2.1
Back in the castle, and
we have a slightly pointless scene where Polonius arranges for a young chap -
Raymond, I think he's called - to go France to check up on his son, Laertes. He
will achieve this by going round spreading rumours that Laertes is busy drinking
and gambling and quarrelling and drabbing, the idea being that if his son isn't
misbehaving, someone will defend him. Good plan.
Anyway, this spurious
nonsense aside, Ophelia rushes in, distraught, and very wet-nosed. Apparently
she's just met Hamlet, and he has been simply frightfully beastly towards
her. Apparently he ran into her bedchamber, all wet, wild-eyed and covered
in mud, and grabbed her by the arm and shouted things at her which she, a poor,
simple girly girl, couldn't understand.
Polonius, being a random
old bugger, reassures her that this sort of behaviour is perfectly normal for a
young boy in love, overwhelmed by passion, romance, and the urge for a shag.
2.2
It then falls to
Polonius to tell the King and Queen the bad news about their son (i.e. that he
has gone bonkers). This scene is a bit cock-eyed, to be honest, as the King and
Queen already know that their son has been acting oddly c/o Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern... but nevertheless Polonius's attempts to let them know, whilst
trying desperately hard not to cause them any displeasure, is hilarious.
Basically, he starts talking so much they lose track of what he’s actually on
about...
Brevity is the soul of
wit
And it should be noted
that this expression is used ironically - it's what Polonius says after he's
gone on for several minutes without ever quite touching upon the
actual matter in hand.
More manner with less
art.
Polonius then presents
the King and Queen with a love letter sent by Hamlet to Ophelia, to show how
affectionate he was towards her before this sudden, recent dramatic change of
personality.
The King remains
unconvinced that Hamlet is really mad - and tells Polonius to question
Hamlet... and indeed, when Hamlet enters, nose buried in a book, Polonius tries
to get through to him, but finds it impossible because all
Hamlet will talk about is how awful people are.
Though this be madness,
yet there is method in't.
Polonius thinks that
maybe if Ophelia were to have another word with him, that would cure Hamlet of
his ennui, angst and teenage melancholia. He dashes off to arrange this as two
of Hamlet's old friends, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, walk in. They too find
that Hamlet is in a foul mood, describing Denmark as a 'prison' or a 'dungeon'
as far as his soul is concerned...
O, God! I could be
bounded in a nut-shell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not
that I have bad dreams!
Question - is Derek
Jacobi a rubbish actor or not? I mean, he was great in I Claudius. But he was really really rubbish in Scream of the Shalka. But he was good in
Deadline and that Kenneth Branagh
film where he's a psychic. I don't know if he was good in that detective monk
thing. He was good in Frasier, but
then again, he was playing a rubbish Shakespearean actor...
Here, he's not all bad. Eighty per cent of the time
he's on the ball. But for that twenty per cent, he makes some very odd choices.
And part of the problem is that he's a 'nice' actor, a sort of Martin Jarvis
type, with a habit of starting sentences in a posh, plumy,
lightly-pitched, well-spoken voice. He's not really an angry young man, and
it's the anger that lets him down. He can't really do simmering bitterness
and resentment. He's too much of a luvvie for that.
[Plus he doesn’t believe
that Shakespeare wrote his own plays because he wasn’t privately educated which
unfortunately means Jacobi is both a snob and an idiot. Honestly, so-called Oxfordians
are the literary equivalent of moon-landing conspiracy-theorists. They do not deserve
the time of day. It’s also very depressing that with all the wonderful things
there are to find out and discuss about Shakespeare that some people fixate on
a non-existent authorship debate. But anyway, I’ve previously written a wholeblog about this. Jonny 2014]
What piece of work
is a man? How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! ...And yet, to me,
what is this quintessence of dust?
Oh dear, say Rosie and
Guildy. You do seem gloomy. I suppose not even the sudden and unexpected
arrival of a group of colourfully-dressed tragedian actors could cheer you up
now.
However, Hamlet confides
in his friends that he too is 'acting'. He's not really mad. Well, not all mad.
He's pretending like in that film where Cary Grant is being chased
by a crop-duster.
I am but mad north-north-west
- when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
Polonius enters, and
Hamlet has a lot of fun at the old man's expense. Because Hamlet is prince,
Polonius has to do his best to humour him, even though Hamlet is very insulting
towards him and his daughter and acting very strangely indeed. To be honest, at
this point Hamlet comes across as a complete tosser as Polonius is an
entirely undeserving recipient of his cruelty.
The actors enter and
Hamlet has them do a little bit of one of their plays; the death of Hecuba. The
chief actor does a good job and Hamlet is particularly impressed by his
ability to cry on cue about a dead woman he's never met - he's very convincing.
So Hamlet arranges for them to perform a play for him with some apposite
subject matter - yes, it's The Mousetrap!
The play's the thing
wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king!
[Actually
it’s a common misconception that the play in Hamlet is called The
Moustrap, it’s not, that’s Hamlet making a joke, it’s actual title is The
Murder of Gonzago. Jonny 2014]
3.1
King Claudius and Polonius
are chatting about Hamlet; is he really bonkers, or what? Polonius thinks he is
certainly certifiable under section 2, but King Claudius isn't so sure. They
duck behind a curtain as Hamlet wanders in for a bit of an um and
ah about what he should do next.
To be or not be - that
is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and
arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by
opposing, end them?
Now, of course, this is
famously a mixed metaphor. A 'mistake'. Or is it? No. Because actually what it
is is a brilliant piece of concise writing. 'Arms against a sea of troubles' is
not about fighting. It is about making a futile gesture. Like King Cnut
- another Dane - attempting to order the tide. So what Hamlet is actually
considering here is whether he should a) put up with all the injustices in
the world or b) make a doomed and futile attempt to fight them - doomed
because he will die in the process and there will always be
more. He will only be 'ending them' by opposing them i.e. being killed by them.
Which is why he goes on to say:
To die. To sleep. No
more - and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural
shocks that flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.
i.e. he thinks if he
dies he will be better off out of it. But will he, though? Is it such a good
plan?
To die. To sleep.
Perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub!
Nope. Not such a good
plan after all.
For in that sleep of
death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must
give us pause.
In other words, he's
worried that after he's dead, he's going to end up watching an endless 'clip show’
of his life - and in particular, all the things he f*cked up. And that worries
him, because if he does the wrong thing now, it's going to be repeated on an
infinite loop.
He then goes on for a
bit about all the wrongs and terrible things that people do put up with in life
- and why do they put up with them?
But that the dread of
something after death - the undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveller
returns - puzzles the will - and makes us rather bear those ills we have than
to fly to others that we know not of?
It's kind of like Tim in
The Office. In life, he's rolled a 3.
Does he throw that away for another roll of the dice - which might not be as
good as a 3? No, he'll settle for a 3.
And so
here, Hamlet, and possibly a thinly-veiled author, argues that it is the
threat of an afterlife which is the seed of conscience which is what keeps
people in line and allows them to be oppressed. Kind of Marxist view of
religion, that. People are afraid of doing 'wrong' because
they're frightened of the infinite clips show. But - and that is
the question - what is 'wrong'?
Thus conscience does
make cowards of us all - and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er
with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with
this regard their currents turn awry and lose the name of action.
Hamlet knows what his
problem is. Like Paul Simon on his rather good Hearts & Bones album (much better than Graceland) - he knows he 'thinks too much' and because he is
spending so much time worrying about the consequences of his actions (in the
afterlife) he never bloody gets round to doing anything. He analyses things to
death - he's a bit of a nervous nellie. What he needs is for someone
to tell him that if it were done when
'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly!
Anyway, who should walk
in but - walking sniffy wet-nose alert - Ophelia!
Get thee to a nunnery!
Now, this is a bit I
don't quite understand. Hamlet here is pretending to be mad - or is he? Because
he is simply abominable towards dear, sweet, walking wet blanket Ophelia. Is he
trying to get her out of the way, for fear she will get caught up in his
mousetrap? Or is he really so discoloured towards marriage, and womanhood in
general, and people in even more general, that he wants her out of the way -
permanently. Or - and this is the big 'or' - is he merely acting because he
knows he is being overheard by the King? (That's how the BBC version interprets
it)
Be thou as chaste
as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny!
Certainly that quote
would seem to indicate the 'you're f*cked whatever you do' attitude (which,
come to think of it, is pretty much the theme of the play). But - and Jacobi
gets this, more or less - a lot of it is his anger talking, his frustration,
and maybe he is a little bonkers too.
There's a bit just
before the 'nunnery' line where Hamlet is debating the nature of beauty, and
its dishonesty in that it presents things not as they truly are. This struck me
as being a boiled-down version of a similar discussion that takes place in, er,
As You Like It, I think it was.
Anyway, Ophelia runs
off, squeaking in dismay, and Hamlet, well, he puts on a play.
Claudius and Polonius
emerge from hiding. Claudius remains unconvinced that Hamlet
is bonkers - and, fearing that Hamlet may know more than he’s letting on
about the whole who-killed-the-old-King-business, he decides that Hamlet should
be banished.
3.2
Elsewhere in the castle,
Hamlet gathers together the actors and tells them how to do their jobs (actors
always love being told how to play a part, it makes their lives so much easier).
Speak the speech. I pray
you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue, but if you mouth it,
as many of your players do, I had a lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do
not saw the air too much with your hand, but use all gently.
Lovely little speech
that. Not sure how Hamlet became such an expert on acting, though. It does have
the feel - along with the 'borrower' speech from earlier - of being a bit of,
if not a complete shoehorn, a thing-from-elsewhere seamlessly slipped in. After
all, it is the sort of thing that Billy S would’ve been telling the players in
his plays, and like all writers, he would live in perpetual dread of actors f*cking
up the script.
Suit the action to the
word, the word to the action.
What he is after is a
naturalistic performance - that way, the play will be most effective in terms
of his whole 'get the king to blurt out his guilt' plan. Before too long, in
traipses King Claudius, Queen Gertie, Wet Ophelia, Dotty Mr Polly, and
various Rosencrantz’s and Guildenstern’s, sitting down to what they presume to
be a great evening's family hentertainment.
Interestingly, the
discussion briefly takes a very irrelevant turn, as Hamlet asks Polonius if he
has ever acted. Polonius replies:
I did enact Julius
Caesar - I was killed i'th' Capitol. Brutus killed me.
To which Hamlet responds
with a very poor pun. But what this line is, I think, is a sort
of in-joke. Hamlet contains frequent and numerous references to Julius
Caesar and the events of the play - which had been staged a year before Hamlet.
And the actor here is saying 'You may remember me from my previous role – we’re
drawing a parallel if you would care to pay attention! In that play I was
killed by the sort-of hero - you never know, might happen again!'
Because the parts are
quite similar - they would have been given to the same actor - both doddery old
men, forgetful, infirm, long-winded and unsure of themselves. Possibly played
by Shakespeare himself. Although Polonius is more of a comic version of Caesar,
it has to be said. But because this 'enact Julius Caesar' is otherwise completely
f*cking pointless, it must be pointing up the fact that most of the
audience would’ve seen Julius Caesar
or at least would know what had happened in it.
It's interesting, I
think, to get the context. After all, Hamlet is a play about a King
gaining power by killing his brother and marrying his widow - something we had
seen before in Richard III and something not a million miles away from
what Henry VIII sort-of did with Katy of Aragorn, which was then declared
invalid and/or incestuous. Either way, not something to be encouraged.
Anyway, a hush falls,
and it's time for the play-within-a-play to begin. The Mousetrap! The curtain
opens to reveal a 50s hotel lobby. The guests have been snowed in, the
telephone lines have been cut, and one of them is a murderer. Sergeant Trotter
gathers everyone together in the lobby to reveal the identity of the killer...
...and King Claudius,
being the only person in the whole world who doesn't know whodunnit in The
Mousetrap, is taken aback by this turn of events! Here he is, looking
aghast:
Of course, it's not
really the Mousetrap, it's the Violent and Bloody Murder of Gonzago and His
Enormously-Bosomed Wife. To begin with, Claudius is hoping that Gonzago's
wife's clothes will fall off, and she will attempt to cover up, but it's too
late, he's seen everything.
Incidentally I was
passing The Mousetrap the other day,
it's at the St Martin's theatre. Except when the name lights are lit
up, you could be mistaken for thinking it was saying 'SAMARITANS'. I
wonder how many suicidal people have wandered in only to find themselves
watching a rather stodgy and stilted piece of 50s drama?
Enough of me talking shit.
Hamlet's plan works - the play strikes close to home. The King is angered by
it, shouts 'Light!' and storms out. Queen Gertie finds the portrayal of a widow
marrying her husband's murderer a little hard to bear. Which is why she says:
The lady doth protest to
much, methinks!
Hamlet informs Horatio
that his suspicions have been fulfilled. Claudius did kill his dad, the ghost really
was his dead dad and was telling the truth. Hamlet then thinks black thoughts
to himself about how he will wreak his terrible revenge.
Tis now the witching
time of night! Heh heh heh!
3.3
The King, Claudius,
finally gets a soliloquy to himself. His character strikes me as a bit under-developed
- though mainly that’s due to the fact that we very rarely see him alone when
he isn't keeping up appearances. Anyway, it turns out he is haunted by what he
has done...
My offence is rank, it
smells to heaven!
And he imagines he has
blood on his hands which he can't wash away - now, where did Shakespeare use
that motif again? Anyway, having been reminded of his foul deeds by the events
in the play, Claudius prays for forgiveness. Even though he knows he is doomed
to go to hell for eternity for what he has done.
You see, if Macbeth is
all about murder, Hamlet, you see, is all about death. It takes a
curious mix-and-match approach to the afterlife - and explores each version.
In his big speech, for instance, Hamlet considers it first a nothingness and
then a sleep haunted with clip-shows. Later on there's the gravedigger
business, and I lost count of the number of mentions of 'dust' in the play -
which reinforces the idea that there is nothing after death but worms and
maggots.
On the other hand, here
you have the more traditional ideas of heaven and hell, with death merely being
a process which determines whether you take the up escalator to the top floor
or the stairs to the basement. And, of course, all of this is pretty moot
because in the play we also have ghosts returning from beyond the grave, so
death isn't all that final after all. The undiscovered country from whose bourn
to traveller returns, except when they do.
The annoying pedant
would probably want to point out that all these 'versions' of the afterlife are
mutually inconsistent, and that in particular it seems odd for Hamlet to think
of death as being a 'dream' after he has seen the ghost of his father
wandering about in full battle armour. But this overlooks the fact that Hamlet
is uncertain about everything - he's uncertain about whether he really saw his
father, he's uncertain about whether he is sane or not, he's not even sure
want pencil to use – 2B or not 2B? He is riddled with inconsistencies, which on
the one hand make him a rather hard fictional character to understand but
on the other hand it’s that complexity that makes him so compelling
and which makes you want to try to understand him.
In other words, he's
like a real person. That's the genius of Hamlet, I suppose, what
sets it up above the rest. It contains the most realistic, most three-dimensional
fictional character there's ever been. Freud certainly thought so when he
psychoanalysed the character. I say three-dimensional, but actually, we are
afforded another dimension - much of the play is conducted through
Hamlet's eyes, and so we also see his internal conflicts as well as his
external conduct. The play gets right inside his head, and what a confused
old noggin it is.
And, as I said, it's all
about death. The play is, at heart, about the great human dilemma, the agnostic
crisis, of asking 'Is there any more to this?' and it's logical follow-up 'If
there isn't anything more than this then why isn't this any better?'
Anyway, while King
Claudius is praying, Hamlet sneaks in with a sword, ready to do him in. But
Hamlet - who in this scene believes in heaven and hell, or at least thinks it's
worth considering - knows he can't murder his step-father while he is praying,
because if you are murdered during prayer you are guaranteed a
first-class ticket to heaven in the afterlife, no matter how naughty you have
been during your life. And the last thing Hamlet wants is for his murdering
step-dad to go to heaven, particularly because it would also mean a guarantee
first-class ticket for himself to go to hell. That wouldn't be fair, surely? So
Hamlet sneaks back out again - having deliberately thrown away his chance of
revenge forever. And of course the audience are all shouting 'behind you!'
I'm not sure about this
'if you kill me while I'm praying I'll go to heaven and you'll go to hell' get-out.
Surely, if that was the case, you could just keep praying all the time, just to
be on the safe side? And what if you had killed someone who was praying but
then you yourself were killed while you were praying, would you go to heaven or
hell? And what about the person who killed you, where would they end up? To be
honest the whole thing is a logistical nightmare. Almost enough to make you
think it’s a load of made-up bollocks.
3.4
Hamlet visits his
mum - she has summoned him to her bedchamber, it's all very Freudian. She is
chatting with Polonius just before he walks in, and so Polly ducks behind a
curtain with his feet sticking out of the bottom. It's a very good hiding
place. Nothing can possibly go wrong.
Hamlet storms in, not in
a happy mood, and spying two slippers poking out from the bottom of the
curtain, he shouts 'Die, rat scum!' and stabs the curtain. Polonius staggers
out from behind the curtain, suffering from what literally a pain in the arras,
and dies. It's kind of like in Romeo and Juliet - the death of the comic
relief character brings on the mood of inevitable tragedy.
Anyway, Hamlet is a bit
annoyed with himself for accidentally murdering Polonius - but, let's face it,
who does get on with their ex-girlfriend's dads? He then has a go at his mum
for marrying his dad's murderer, and his mum realises that she has f*cked up in
a big way.
And then who should walk
in but the ghost of Hamlet's dad, wearing his pyjamas!
He's not quite so
chatty, and this time only Hamlet can see him - Gertie thinks her son is
talking to thin air [like Macbeth haunted by Banquo], which finally convinces
her that he has bought a one-way ticket to the bananas. However, he tells her
that he is not mad at all - his pulse isn't even raised - and he orders his mum
to never sleep with Claudius again, and tells her that he has vowed to kill the
false King.
I must be cruel only to
be kind.
The Queen, terrified of
her insane progeny, agrees to keep his little regicidal/step-patricidal plan
secret. Hamlet will go to England as ordered - but he will come back, yes, he
will come back.
For 'tis the sport to
have the engineer hoist with his own petar!
Not petard. 'Petar'.
Aaah.
