The Play’s The Thing

**NOTE: In order to explore the play in detail, I had planned to analyze it scene-by-scene.  Now, however, I’m sorry to report that I just don’t have the time.  Act IV is due, so I’m skipping ahead in my blogging to Act IV.  I may go back to finish Act III at some point…**

Act IV, Scene ii

This is the scene where Hamlet disposes of Polonius’ body after he murdered him by stabbing the arras where Polonius was spying on Hamlet and Gertrude.

One might expect the prince, as preoccupied as he has been for most of the play with philosophical conundrums, to be contrite, or at the very least disturbed by his sudden and violent action.  However, Hamlet shows no signs of remorse or uncertainty.  He is positively manic.  He takes care of the body and defends himself to Rosenstern, while still managing to look down on Rosenstern and Claudius.

In short, Hamlet has just lost the moral high ground.  Although the murder he committed was not premeditated and brought him no gain, he has now put himself on par with Claudius, who robbed Hamlet of his father the same way Hamlet robbed Ophelia and Laertes of theirs.  We’ve always been aware that Hamlet has his flaws, but this newest development makes a serious dent in his likeability, not to mention the credibility of the entire plan he has put in motion.  No longer is he the unquestioned hero of the play.  Is Hamlet now the bad guy?  Is he now really, truly crazy?  Is the harm he’s done–and the harm he will do in the foreseeable future–far greater than that of Claudius?

At least he got rid of his cold feet.  :/  Or has he?  It’s important to point out that among the people whose lives he’s ruined–Ophelia’s, Polonius’, even his mother’s–the one person he really hasn’t hurt too badly is Claudius, the very person who is supposed to be bearing the brunt of Hamlet’s revenge.  Is this miscalculation on Hamlet’s part?  Pure madness?  Or is he still afraid?

On the other hand, think of how truly terrified Rosenstern must be.  They seem like good guys–not terribly bright, and not terribly good friends–but I think they’re tangled up in something they really don’t understand.  Now, not only do they have to deal with a former friend-turned-loco and his dysfunctional family, but they have to question a madman as to where he has hidden the body of his victim.  Ugh.  If I were them, I would high-tail it out of Denmark faster than the remarriage of a widowed queen.  (joke)

Act III, Scene i

To be, or not to be: that is the question.  And it’s a stupid question, because the answer is very simple.

Ok, Hamlet.  It’s decision time.  Are you going to end it, or follow through with what you started?  Are you going to be, or not?  There’s only one answer that makes sense.  It’s to be.  As tough as Hamlet has it, he’s the flipping prince of Denmark!  He can do almost anything he wants!  He didn’t have to agree to stay at court instead of going back to school.  He himself said that Denmark was a prison, so why does he stay there?  He could travel, make some friends, take up paint-by-number.  Anything to just get him out of the house and away from any ‘bodkins’ that might be lying around.

This is the ultimate reason I find it difficult to respect Hamlet as a person.  He’s got angst.  I get it.  But I lose all sympathy for him when he refuses to make any decisions at all.  How low does one’s self-respect have to be, to go through life just letting things happen to you?  His constant flip-flopping wastes valuable time.  And besides, suicide doesn’t fix anything–it’s just wimping out and leaving a mess for everyone else to clean up–and the very fact that he’s contemplating it shows his mental decline.

Please don’t take me to mean that I think he should assassinate Claudius–that’s not the kind of action I had in mind.  I mean constructive action.  Murdering his uncle would accomplish nothing but hurting Gertrude and throwing Denmark into turmoil again, and Hamlet really doesn’t have any concrete proof of Claudius’ guilt to merit that kind of judgment.  The only reason he has to kill Claudius is for revenge, and that’s not a decision Hamlet can make fairly without emotion getting in the way.  

That brings up the idea of retributive punishment as a viable means of righting a wrong.  Hamlet–encouraged by the ghost–seems to believe that two wrongs do make a right.  Yet another piece of evidence to support his deteriorating mental state. 

At this point, the best thing for Hamlet to do is just walk away.  He can’t stand his uncle or mother, looks down on Polonius, feels rejected by Ophelia, and Rosenstern has proven to be an insincere friend.  He has nothing keeping him in Denmark, apart from his own true inability to act.  This is Hamlet’s fundamental issue, much like Jake from The Sun Also Rises: he can identify problems, but he lacks the ability or wherewithal to solve them.  He overthinks things so much that he gets in his own way.  He could leave this all behind him.  Why not?  Well, for one, he’s incapable of making decisions–the only real decision he makes, to avenge his father, is not even his idea.  I think he knows this and deep down, he’s doesn’t want to find out that he’s a coward by nature.  In short, he’s afraid of being afraid.  

Despite my dislike of Hamlet’s angsting (just get over it already!), I have to give credit where credit is due.  Hat’s off to you, Mr. Shakespeare, for creating a character with a believable unconscious.  I get the feeling that not even Hamlet knows what he’s doing or how he feels–and he refuses to pretend that he does.  He hides things from himself, and soliloquizes vaguely because he can’t face his demons directly. 

Here, we see real evidence that Hamlet is indeed going insane.  Although his words to Ophelia are harsh and calculated to hurt her, he himself is also in self-destruct mode.  As I mentioned before, if Hamlet thinks that the best way to accomplish his ends–whatever they may end up being–lies in pretending he’s crazy, that conclusion in itself proves how unbalanced he is.

Again, let me end by quoting Cheer Up Hamlet: “And by the way, you sulky brat, the answer is ‘to be’!”

Act II, Scene ii

The beginning of this scene marks the entrance of an entity I will refer to as “Rosenstern.”  I say this because the two people that term entails–Rosencrantz and Guildenstern–are essentially the same character.  They have identical personalities, speech patterns and plot functions–so why, Mr. Shakespeare, are there two of them?  Even during their audience with the king and queen, when it is explaind that they have been summoned as Hamlet’s old school friends to cheer him up, they are referred to interchangably: Claudius says “Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern,” and Gertrude follows with, “Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz.”

Following the arrival of Rosenstern, Polonius brings Ophelia before the king and queen to relate what happened the night before.  She reads them a letter Hamlet wrote her, and Polonius assurres them he will be breif and to the point–and then, of course, he launches into a long-winded explanation of why Hamlet is mad for love of Ophelia.  Gertrude is worried and says she believes it as well. 

Hamlet encounters Rosenstern, and his initial aside before he greets them implies that they are not close friends.  He guesses that his mother and Claudius sent for Rosenstern, and after initial attemps to hide it, Rosenstern admits it.  Not sure if he can trust Rosenstern, Hamlet confides that he is troubled, but not why.  He remarks that Denmark is a prison, and when Rosenstern disagrees, Hamlet remarks that attitude has a lot to do with perception–and that the more intelligent one is, the more troubled one may be with living in such a world.

(He also delivers his famous “What a piece of work is man” speech.  Many seem to believe the gist of the speech is that Hamlet, like a true Renaissance man, agrees that man is the pinnacle of existence, and yet is disturbed that he finds no joy in man.  I have another theory: I think Hamlet is being bitter and ironic.  Considering all he’s witnessed of human nature, I think there is heavy sarcasm when he describes man as the “paragon of animals,” and when he concludes that “man delights not me,” this seems to be a condemnation of the nature of man rather than confusion over why he finds no joy in it.)

Fun fact: today is the traditionally acknowledged birthday of William Shakespeare!  Happy birthday, Will!  :)

Act II, Scene I

In this scene, we observe Polonius sending his servant Reynaldo to France with orders to spy on Laertes.  He carefully instructs Reynaldo to inquire about his master in such a way as to conceal his intentions of gathering information.  In this way, Polonius shows the audience that he may be pompous and foolish, but he is also a manipulator.  Ironically, he does not himself practice all those honorable qualities that he recommended to his son, bringing the theme of insincere advice (like Claudius’s advice for Hamlet) full-circle once again.

Reynaldo departs and Ophelia enters in a panic, describing how Hamlet suddenly came to her with a distraught expression, grabbed her, and sighed heavily without speaking.  She is badly shaken by the incident and, though she doesn’t seem to believe he was trying to hurt her, fears there is something wrong with the prince.  Polonius is astonished but readily believes it, delivering his most sympathetic line of the play: “I am sorry that with better heed and judgement I had not quoted him…it is as proper to our age to cast beyond ourselves in our opinions as it is common for the younger sort to lack discretion.”  He becomes convinced that the prince has gone mad with love for his daughter.

This also shows Polonius’s egoism and narrow-mindedness.  Instead of coming to a somewhat more logical conclusion–that Hamlet is still destraught with grief–Polonius automatically assumes that his daughter is the source of the prince’s illness.  Polonius cannot conceive of a scenario in which he is not intimately involved, and resolves to go immediately to Claudius with his new theory.  This is, in part, to protect Ophelia, but it is done with a self-importance integral to Polonius’s character.

As for Ophelia, she seems miserable without Hamlet, compounded with the guilt she now feels for refusing his affections, which she believes (under the influence of Polonius’s suggestion) is the reason for his strange behavior.  She now feels blame for something that is truly not her fault at all.  Because one of the three strong men in her life is away (her brother), and she has disassociated herself with Hamlet, she runs to the remaining male figure: her father.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, for your continued multi-media viewing pleasure, I have posted the links to a clip of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged), by the Reduced Shakespeare Company.  

I highly recommend the entire video–it’s a hilarious live performance of the entire works of the Bard, condensed into a single hour and a half and performed by only three people who have to play all the parts, sometimes simultaneously.

Anyway, it’s divided into four parts of about ten minutes each.  Enjoy the humor!

RSC: Hamlet (1 of 4)

RSC: Hamlet (2 of 4)

RSC: Hamlet (3 of 4)

RSC: Hamlet (4 of 4

Act I, Scene iv

We actors have strange sayings, customs and superstitions, many of which began in Shakespeare’s time.  For instance, one must never speak the name of the Scottish play (McB—) out loud in a theater.  If you do, there are various prescribed remedies.  You may kiss the hem of your costume, turn in a circle and throw salt or makeup powder over your shoulder, or recite the antidote from Hamlet: “Angels and ministers of grace defend us!”

Which brings us to Scene iv.  Hapless Hamlet–scowling sovereign, ruminating royalty, pitiable prince, moody monarch, luckless lord and abject heir that he is–has followed his friend Horatio, as well as the guard Marcellus, outside the castle to wait for the ghost.  When the ghost finally does appear, Hamlet recognizes his father and pleads with it to answer his questions.  It only beckons him to follow it, however, and he does so passionately–perhaps his only action in the entire play that is not thoroughly analyzed and agonized-over.  His comrades beg him not to go, suggesting that the ghost is really an evil spirit, but Hamlet tells them what we learned in Scene ii–that he doesn’t care about his life any more–and determines to go after the ghost.  It is then that he utters the aforementioned immortal line.

Once alone in the forest, the terrible ghost reveals that his brother, the now-king Claudius and uncle to Hamlet, murdered him by pouring poison in his ear.  (Think back to Scene ii–poisonous words in the form of a speech now take on new meaning.)  This news devastates Hamlet, who promises to punish Claudius but allow Gertrude to be punished by the guilt of her own conscience.  

The ghost disappears and Horatio and Marcellus arrive.  Hamlet makes them swear not to report the sighting to anyone, and tells them that he may affect madness in the future.  During this speech he actually seems quite giddy, and in my opinion this encounter marks the point where he really does start losing it mentally.

A few interesting philosophical ideas are introduced in this scene, and the first has to do with the nature of the ghost.  The audience doesn’t truly know if the ghost is Hamlet’s father or a mischievous demon trying to drive the prince crazy.  Hamlet himself cannot answer this, because he does not know what lies beyond death and therefore cannot determine if the ghost is telling the truth.  

This is the first of several leaps of logic that Hamlet makes: not only does he now believe in Claudius’ guilt, but he also then believes that the best way to remedy the situation is…by affecting madness.  (Say what?  Where’s the logic in that?  When was the last time you tried to get back at someone by pretending you were crazy?)  This illogical conclusion shows that Hamlet is, indeed, slowly slipping into mental imbalance due to grief, anger and shock.

Act I, Scene iii

In this scene, we are introduced to yet another family: Polonius and his children, Laertes and Ophelia.  This fairly normal family acts as a foil to the royal family, as well as the family of the Norwegian Fortinbras, the death of whose father prompted him to begin a campaign against Denmark.

So, in other words, we have three contrasting and somewhat parallel families.  Hamlet’s own issues with the death of his father and the reign of his uncle; Fortinbras’s similar dysfunctionality; and the far healthier-seeming family of Polonius.  However, Polonius’s family is not without faults; although he treats Laertes with affection and fatherly advice, he holds complete authority over Ophelia and completely disregards her feelings about Hamlet.  Laertes, too, orders his sister around regarding Hamlet, and basically tells her that she must refuse him even against her own wishes.  In addition, his preoccupation with his sister sleeping with another man–much like Hamlet’s own obsession with his mother—and the extremely playful affection they share takes on a slightly incestuous undertone during their scene.

Polonius is shown, for all his affection to his son, as a somewhat nearsighted and pompous old fool.  He starts off by urging Laertes to leave quickly, but then wastes a great deal of time on well-intentioned but useless advice.  He makes obvious statements in a long monologue–that Laertes must dress well, but not too well; that he must not start fights, but fight if necessary–that could have been expressed in one word: balance.

Laertes is introduced as an excellent foil to Hamlet, seemingly a continuation from Scene ii, in which Claudius addressed the two in very different tones.  Laertes is a passionate man of action, far different from the cerebral, slightly misanthropic Hamlet who is slow to act.

And poor Ophelia, whose life seems to revolve around men, gets the short end of the stick.  Her brother gets to go to France, Hamlet gets to sulk and contemplate and pace around the palace in brooding silence, and her father gets to be involved in affairs of state.  She has almost no power to make her own decisions, and this absence of balance (the balance that Polonius spoke so well of) is what will be her undoing.

Act I, Scene ii

Now that we’ve established the doom and gloom outside Elsinore Castle, let’s take a look at the inside.  Everyone’s celebrating, happy, comfortable, and enjoying themselves immensely.

Or are they?

At least one person isn’t…and his name happens to be Hamlet.

The new king, Claudius (brother to the dead king and uncle to the prince), gives a grand speech to the court, explaining that while he’s very sorry for the loss of his brother, he’s quite happy to marry his brother’s wife, Queen Gertrude, although barely two months have passed since the funeral.  Right away, this strikes us as insincere, as he uses several phrases that are contradictory: how can the memory of “our late brother’s death” be “green”?  How is it that he finds “mirth in funeral,” “dirge in marriage,” and takes a sense of “defeated joy?”  These ideas are nonsensical at best and disturbing at worst.

This gives us an excellent reason not to trust Claudius–he became king when normally, the throne should have belonged to Prince Hamlet.  His glib and convoluded speech, along with his obviously affected “fatherly advice” for Hamlet, contributes to a negative first impression for the audience.  He gives Laertes, son of Polonius (advisor to both kings), affectionate permission to travel to France, while entreating Hamlet formally to remain at home when he would clearly rather leave this royal mess behind him.

In an aside to the audience, his first line of the play, Hamlet lets us know that he is not at all ok with recent turns of events: 1) His dad died.  2) He didn’t get the throne.  And in his first soliloquy he ruminates on 3), which seems to truly bother him the most–the marriage of his mother to his uncle strikes him as incestuous and unclean, especially when his father loved his mother so much.  He is tormented by the though that his mother is sleeping with Claudius (Oedipus complex, anyone?)  From this, Hamlet begins to view women in a negative way.  In fact, he can barely control his agitation with the events surrounding him, and although he claims to know that he cannot speak of it, he makes no attempt to hide his feelings by dressing in black and behaving antisocially (Fact: Hamlet was the first emo).  He shows himself to be philosophically oriented, living in the world of ideas, although religion has failed him.  He also laments that suicide is a sin, because he would rather put himself out of his misery than stick around and see things go so badly.

Meanwhile, the rest of the court shows complete support of the regime change, Claudius’s speech, and his marriage to his sister-in-law, with the exception, of course, of the prince.  Thus, Hamlet establishes himself as either the only person honorable enough to be offended by the king’s conduct, or the only person honest enough to admit to it.

What this actually reveals about the mood inside the castle is that it is filled with courtesans celebrating at a time when celebration is not at all appropriate.  Maybe they’re just groveling for royal favor, and therefore ignore their unease.  Maybe they’re too stupid to recognize anything amiss.  Or maybe–amid the vast imbalance within and without the kingdom, within and without the very walls of the castle–it’s simply a room full of people desperately trying to convince themselves that nothing’s wrong.

When Horatio arrives, the first true friend of Hamlet’s to set foot in the palace, and informs him of the ghost sighting, Hamlet is astonished and excited.  But he’s no fool, and is only satisfied after asking several specific questions about the ghost’s manner and appearance.  He agrees to go out with the watchmen that night, and see if he can engage the ghost in conversation…

And now, another video clip!  This one’s from the first season of the Canadian television series Slings and Arrows, about the trials and tribulations of small-time Shakespearean actors.  The song’s called “Cheer Up Hamlet,” and the lyrics are rather clever.

Cheer Up Hamlet

LYRICS

Cheer up Hamlet,
Chin up Hamlet,
Buck up you melancholy Dane!
So your uncle is a cad
Who murdered Dad and married Mum;
That’s really no excuse to be as glum as you’ve become!
So wise up Hamlet,
Rise up Hamlet,
Buck up and sing the new refrain–
Your incessant monologizing fills the castle with ennui,
Your antic disposition is embarrassing to see,
And by the way you sulky brat the answer is to be
You’re driving poor Ophelia insane!
So shut up you rogue and peasant,
Grow up, it’s most unpleasant,
Cheer up, you melancholy Dane!

Act I, Scene i

In the opening scene of Shakespeare’s most famous play, we–the audience–learn that King Hamlet of Denmark has recently died.  Amid instability following the regime change and uncertainty concerning foreign attack, the watchman Francisco is relieved by Bernardo, who is then joined by another watchman named Marcellus and finally Horatio, who we learn is a friend of King Hamlet’s son, Prince Hamlet.  They witness a strange apparition that looks like the ghost of the dead king, but when they try to speak to it, the spirit silently leaves.  The guardsmen have seen this before, but Horatio’s reaction further confirms the reality of what they previously witnessed.  Horatio decides that the prince must be told at once, in hopes that the ghost will speak to his son.

I took an instant liking to Horatio–and in my opinion, he’s by far the most important character in the scene.  His initial skepticism of the ghost shows his ability to reason logically, but when he sees it for himself he is also intelligent and open-minded enough not to deny its existence.  This proves his overall integrity as a character.  I think the audience is supposed to relate to him, and see the situation through his eyes–and once we learn that even he believes the ghost is real, it helps us to suspend disbelief for the rest of the show.

The apparition of a ghost, especially one of the newly-deceased king, is powerful foreshadowing for other unnatural occurrences and tragic turns of event that are sure to unfold later on (after all, this is called a tragedy for a reason).  However, not only does it give the audience a sense of foreboding, but the characters in the scene recognize it too–an excellent example of internal foreshadowing, in which Horatio and the guardsmen get the feeling that things are about to go very, very wrong…

And don’t worry.  They will.

And now, for a brief moment of levity–don’t worry, we’ll need it–here’s a video of a great number about Shakespeare from the Broadway musical Kiss Me Kate (actually a retelling of The Taming of the Shrew).  Enjoy!

Brush Up Your Shakespeare