To Wait

After much schlepping and kvetching waiting on line to get tickets to Hamlet at Shakespeare in the Park (we arrived at Central Park’s Delacorte Theater at 7:45am for the free ticket distribution at 1pm and were the last bunch to receive – many homeless people make good money by camping out all night, then scalping the tickets in the afternoon, though frankly it’s sometimes hard to distinguish between derelicts and professors), I was in row X on a beautiful June evening watching this epic play, which received its partial due.

As a former student of the simply yet ostentatiously named “Hamlet: the Seminar” at Cornell, I’ve seen most of the cinematic versions (with Mel Gibson, Ethan Hawke and Kenneth Branaugh to John Barrymore and Laurence Olivier in the eponymous role) and many stages versions, ranging traditional collegiate retellings and a Japanese cast in provincial England. Needless to say, I have my opinions on the play.

Michael Stuhlbarg, who seems to be considerably experienced in the Old Masters, was exemplar as Hamlet. He articulated beautifully and spoke with energy, both of which are essential in an open-air forum, where distractions from planes overhead, children shouting outside the theater and a remarkable lack of legroom are rampant. He imbued the language and gradual-decision-making, which Hamlet it notorious for, with beautiful accent marks. Some critics complained that he was overly manic, but that is a hard point to argue when the text itself calls for an “antic disposition”. Stuhlberg relished in the comedic timing and pervasive mood swings of a scholar (which Hamlet, as a former student at Wittenberg, most certainly is).

Unfortunately, his freewheeling talent was not the overarching theme. Claudius, played by Andre Braugher, who also has considerable Old Master training, seemed stilted and even uncomfortable in his clothes. He speech was often garbled, although delivered in an assured baritone. He seemed neither devious or brutish; he just delivered the lines. It was a bit disappointed, especially because – frankly – more attention was brought to the role on account of the color-blind casting.

I like a Hamlet imbued with depth, otherwise, it’s a by-rote recitation of the Most Famous Play. The realm of interior possibilities within a character is what has allowed this inscrutable play to hang around for 400 years. I was particularly disappointed with the lack of development of the female characters in this version, which may primarily be the fault of the director.

Gertrude, played by Margaret Colin, wore power suits which hearkened Jackie-O and Hilary Clinton (ball-busting first ladies?), but brought to the part the charisma or power of neither. When, in the bedroom scene, after Hamlet has mistakenly killed Polonius hiding behind the arras, she utters the climactic “Hamlet, thou hast split my heart in twain,” she might as well remind him to pick up a quart of milk immediately after. The various possibilities – that Hamlet’s revelations about homicide and conspiracy have affected her, or that, conversely, she is play-acting to get him the hell out of her room – have been flattened.

Ophelia, played by Lauren Ambrose, was pretty enough, but – as is my biggest test for any Ophelia – did not seem an intellectual equivalent to Hamlet. Yes, she is pushed around by her father and the king, and to a certain extent Hamlet, (which might be why she sported awful pink platform shoes - a little heavy-handed costuming tipping off her vulnerability), but her mad scene seems simply a result of enormous grief, and not tinged with an existential sense of the unfairness of her lot.

The most affecting part of the play was the dumbshow of Hecuba’s grief, enacted by beautifully crafted human-sized puppets. It prompted a huge interest, for me, in the work of puppeteer Basil Twist, and I am looking into interviewing the Puppet Kitchen for my job. This scene is nestled in a usually-overlooked part of the play, about mid-way into the thick of it. Out-of-town players arrive and metadramatically create an arresting scene of widowhood and sorrow, from a historical legend dating back to the Trojan War. It actually brought tears to my eyes, and was a great inclusion, especially during a scene with usually involves throw-away and blustering speeches.

Sam Waterson’s Polonius was also of note. Did I fall for him because he is Sam Waterson? Yes and no. Not the most ground-breaking Polonius – it took until Act II, for the most of the audience to get his pompous-but-harmless schtick (“either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem unlimited”), but his diction and energy was refreshing.

All in all, I was so glad to be there and it had terrific aspects (not least of which was food for critical thought). But next year, I think I’m going the scalping route.