her outside Elsinore, skipping towards the brook while, in voice-over, Gertrude tells the tale. Before cutting to the Queen and the reactions of the court, we get a close-up of Ophelia on the small bridge staring into the water, obviously disturbed. There is no doubt here that this was a suicide and far from the lyrical portrait painted by Gertrude. One simply cannot imagine this Ophelia being "incapable of her own distress"; her pain is too raw.

Is Gertrude painting a pretty picture for Laertes' benefit? She may be. From all the wide shots, including one at the very end with the girl's body floating away, no one seems to have witnessed her death. Gertrude may be enacting a sort of reconstruction based on Ophelia's old habits, the state she was found in, and her own wishful imagination. Glenn Close's performance supports that idea, tearfully smiling through most of it (except for the "muddy death" line) even though women in black are grieving behind her. She's chosen to remember the girl's prettiness, not the ugly side of her madness, and she smiles as one might at a eulogy, in fond remembrance. Laertes is simply shocked, and his "drowned" lines cut back to the scene of Ophelia's death, the camera panning away from her. He can't bear to imagine it.

Now, there are some cuts here, mostly because Gertrude didn't interrupt a conspiracy. Laertes and Claudius will only discuss Hamlet's murder after the Prince's return and Ophelia's funeral. Laertes doesn't get to forbid his tears, nor can Claudius be angry at Gertrude for disturbing his plan.

IV.vii. Claudius' Seduction - Zeffirelli '90

As with Olivier's adaptation, Zeffirelli moves this scene (or what's left of it) to after Ophelia's funeral and Hamlet's return. The lines cut have the usual effect of weakening Laertes and making him a simple tool for Claudius to use. Here he seems almost gleeful at the thought of killing Hamlet, despite returning from his sister's funeral. He doesn't need to be favorably compared to a Normand horseman, or incensed with talk of his snuffable whick, or even to hear what Claudius has planned. In fact, we cut away before the King reveals it, removing Laertes' part in poisoning the blade. We cut to Osric inviting Hamlet to the bout, and will be shown the scheme as it unfolds, but one would come off thinking it was ALL Claudius' idea. After Hamlet's line "we defy augury", we cut BACK to the conspirators, and here Laertes pulls out his poisonous idea. In other words, the duel was already called for, and the poison was a later addition.

For all my railing at the black hat portrayal of Claudius in this film, the performance here does have some humanity. Because he speaks to camera, his back to Laertes, when he talks of his love for Gertrude (ironically slipping away at this point), it is sincere, not a manipulation or facile excuse. Rather, it's a moment tinged in shame and he laughs at his own folly, an echo of Polonius telling us he once suffered maddening love himself. Perhaps he thinks of Hamlet and how everyone but him thought love was the cause of his malaise. Love's denier caught in a moment of self-realization that he himself has done the irrational for love's sake.

IV.vi. Hamlet's Letter - Zeffirelli '90

Zeffirelli doesn't use the scene in which Horatio reads Hamlet's letter, going straight from Ophelia's last scene to her suicide. He does use some visual shorthand to present the necessary information, however (though it removes the perhaps unnecessary complication of the pirate attack) in a cut-away to Hamlet just before Laertes arrives in Elsinore.

We see Hamlet skulking about the ship while Rosencrantz&Guildenstern sleep, ferret the King's letter out of their bags and read it (it's a voice-over in Claudius' voice, basically the lines that end with "Do it, England!"). He then switches those letters with new letters of his own writing. He makes the sign of the cross over their prone bodies, crossing them as he crosses them, a visual pun. Seeing it in these terms makes Hamlet quite ruthless. He has the letters sending R&G to their deaths before he even finds the King's letter, making us wonder if he would have had them killed regardless.

And we cut straight from that to R&G getting hauled to an executioner's block, where the axe falls on Michael Maloney's neck (out of frame, thankfully). So in very quick succession, we find out the contents of Horatio's letter (no longer needed) and the fate of R&G (which may cut more dialog down the line). Those are some efficacious chops for both Zeffirelli and Hamlet!

IV.v. Laertes Returns - Zeffirelli '90

Laertes rides into Elsinore, a man alone, shouting at the castle and running in to look for the King. There's no rebellion here except his own, as Zeffirelli has isolated his version of Elsinore from politics at large. We get no Fortinbras, we get no Danish rabble. Not to say the characters of the play are the only ones in this world, because Claudius is surrounded by men when Laertes catches up to him, and it's these soldiers the King warns off instead of Gertrude. She's up on a balcony, watching from behind a pillar. This makes her estrangement from Claudius more obvious, though it does beg the question as to why Laertes isn't killed as soon as he pulls a sword on the King. A sign of weakness on the realm's part? Could be, and though we never think about it, it's true of the play as written. Laertes and peasant rabble overcome trained palace guards to get into the royals' inner sanctum. Or is it a more personal affair? Claudius showed a certain preference for Laertes over Hamlet in Act I, and by disarming him rather than killing him, he seems to show such affection again. Claudius isn't arrogant when he waves his guards off. He looks at the sword, gauging the danger and what words to use next. By the time he brushes the sword point off, meeting fleeting resistance at first, he prevails because he detects doubt in Laertes.

Cries and sobs then distract Laertes, who follows them to the throne room where Ophelia is playing with dead things, twigs and bones playing the parts of flowers, on the Queen's throne (her homologue in the previous generation). Wet and impish, she distributes her wares, talking more to the King than to her brother, and walks out after reassuring Laertes that their father "made a good end". Stunned, he still gets the final line of the scene (about "a maid's wits"). Zeffirelli then cuts to Ophelia's suicide immediately, robbing Ophelia of her very last moments, her last song, her sudden nihilistic resolve, and her religious goodbyes. The director never lets her move away from the state of madness we found her in at the start of Act IV.

IV.v. Ophelia's Madness - Zeffirelli '90

As usual, Zeffirelli plays fast and loose with the sequence of lines, but to good effect. Helena Bonham-Carter's waifish Ophelia is first seen sneaking around outside the castle, wet and dirty, but seemingly free to roam like Hamlet was. As Gertrude watches from the window, the girl approaches a guard at attention, rubs his face, his chest, and quite suggestively, his belt (reminiscent of Greek comedies and their leather phalli), singing the more sexual songs from her repertoire. The uncomfortable guard plays the role of a substitute Hamlet, the "true love she cannot know from another one". These songs she will repeat to herself at the end of the scene, confirming the main reason of her madness, loss of love (the reverse of Hamlet's condition). Someone soon comes to get her, but inside, she starts calling for the beauteous majesty of Denmark, Ophelia's actual entrance in the play, something that fills Gertrude with deep fear. Why is this madness more disturbing to her than her own son's? The truth of it may be that it isn't their first such meeting.

Here they meet on the giant steps, where Ophelia's songs are more about her father's death. They come off as accusations and always end dissonantly, prettiness turning to hardness as she comes upon the Queen. A chase ensues as Gertrude tries to escape the girl, but Ophelia is quicker and manages to catch up to her, fingers the crucifix the Queen was piously fingering earlier. In fact, she chases the Queen right into Claudius' arms. The baker's daughter comment is clearly leveled at Gertrude, a warning to the King that his wife may not be what she seems. Is Ophelia then siding the the murderous King? Why wouldn't she? Her father was slain in the company of the Queen and Hamlet. She seems to suspect Gertrude had a hand in it. Strictly speaking, she's wrong about that, but the warning should not have fallen on such deaf ears regardless. Without knowing it, Ophelia has warned Claudius that Gertrude's allegiance is now with Hamlet, though that remains in dispute. Gertrude running for Claudius' protection in this scene would seem to say she's too weak a person to reject her King. She may well land wherever her position is strongest. We don't know what she may be either.

Believe it or not, these are her moments of lucidity. Ophelia's words are interrupted by painful memories that bring her to the ground. Horatio and some sad guardsman surround her, ready to take her into custody. The sudden realization that her brother will know of it makes her smile and grow manic. This is a departure from other performances of the role we've looked at, but completely justified. Though the occasion is tragic, Laertes is all she has left and his return is to be celebrated. She kisses the Queen's hands, offers the King her own to kiss, and off she goes through the castle. With the dilated timeline (rebels are not at the gates), Elsinore is still full of people, there to witness Ophelia's madness. The "sweet ladies" actually exist, and some nuns do run off after her to help, along with Horatio who finds her wailing and clutching at a wall, and who takes her up in his arms. Gertrude walks off sobbing, leaving Claudius to his thoughts.

Time lapses still, with cutaways to Hamlet at sea (we'll return to this in due course), before Laertes' arrival at some later point.

Act IV, Scenes 1-3 - Zeffirelli '90

Before Claudius comes shouting in, Gertrude has a moment alone to herself, looking at the effigy of her late husband. She quickly hides it from the newer, more murderous model, and by this we know she's chosen a side. After this sequence, Zeffirelli restores the last few lines from Act IV to give Hamlet and Gertrude a proper farewell, "fixing" the anomaly of Hamlet knowing about his exile before he's actually told to go by the King. That's fine, give or take an inappropriate kiss, and it makes it even more clear the Queen is her son's accomplice. In the play as written, she has no contact with him after he is caught and sent away, letting ambiguity reign regarding her true feelings. In this restructuring of the play, she gives him hopeful smiles as he reassures her that he will keep a close eye on Rosencrantz & Guildenstern.

Claudius, for his part, suffers some cuts in the breakneck pace Zeffirelli has adopted. In Scene 1, his "it had been so with us had we been there" serves as a punchline, cutting from blood stains on the floor to his office, where he arrives in a hurry to give the order to apprehend Hamlet. We might wonder why he wasn't attended in the first part of the scene to avoid the location change, but it does create a more urgent rhythm as Elsinore wakes up and attempts to find the Prince and his victim. In fact, Scene 2 is reduced to a single shot of R&G and some guards with torches shouting out Hamlet's name.

Scene 3, as is usual, is more fully rendered, though Claudius still suffers an interruption when his political speech to his courtiers is shortened by R&G's arrival. By cutting the line of dialog about Hamlet being kept outside, the director achieves two things. First, he makes the action run faster by removing a planned delay. Second, by having Rosencrantz shake his head when asked "Where is he?" and giving Hamlet an entrance from the other side of the room, he stages it so the Prince is there willingly and was never caught. He whistles rudely, jumps on the table, kicks at some candles, mockingly wears Polonius' hat... This is a brazen attack on Claudius' authority and Hamlet brings the fight to him. It's a war of words, with both men making veiled but plain threats, but it's presumably all Hamlet can afford while surrounded by Claudius' men. Still, the danger to the King seems more palpable because Hamlet WAS never caught. He got all the way to Claudius' inner sanctum too.

III.iv. The Closet Scene - Zeffirelli '90

Ok. Let's talk Freud. While the world knows him best as a psychoanalyst, literature (and literary criticism) owes him a debt as well (the same is true of Jung, though this is not relevant to this discussion). Freud's use of myth and literature to illuminate human behavior created a new filter through which to analyze not just that behavior, but literary works as well. His analysis of Hamlet, connecting it to the Oedipus myth is justly famous, though it did inspire staging I deeply dislike, and among the best known filmed versions, is most obvious in Zeffirelli's 1990 adaptation. The idea is that Hamlet is an Oedipal character who literally (whereas non-fictional men do so metaphorically) feels the need to kill his father to marry his mother. According to Freud, and I'm simplifying here, men love their moms and compete with their fathers for her attentions (the Electra complex reverses this paradigm for women). Whether we agree with Freud's generalizations or not, we must agree it is a viable lens through which we can look at Hamlet. Even if Shakespeare predates Freud by centuries, he was working within a theatrical tradition that included Sophocles' original Oedipus Rex, so the comparison is sound. Or did Shakespeare draw similar conclusions about human behavior, and expressed them in this play, in his own idiom?

There's certainly something going on under the surface in the text. Hamlet's obsession with his mother's sexuality is proof of that. In a sense, his father's Ghost possesses him, and he takes on the wronged husband's jealousy. He does not want to kill his father per se (though one could imagine a disturbing staging where a psychopathic Hamlet had killed Hamlet Sr. himself and was lying to various spies - us? - throughout the play), but he wants to kill a false father figure. This scene is particularly important to Freudians because in it, Hamlet kills a father (Ophelia's) and then confronts his mother about her infidelity. Has she betrayed her first husband, or her son? Zeffirelli goes the "fashionable" route by taking things a bit too far, in my opinion. When Hamlet is his rage, he starts humping his mother in a kind of mock rape. That's certainly not unique to this adaptation, but he then has Gertrude stop Hamlet's mouth with a deep kiss, and it then seems like it would have gone further had the Ghost not walked in on them. Where we might believe Hamlet's Oedipal complex from textual evidence, there's really nothing that should push Gertrude into an incestuous compulsion. It out-ironies irony that a confrontation about technical incest (she marries her husband's brother) turns to actual incest. Going this far undermines the entire play because it infers a precedent to this inappropriate contact. We're suddenly wondering Hamlet is jealous of Claudius because he used to share his mother's bed, and if so, why defend his father's memory so adamantly? In fact, why isn't the Ghost angrier to catch his son making out with his mother?

The staging just doesn't work. You can follow in Freud's footsteps, but you have to lay the idea in before this scene to make it work.

Otherwise, Zeffirelli's staging is often predicated by what dialog he's cut from the play. For example, Polonius starts this scene without a plan to spy on Hamlet and Gertrude from behind an arras. He seems to notice the tapestry as he's about to go out and decides to slink behind it. This Polonius is definitely more benign than the text would have him, and certainly less of a schemer. His end is tragic, but less warranted this way. As written, he thinks himself crafty and plans his spycraft well in advance, so there's a sense of satisfaction when he's hoisted by his own petard. His death here feels much more accidental. And does Hamlet see him there well before he starts to shout for help? He slides behind the arras just as Hamlet arrives, and it looks like the Prince notices the arras moving, at the very least, or even a dark shape behind it. It's a problem. Are we then to believe what he says to his mother is for the spy's benefit? Is that why he's so cocky, why he mocks his mother's anger? Possibly. There is a moment when he forgets himself, when she slaps him and he lets out an inhuman bellow, which might make this idea work. From then on, as he pushes his mother back at sword's point, he may have completely forgotten about the spy lurking behind the arras. When he "rediscovers" the spy, he doesn't have time to process the impossibility of it being the King whom he left in the chapel moments before, to which his victorious gesture testifies. The regret that follows may be motivated by not having killed the King, or for the consequences sure to follow for the death of Polonius, but as Gertrude starts to step away, he drops his sword and through his body language, tries to make her feel safe.

Where many Gertrude's vacillate between sadness and anger through these moments, Glenn Close's performance is heightened by abject fear. Her son is clearly mad and dangerous, and after that animalistic scream and on through their kiss, it's fear that motivates her. And it may not just be fear of her son. Fear of being discovered, perhaps? Her question "I mean what act?" seems to indicate a distinction between deeds and thoughts (a theme throughout the play, look back to the things Hamlet accuses himself of in the Nunnery scene). So... did she know about the King's murder? Was she in on it? Did she, at the very least, look the other way? The burial scene at the start of the film showed there was already a connection between her and Claudius, so could she be feeling guilty that their brewing affair resulted in the murder? The necklaces with pendants picturing her two husbands are once again used, violently so, as Hamlet almost chokes her with hers. It's Claudius' evil made manifest, a way for Hamlet to emphasize the blight her represents.

After the Ghost's appearance - or perhaps after the kiss - Hamlet grows kinder. There is no panic at seeing a spectral figure, but rather reverence. A calm falls upon him that contrasts with her own distress. He pleads with her to understand that he is not mad, never moving to coldness or anger as other, more mercurial Hamlet have sometimes done. He gives her his necklace as a reminder of her former husband and to show they're now on the same side (hopefully). It's interesting that this happens after she says her heart has been cleft in twain, because she was already a creature of two halves. Trapped between two husbands, or more likely between a son and a husband. That it is now cleft merely means she's been asked to choose between her two loves. The "purer" half is the motherly one, which Zeffirelli unfortunately compromised with his Oedipal stylings.

Hamlet's kindness extends to his taking Polonius' body out of doors, putting him upright before dragging him, less "guts" and more a person with a certain dignity. He even leans into his ear when he talks to him, through tears as things start to spiral out of control. Gertrude is left to look at the pendant her son has given him. What choice will she really make?

III.iii. The Confessional - Zeffirelli '90

As frequently happens, Zeffirelli chooses to infer a lot of what's being said rather than use the dialog, but the net effect is to deny the audience insight into Claudius' character. Rosencrantz & Guildenstern's role in the sequence is entirely, cut as is Polonius announcing his plan, but this is par for the course for a trimmer Hamlet. Where we lose the most is in Claudius' confession. He finds himself in the chapel, crossing himself before a tapestry of the crucifixion, directly(?) from his emotional outburst at the play. The scene picks up at "My offenses rank" and doesn't get much farther than "a brother's murder" before he kneels and prays silently. It's enough to show his guilt, but not enough make us empathize with his situation. There is no internal debate about the impossibility of his redemption, and most egregious of all, the final line about words without thoughts has been excised. As Hamlet does his thing from the doorway, Claudius at times sobs loudly, and croaks out parts of his speech in prayer ("wretched state" etc.), so this King feels very guilty indeed. However, we're left believing he might yet be redeemed, or that he at least thinks he can be. So Hamlet is right to stay his hand, and the scene's irony is completely lost.

A great disappointment.

III.ii. Critical Reception - Zeffirelli '90

An important difference with this adaptation is that the revels continue even after members of the Court scurry for the exits. It's an odd choice, one that devalues the King's power, though it does better match Hamlet's state of mind. His own song and dance is even more over the top than elsewhere, and he clearly sends such words as "wounded deer" in the King's direction so that it might be heard. This entire performance is witnessed by Gertrude who stands shocked and amazed before finally leaving. Hamlet doesn't have much of a conversation with Horatio before running off, so his friend's reaction remains ambiguous, though Claudius was pretty obvious in HIS reaction. And in the wake of all this, we keep finding fragments of the Nunnery scene - Hamlet tells Ophelia to leave one more time, kisses her, and gives a matter-of-fact farewell. You can practically see her mind breaking.

A change of venue, and we're on a parapet somewhere else, though not too long later since Hamlet has a drum around his neck and a recorder in his hand. He is accosted by Rosencrantz & Guildenstern, but he's obviously had time to settle down and is relatively serious and friendly with them. The better to take a darker turn in the middle of a line, specifically at "It is as easy as lying". Guildenstern is particularly sarcastic with his "I have not the skill", which sets Hamlet off to violence and to choking him with the pipe. The true irony is, in fact, that they really DON'T have the skill, neither in music, lying or getting information from Hamlet. One could probably write a dissertation on this idea. People in the play are consistently required to do things for which they "have not the skill", whether it's R&G's undercover work, Polonius' counsel, Claudius' confession, or indeed, Hamlet's bloody revenge. What is easy, on the surface, may not be so simple, and I am constantly reminded of "to thine own self be true" as the key to to the play. Polonius does not feature in this sequence, so no mysterious clouds, etc. Instead, R&G get some of his lines and are left to "easily" transmit the Prince's message. Of course, "easy" has so far been beyond their grasp.
Hamlet runs down the stairs, away from them, for his brief soliloquy, which is even briefer, ending the scene on "Now to my mother". In other words, he places no conditions on that visit, and after speaking of drinking hot blood and doing bitter business, the lack of such makes us believe he's off to murder Gertrude. It's an omission that creates tension, certainly, but thrown on top of the change of venue, it beggars the question of why Claudius is not more in his thoughts. The guilt of the King spreading to the Queen is a central ambiguity of the play (I could, in fact, have switched King and Queen and still been correct), but by forgetting the King entirely, that ambiguity is not well served. Once again, I find myself frowning at Zeffirelli's cuts.

III.ii. The Mouse-Trap - Zeffirelli '90

Despite his adaptation's many cuts, Zeffirelli acknowledges this scene's importance by not only showing a good part of the play-within-a-play as written, but by collapsing parts of various other scenes into it. For example, Polonius is here part of the show, gives a cue to the musicians and introduces the players on stage with the "pastoral-historical" speech from Act II Scene 2. He makes a meal of it too, enjoying the laughter he gets from the audience, sincere in his praise but also over-egging the pudding to get a reaction. Hamlet then has good reason to ask about Polonius' university days, coming around with a cup of wine and an inebriated step. Claudius, already in high spirits, laughs at Hamlet's Brutus pun (which is ironic given that like Julius Caesar, he's to be murdered by an adopted son - I'm surprised I never saw the connection before), but is puzzled by the "promise-crammed" comment. He's still trying to figure Hamlet out.

Ophelia is at once impatient and hurt by Hamlet's words and actions, rolling wet eyes at the ceiling. It's a small moment, but one of Bonham-Carter's best. Before the play, we're offered acrobats, clowns and jugglers, during which time Hamlet and Ophelia have part of the Nunnery scene (as already described in a previous article; Zeffirelli is also a juggler, of scenes). It's their one private moment in the scene, as otherwise, Hamlet lets the King and Queen overhear things just to make them squirm, treating them as if they weren't there. In fact, during the play, Ophelia is mostly forgotten and some of her lines are given to others. The Queen says of the Prologue "T'is brief, my son" so Hamlet an direct his barb straight at her. Later, Claudius gets "You are as good as a chorus, cousin" as the director wants this to be a duel between the two men.
After the Prologue, rather big and clownish because Hamlet never instructs the Players in this version, the play starts without the dumb show and cut down to essential lines. The important lines are intact, but this collapse does hammer the point home aggressively, giving Gertrude, all forced smiles and gritted teeth, reason to opine that the lady doth protest too much. The Royals immediately feel targeted, and a satisfied Hamlet, grins eagerly at their reaction. His plan is working and he can't help but participate by mouthing words he apparently wrote, or talking out of turn, mischievously pushing a patron back so he can slip the King a comment or two. Claudius can't be sure Hamlet knows the truth and the way he pitches his question about whether or not he knows the argument, you can tell he finds it strange Hamlet already knows the story. By this point, Claudius is avoiding Hamlet's eyes, sweating, gulping down wine nervously. This Hamlet may be hyperactive, but he doesn't shout his less-than-veiled accusations at the whole assembly, he takes the Royals into his confidence, in a hushed voice, manically pulling at threads on his clothes as the story and Claudius' composure unravel. He doesn't tell "Gonzago" what to do, though that player does lose his lines and simply enacts the murder (an echo of the dumb show). We instead focus (as Hamlet does) on Claudius' reaction.
At first he leans in, then rises, holds his head in pain and drops his cup. On stage, the Player King has dropped down hard enough to dislodge his crown, a nice piece of stagecraft and mirror to Claudius' own loss of control. Hamlet steps all over the audience to follow the advancing Claudius, fixed on his expression. Claudius points at the murderer who looks positively dumbstruck, then begins to laugh insanely, turning towards the audience. No one seems to know how to take this, least of all the Players, and he runs out of the castle to get some air, chaos in his wake. The verdict definitely points to Guilty.

III.ii. Instructing the Players - Zeffirelli '90

In Zeffirelli's adaptation, the scene has been slashed to shreds. From "the play's the thing", we cut directly to the Player Queen putting on his/her wig, pipe music blaring, and Hamlet running through the backstage area with made-up lines like "'Tis almost time". He's checking scripts, adjusting crowns, giving silent approval, but not giving any kind of verbal instructions. Even his talk with Horatio is brief and to the point, explaining briefly his plan, not giving his friend a single compliment or task, and then stating he must be idle and get you a place. No wonder Horatio looks so sombre.

In cases such as these, the question to ask is what effect these cuts have on our understand of the play. Obviously it is impoverished by the lack of relationship between these characters and Hamlet, and by the innate ironies of the scene. The story isn't changed, though from Horatio's expression, he might be thinking Hamlet's indeed gone mad and has about as much patience for his antics as everyone else. And would he have more when he's apparently kept out of the loop like this? Cutting out Horatio's part would make Hamlet more alone, but he's there just enough for that not to be the case. And yet, Horatio's not present enough to really make an impact in the prince's life. Like the Players who have suffered the most cuts, Horatio is merely an accessory to Hamlet's plans, advancing the plot but not the relationship.

III.i. The Nunnery Scene - Zeffirelli '90

Zeffirelli splits the Nunnery scene in two, the first just after Ophelia is tasked but before To be or not to be, and the second inserted in the ribaldry preceding the Mouse-Trap, collapsing two of Ophelia's humiliations into the same moment. In the first section, Mel Gibson's Hamlet initially tries to ignore Ophelia, walking away from her at a brisk pace, but she catches him up with "remembrances" (some kind of necklace). That word is well chosen, isn't it? Though Hamlet refuses to take the gift back, it's his memories of a happier time that he can't prevent from returning. And those memories are, in essence, missing, because Hamlet denies their existence. Gibson plays the moment with some measure of dumbfoundedness and self-imposed amnesia.

Helena Bonham Carter's Ophelia is more aggressive than most, which is an interesting choice. She's the jilted one here and she won't take his bull. Does she suspect he's only feigning madness? The visual creates irony - the tiniest of girls vs. the action hero - that also exists in the power levels of the characters, both in the court and in the play. "You know right well you did" becomes an accusation. Hamlet laughs at her gesture... did he perchance see the shadows of the spies playing on the wall? Ambiguous. He only goes off shouting at the room and at her after her lie (that her father is home). The camera, trapped in Ophelia's point of view, spins round and round as Hamlet turns the tables and becomes the aggressor. At the end of his rant - which doesn't include the nunnery lines, notably - he runs up the stairs and throws down the just-regifted necklace. She timidly picks it up again in the background - the only reaction left from the text's short speech - as Claudius and Polonius come out of the woodwork to discuss what just happened. Hamlet stands in a doorway, hidden. This is how he knows about the trip to England, and of course, it's a confirmation of the the plot against him.
Nunnery-related lines are inserted during the play-within-a-play's preliminaries, in a more private moment after the more public humiliations of both Ophelia and Gertrude (after "half a year"). Almost swooning, he starts with "Get thee to a nunnery", which he finds strange and upsetting, and leaves off after "Believe none of us" as the play starts. The intimate nature of the sequence takes away any ribald meaning from the word "nunnery", and it becomes an imploration to save herself from both this tragedy and any future tragedy (which comes with child-bearing). She has no answer to give.

III.i. To Be or Not to Be - Zeffirelli '90

Zeffirelli places the speech between the Nunnery scene and his meeting with Rosencrantz & Guildenstern, and then the Players' arrival. He has just violently rejected Ophelia, and has yet to have his spirits lifted by the newcomers. Mel Gibson plays it as Hamlet at his lowest. He enters his ancestors' crypt, and surrounded by tombs and skeletons, he intones the speech. There is no question that he is alone and unheard. This is his depression talking as he faces death itself.

At first, I felt the intent of the speech was muddled by this staging. Shots of dead royals in their tombs as Hamlet talks about ending one's own life seemed jarring. Surely, those kings and queens didn't all commit suicide? And Hamlet praying to two different tombs surely took away from what would otherwise be a visit to his father's. But time and again, Zeffirelli has created meaning from imagery, replacing or supplementing the text. Looking at it with a more open mind, a new interpretation emanates from the scene. Zeffirelli's Hamlet isn't just facing suicide, but mortality itself. And opening this speech up to other ways of dying reminds us of a simple fact: There are more ways to commit suicide than the sudden stab of a dagger, or fall from a great height. By simply choosing to go against his uncle, Hamlet spells his own doom. It's not that he would commit suicide rather than commit regicide, it's that regicide is its own suicide. Not many men come out of such a mission unscathed or alive. We know this is a tragedy, so we know too that by choosing to act, Hamlet in effect commits suicide. He goes to his own death willingly. (Or does "the water come to him"? We must surely compare this speech to the gravedigger's later in the play.)

So though Zeffirelli changes the structure of the play to render moot the problem of Hamlet's backpeddling in Act III AFTER "the play's the thing", his staging here still evokes a justification for it. As written, Hamlet may well feign a speech about suicide to confuse the spies, but at the same time may sincerely discuss doubts about going through with his planned action. For such action will likely result in his death, and such an outcome naturally creates doubt, the nature of which he mentions.

Hamlet's anger rises through the speech - nothing new for Gibson's visceral performance - but ends in rhetorical defeat as the prince admits that great enterprises turn awry when they are over-thought, as they are here. His voice cracks, his shoulders stoop, and he goes back up to the world. In the next (previously discussed) scenes, he'll find his second wind.

III.i. Briefings - Zeffirelli '90

Rosencrantz & Guildenstern's debriefing is played silently in Zeffirelli's vision, with them running up to the King while Hamlet looks on, unseen, and is moved to utter what words of the "O what a peasant slave am I" speech the film retains. This makes their treachery more brazen and/or gauche, which will always have the perverse effect of weakening Hamlet. It's no great achievement to outplay the too-incompetent R&G.
Ophelia's own briefing takes place well before - "To be or not to be" and the nunnery scene are placed at the end of Act II, just after the "Words, words, words" sequence - and is missing the front end of the conversation. We begin at Gertrude's "I do wish that your good beauties", which has the strange effect of giving Gertrude control over the scheme. Though the Queen treats Ophelia with much affection, but looks over the girl's shoulder at Polonius as if instructing him as well as his daughter, or perhaps letting him know that he's on the hook for his theory. Gertrude then has a silent moment with her husband as Ophelia and Polonius go down the stairs to the "lobby", hands are kissed and cheeks stroked before Claudius leaves her too. She stands at the top of the stairs a moment before leaving. That position of power again seems to point to a more manipulative Queen, at least pushing this ploy against her son. She does not "obey" Claudius, but seems to command him to do her dirty business. She means well, of course, but it does put her role in court politics into question. While perhaps not aware of Claudius' crime, how much did she actively seize a moment when she allied herself with him?

Another important cut: Claudius does not make a confessional aside. Zeffirelli does his best to take away any kind of regret from this character. His Claudius is a more obvious and one-dimensional villain (unfortunately), and it would not do to make him more sympathetic with even the perception of pangs of regret.

II.ii. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I - Zeffirelli '90

Zeffirelli cuts some 30 lines from the speech, most from the opening as the First Player now makes no impression with an impassioned speech of his own, so Hamlet cannot react to it. Instead, he starts with "Am I a coward?" and looking at his two faux-friends report to the King, he questions his ability to avenge his murdered father. Gibson's visceral, highly emotional performance removes the need for a trigger. In the play as written, Hamlet is shamed by the Player's performance. Here, the character's wild and intense emotions make shame bubble up without the need for it. Gibson's Hamlet often loses his temper and commits some small act of violence as words get caught in his throat. It happens again in this sequence and overwhelmed, he must leave the doorway lest he be heard. In a rage underscoring the litany of scripted insults, he vents his anger by beating his cloak on the ramp of the stairs he climbs, emerging at the top only slightly relieved of it, tears in his eyes. It cannot be said that Gibson is the most subtle of actors, so there is relatively little variation in his performance through this section, but it works within the context of his acute emotionalism.

Then we discover that Hamlet has NOT already ordered "The Murder of Gonzago". The whole idea of the "Mouse-Trap", he has before our eyes, eliminating that particular ambiguity. Through a window, Hamlet hears, then sees the Players unpacking and it slowly dawns on him this could be used to prove the King's culpability. As with Olivier's version, "To be or not to be" was moved to a point before this one, and so Hamlet's forward momentum will not brook delay now. This is closer to a normal movie structure, and it shouldn't be surprising given that both Olivier and Zeffirelli set out to make a Hamlet accessible to mass movie audiences. Elements that might test that audience's patience are dutifully removed wherever they can be.

II.ii. The Players - Zeffirelli '90

Structurally, Zeffirelli's version continues to distance itself from other Hamlet. The Players are not, in this case, announced by Polonius. Pete Postlethwaite (First Player) arrives with his troupe, wagon and pack animals, interrupting Hamlet and R&G's gloomy picnic. They are dirty, "medieval peasants", and come with circling seagulls that evoke the stench of humanity and the garbage it leaves behind. Does this work against the play's intent? In a way it does, reducing the Player King's mirror nobility which one could argue should outshine Claudius'. It seems to comment negatively on the Players themselves. On the other hand, it draws parallels with the worm-eating beggar of Hamlet's parable, widens the divide between the pampered nobility of the court and the rotting Denmark "out there", supports Polonius' impression that they "deserve less", and, when the mirror is finally held up to the King, intensifies the irony.

In any case, Hamlet is ebulliant and calls them "masters". The scene then cuts to Hamlet entering Elsinore with the troupe, wearing a costume and playing music. He is part of this troupe, and their festive joy us contagious. Even the villains are smiling and laughing. This is how things could be between Claudius and Hamlet if not for the regicide that stands between them. Again, irony is intensified, and one could even imagine a reading of Hamlet in which Denmark is not rotting because its King is corrupt, but rather because it hangs on its true ruler (the Prince)'s every mood (as Gertrude does). Denmark is in a sorry state because Hamlet is depressed, and here the entire citizenry shares in his moment of joy. When Hamlet falls, so too does Denmark, at the hands of Fortinbras. It's Denmark-as-Hamlet by way of Gertrude-as-Denmark. We're told she lives and dies by his looks, and so too does the country. It's an interpretation that could be used to explain how she knows so much about Ophelia's suicide (she IS the river as much as the rest of the land), and turns the closet scene into a public accusation forcing an entire country to face the fact they happily let a pretender on the throne. And after all, if Claudius is not the rightful King, and perhaps the Prince is not ready, wouldn't the Queen actually be ruler?

That this scene evokes all this makes me forgive its savage cutting of the Player's speech, and indeed, Hamlet's own. We go from the Players' arrival directly to "Will you see them well-bestowed?" This massive cut, and Polonius' late entry means Hamlet need not be angry at the the councilor's comments. His retort ("who shall 'scape whipping?") is said with wit and a pleasant measure of sarcasm, but not anger. Polonius has not deserved any - he hasn't interrupted or criticized the Player's speech. Hamlet then announces they will hear a play tomorrow night, though the exchange between him and the Player is not shown. We might infer - knowing the play as we do - that Hamlet and the Player devised the "Mouse-Trap" on the way to the castle, but that will not be apparent to the uninitiated. It seems strange to us that Zeffirelli would try to hide 400-year-old plot points, but he is evidently crafting an accessible Hamlet for large movie audiences who might not know the story, playing out its twists and turns as surprises.
It is only after all this that he confides in Rosencrantz & Guildenstern that he is ony partly mad, moving the line from the end of the previous sequence to the end of this one. In its new position, and with the King and Queen now part of the sequence, the line acts as a loyalty test. Hamlet makes like he's leaving, but pops his head back out to watch R&G run to the King and tell him everything that's just gone between them and Hamlet. This confirms their treachery, and acts as a precursor to Hamlet's confirmation that Claudius is likewise a villain. So again, though Zeffirelli plays fast and loose with the text, he replaces it with visuals that, in their own visual way, informs. His version benefits from this closer reading.