King John (Series 7 Episode 1)

First transmitted 24th November 1984

Leonard Rossiter schemes in vain in King John

Cast: Leonard Rossiter (King John), George Costigan (Philip the Bastard), John Thaw (Hubert), Claire Bloom (Constance), Charles Kay (King Philip), Mary Morris (Queen Elinor), Richard Wordsworth (Cardinal Pandolph), Robert Brown (Pembroke), John Castle (Salisbury), Jonathan Coy (The Dauphin), Gordon Kaye (Duke of Austria), Janet Maw (Blanche), Phyllida Law (Lady Faulconbridge), Edward Hibbert (Robert Faulconbridge)

Director: David Giles

The final series of the BBC’s Shakespeare project kicked off with the producers surely well aware that, due to lack of foresight at the start, they were left with one whopper in Much Ado About Nothing and then four relative minnows in the Shakespeare pool – Pericles, Love’s Labour’s Lost, Titus Andronicus and King John. This is a shame since from this point on many of the issues with these productions are going to be about how well the director’s deal with flaws and problems in the plays themselves, rather than how they bring the plays to the screen – issues that I am not always confident that the directors who previously handled The Tempest and The Merry Wives of Windsor earlier in this series are going to be able to cope with.

King John is an odd play, with Shakespeare unsure what type of story he wants to tell here, or how he wants to tell it. The tone of the play zig zags oddly from almost light comedy into dark tragedy. John is a curiously peripheral character for large chunks of the play, struggling to impose himself on the action, as much as the actor must struggle to impose himself on the play. Time is telescoped as always, but in a scattergun and confused way, so that some events seem to happen in a few hours, others months apart. Characters take on great importance and then suddenly drop out of the action altogether. John is bad when the actions he undertakes are without defence – but Shakespeare seems obliged to present him as almost a hero when he defies the Catholic church and, that old Shakespeare bug bear, the French. It’s a difficult period of history to dramatise, so this is perhaps why Shakespeare feels more comfortable writing characters he effectively invented, principally of course Philip the Bastard, who gets all the best speeches and most of the best lines (if anything, John is a figurehead in his own play).

So that brings us to this production, which is a rather lifeless version of this rambling play that gets excessively bogged down in the earlier acts, in particular the long, long scenes that make up the bulks of Acts 1, 2 and 3. The production fails to really kick into gear into well into Act 4, instead developing into a series of scenes of speechifying, often under powered in delivery. Camera angles are kept simple, as well as editing styles, with direction favouring a straight combination of two-shot technique, with plenty of cuts back to the person who happens to be speaking at that time. There is a lack of inventiveness in any television technique or filmic language, with the decision instead to treat this as a very theatrical adaptation, possibly one of the most theatrical of the series. Occasional good ideas and interesting camera movements are few and far between.

The staging and design follows this up, with the style chosen for the different locations in the play (particularly outside locations) deliberately going for as non-realist a design as possible. The French locations are stylised exteriors, with the action taking place in front of huge backcloths covered in fleur-de-lis, absolutely no attempt made to suggest that we are ever outside in a ‘real’ place. The castles follow this design, with the stonework looking like exactly what it is – papier mache – and the exteriors of castle locations almost laughably wobbly in their woodenness. By contrast, interiors are detailed and carefully constructed to resemble real castles. Nothing wrong with this of course, but in a production that plays the action and the characters in as determinedly realist a way as possible, this looks odd – better productions have got away with non-realist locations, because either the action married with this, or the locations had been made so non-realist that there was never a feeling that we were meant to be looking at a real place. The inconsistency between interiors and exteriors doesn’t help with this.

Other creative and casting decisions in the play also don’t really work. Was it really necessary to have every single one of Cardinal Pandolph’s entrances (an underwhelming performance in any case by Richard Wandsworth, which doesn’t convey the Cardinal’s ruthlessness) accompanied by monastic chanting? This chanting keeps making clumsy appearances throughout the production, whenever the theme of religion rears its head. This production is also cursed with some of the weakest child actors we’ve seen yet in the series. The child playing Arthur is woefully unconvincing and fatally undermines what is usually the play’s best scene (Hubert’s planned blinding of Arthur) by failing to convey any sense of fear or anxiety (he’s not particularly helped by an underpowered John Thaw as Hubert). As a result, this scene, usually the emotional centrepiece of the play, is actually rather dull here. A second child performer pops up towards the end as Henry III and is equally ineffective.

In terms of the themes of the play, one thing Giles really focuses on, and brings out successfully, is the importance and strength of mothers and the influence and control they have over their children. There are three mothers in this play – Lady Faulconbridge, Eleanor and Constance – and all three of them are clearly the driving forces behind their children, guiding their decisions and fulfilling their own ambitions and desires through those children. Giles shoots the mothers always in domineering positions, presenting them as constantly controlling and manipulating their sons, living and achieving their ambitions through them.  Constance speaks constantly for her son, and seems barely able to release her grip on him, constantly holding him in a domineering grasp. Lady Faulconbridge clearly controls her rather dullard son Robert and can see (and intends to enjoy) the clear advantages of the success of her bastard son Philip. Even Janet Maw’s Blanche clearly understands realpolitik.

This focus on mothers and sons is helped by impressive performances from these actresses. Mary Morris is a fearsome, ruthless, ambitious and intelligent Queen Eleanor, clearly positioned as the power behind her son’s throne. Throughout A1, Eleanor is a constant presence beside John, almost a co-ruler. Giles uses some intelligent cutting and reaction shots to keep Eleanor to the forefront of the action throughout A2, allowing the audience to constantly see how she is evaluating the consequences of the actions around her. Phyllida Law equally makes a lot of Lady Faulconbridge’s wisdom and clearly expresses the affection she holds Philip in. Claire Bloom gives another impressive performance in this series, her Constance developing from a forceful determination to achieve her son’s rights, through to a pained, desperation progressing into despair as his hopes and dreams fall apart. Many of the finest moments in A2 are dominated by her presence, and Constance’s overbearing determination.

It’s in the second half that the loss of these characters is felt, as the play moves towards a confusing see-saw of events as men fall back into doing what they do best – fighting and feuding. Robert Brown and John Castle do their best with rather nondescript roles as the primary English lords, but are not helped by some repetitive decisions both in writing and playing – we don’t need to see Castle’s Salisbury in tears in almost every scene to know that he is as conflicted at betraying his country as he was devastated at the death of Arthur. A4 and A5 may pump up the number of events, but the production presents them (admittedly not the finest dramatic sequences written by Shakespeare) as formless and shapeless. Watching this I had no idea what this production might be building towards – there is no real sense of drive, of a narrative or thematic point being made here. Instead events continue forward until they stop. This is even clearer in the end of the play, as the actors shuffle off (accompanied of course by monastic chanting) without any real sense that the production has concluded something or been about anything.

A part of this problem is George Costigan’s performance as Philip the Bastard. An almost entirely invented character, Philip is probably (if anyone is) the real lead of the play, the only character who addresses the audience, and the character from whose perspective we are invited to see much of the action. Costigan gives an intelligent and extremely well spoken performance, but for me it’s too underpowered and calm. I don’t really get from him a sense of the charisma the part needs – there has to be a reason why kings and peers of the realm start to listen to this upstart Bastard, and I’m not sure that is explained. Similarly, the progress that Philip makes towards decency and patriotism (is there a nicer Bastard in Shakespeare?) doesn’t really become clear either. Philip is the main lens through which the audience sees the play, and when his journey seems hazy, so does the play.

Which brings us to the title character. Just like with John Cleese in Shrew, the BBC went against the expected choice by hiring an actor best known for sitcoms to play the tragic lead. The impact is slightly lost today, largely because Rossiter is less well known today than Cleese – no episodes of Rising Damp on Netflix! – but he gives a very good performance here as a John, a weasly mummy’s boy unable to make a decision, prone to the snide remark and glance but crucially lacking any ability to inspire confidence in others. So he takes a slightly pathetic delight in little victories – like clasping the King of France’s hand in a crucial diplomatic moment – but then looks total at a loss at a major moment, as his lords rebel. His lords show little respect for him – at one point Salisbury grasps him by the shoulder and John hardly reacts – and he constantly shuffles on his feet when talking and whines like a child, refusing at one point to acknowledge Philip until he has kissed his hand first. It’s a decent performance that seems very true to the historical man (and also quite good casting for Rossiter). It’s a real shame that this was Rossiter’s last ever performance, as he passed away between filming and transmission.

Rossiter gives us a firm centre for this production, but even he gets a bit lost in the dully handled speechifying that makes up most of the flat first half. A2 in particular seems to go on and on as more and more hot air covers the destiny of the crown, and the dark comedy of this offer and counter offer scene gets lost in the crush. It’s just not plain interesting enough for anyone to care – and there doesn’t seem to be enough tension or indeed anything really at stake during this long sequence. This then means that once things start to happen in A4, the audience doesn’t have a sense of tension exploding, or pay off from a build earlier. Instead, it remains a faithful but rather flat rendition of a weak play that takes the audience nowhere in particular.

Conclusion

A decent lead performance, and some impressive supporting performances, can’t make up for what remains a rather disappointing and empty production of one of Shakespeare’s weaker plays, that largely lacks real narrative thrust and never really feels like it is going anywhere. Instead, events continue until there are no more events, and material that could have real emotional impact instead meanders past, lost in dull debate and a few too many underpowered performances in crucial roles. Stylistically and filmically, it also doesn’t really work – too bright, too colourful, not visually inventive enough or done with enough dynamism. Disappointing.

NEXT TIME: Mike Gwilym sails the seven seas as Pericles.

Cymbeline (Series 6 Episode 1)

First transmitted 10th July 1983

Helen Mirren sleeps unaware of Robert Lindsay's presence

Cast: Helen Mirren (Imogen), Michael Pennington (Posthumus), Robert Lindsay (Iachimo), Richard Johnson (Cymbeline), Michael Gough (Belarius), Paul Jesson (Cloten), Claire Bloom (Queen), Graham Crowden (Caius Lucius), John Kane (Pisanio), Hugh Thomas (Cornelius), Geoffrey Lumsden (Philario), Geoffrey Burridge (Guiderius), David Creedon (Arviragus), Patricia Hayes (Soothsayer), Marius Goring (Sicilius Leonatus), Michael Hordern (Jupiter)
Director: Elijah Moshinsky

If you fancy an amusing few minutes, try sitting someone down and explaining the plot of Cymbeline to them. I guarantee, not only will you not be able to do it in less than 10-15 (long) sentences, but at the end of it the person you are describing it to will pull a face and say “What?”. Their second reaction will probably be “Perhaps I’ll give that one a miss then”. Which to be honest is probably a pretty fair reaction. Cymbeline is, to say the least, a bonkers, poorly structured play in which the words ‘problem’ or ‘obscure’, used often to describe its place in the Shakespeare canon, might as well be a euphemism for ‘bollocks’.

As a play it should really work – it’s practically a menage of all Shakespeare’s comedy plots featuring, as it does, lovers divided by a lie told by a bad man, a girl disguised as a boy, separated siblings, servants caught between loyalties, a distant father whose heart is softened by events etc. Throw in a few tropes from the tragedies – confusion over the death of a key character, a poison that is actually a sleeping draft, an uncaring central female figure, a battle that happens largely off-stage, an overcooked murder plan – and you end up with something that should be really entertaining, but is actually a bewildering mess.

Difficult to follow and to engage with (lacking both characters you can really invest in and a dynamic plot you can really get behind) it’s pretty hard not to come out of the play without a meh feeling. This feeling isn’t helped by this production of the play, which is possibly the driest and (whisper it) dullest of the series so far. It may well be a matter of personal taste, but what really strikes me about this film (particularly after the high-octane and dynamic history cycle) is how static and flat the camerawork is, with many scenes told with a simple single shot with minimal actor movement. This has often been the Moshinsky approach, with an approach heavily inspired by paintings – but this production lacks the visual strengths of All’s Well That Ends Well or the reinterpretative imagination of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

What it does offer is a rather cold and impersonal interpretation. Part of this is intentional – Britain is deliberately framed as a cold and wintery place, to contrast with a steamier Rome, but this chill hangs over the whole play with many of the performances themselves taken a softly-spoken, hard-faced approach that largely fails to engage the audience in the story and the emotions of the characters. Despite the supposed high-stakes for many of the characters (if you can work them out) there never seems to be any urgency or intensity behind the actions in the play. Instead the action plays out over a series of still, painterly images – you could watch much of this play in fast forward and have no trouble following the visual storytelling – with too many scenes delivered at a meditative, lingering pace. This is despite the efforts of an all-star cast, some of whom are only partly successful in getting any audience investment in their characters.

In fact the slow pace of this play is particularly striking, when you consider how much has been cut-out or rearranged by Moshinsky. Two scenes, both revolving around the Roman-Britain war (and sadly including the crucial battle scene) have been cut, along with several large speeches; and a number of scenes have ten or so lines trimmed from them, usually around the transition. In all, this is probably the most heavily cut production so far – which then makes the fact that the bloody thing still runs for almost three hours even more inexplicable. Now there are obvious reasons why some actors take their time – Robert Lindsay’s lingering appreciation of a sleeping Imogen does at least make sense character-wise – but too many scenes elsewhere are delivered without pace or urgency (Michael Pennington is particularly guilty of this). Combine this with the general coldness of the production and it makes it even harder to focus on the characters, while you worry about the numbing of your posterior.

Moshinsky does throw in a few flourishes, not all of which are completely successful. He gets a fair bit of play around using mirrors in conversations (the camera trains on one person, while the person they are talking to is seen in reflection in a mirror alongside them) although I’m not clear what this is supposed to contribute to interpretation, other than offering a neat visual trick. Similarly, a number of scenes are set around tables with characters lounging or sitting straight backed in chairs at the end of tables, behind tables, while the tables themselves host private discussions, formal negotiations, intense chess matches… Whether this is supposed to be some comment on the general themes in the play of an oppressive culture and a feeling of observation and spying trapping people in place, or just a neat echo of some of the Dutch masters (in particular Rembrandt), leaves me rather non-plussed though. The less said about super-imposed hawks duelling in the skies while Cloten and Guiderius fight to the death the better (terrible memories of Winter’s Tale’s Bear come storming back).

The sequence that works by far the best is Iachimo’s lecherous observation of the sleeping Imogen. Not only does Robert Lindsay land his performance just the right side of over-zealous panting pervert, but the camerawork adds a sensual steaminess and illicit naughtiness to the scene, as it gets in close to Iachimo looming (topless) over Imogen, the camera finally moving position to roam with Iachimo over the room and body. The glowing yellow light over the scene helps add in this sense of twisted eroticism. Moshinsky then effectively mirrors the scene later (this time replaying the scene as nightmare) with Imogen awaking with Cloten’s headless body, the camerawork being remarkably similar (starting with the same shot) and following Imogen’s inspection of Cloten’s corpse (which for reasons too obscure to explain she believes to be that of Posthumus) her heart-broken tenderness and trauma contrasted with Iachimo’s earlier lip-smacking enjoyment. They are two sequences that do offer something new – and do make a clear link between the two scenes, centering Imogen’s experience and helping to turn the atmosphere of this bizarre play into something resembling a twisted dream by its heroine.

But it still doesn’t redeem the production, which is cursed with less than completely successful performances in crucial roles. Michael Pennington, an intelligent and profound actor, does everything he can with Posthumus but plays the part so straight laced, brooding and with a dark intensity that not only do you find it hard to interest yourself in the part, it’s even a little unclear at several points what emotion he is going for (his A5 S1 speech is a perfect example of this – the growth of his guilt is rather hard to make out unless you actually read along with what he is saying). Helen Mirren really does her best with, in truth, a rather ropey role as Imogen, a character who keeps threatening to burst into life as a true heroine but consistently fails to do so. Mirren gives her a great deal of dignity and moral force, but also shades it with a hint of corruption – she is clearly tempted briefly by Iachimo – and far from a doormat, she explodes with anger at first when Pisano reveals Posthumus’ suspicious of her conduct, before a melodramatic pleading for death. Her later pain when she believes him killed is moving. But she hasn’t much to work with. Robert Lindsay excels in the bedroom scene as Iachimo, but outside of that offers little other than scowls and leers like a low-rent Iago.

Richard Johnson makes some small impact as gruff, bear-like Cymbeline – in fact his reading is enjoyable enough that it hammers home how little he is in the play. Claire Bloom does her best with the one-dimensional Queen (famously described as so thinly sketched she doesn’t even merit a name), although her brooding under-playing and softly spoken scheming does detract from her position as the play’s villain. Hugh Thomas’ Cornelius makes a good impression as an observant and arch doctor and Michael Horden and Marius Goring pop up for some stirring Shakespearean style cameos as the God Jupiter and a Ghost respectively (don’t even ask). Graham Crowden makes a nice impression as Luscius while John Kane does some sterling work as the loyal Pisanio. Geoffrey Burridge and David Creedon, however, make little or no impression as Guiderius and Arviragus (two characters so loosely defined by Shakespeare that I can’t really tell them apart).

The best performances though come from Paul Jesson and Michael Gough. Jesson adds a lovely comic touch as the arrogant, campy and self-obsessed Cloten, his pomposity and grandiosity forever undermined by a rhoticism. Constantly seen preening himself, out of his depth in the real world and a hopelessly incompetent wooer and fighter, he lights up a number of scenes by bringing a real comic energy and engagement to the production. At the other end of the scale, Michael Gough’s Belarius is not only brilliantly spoken but Gough brings a world-weary, pained expression to all his delivery, with hints of guilt at his stealing of Cymbeline’s sons, matched with a touch of anger at his betrayal. Of all the characters with sustained speeches, it’s his that really capture the imagination and Gough is the one who creates a character that feels real, with genuine emotions and motivations and a feeling of an internal life. It’s a performance that actually deserves to sit in a better play, never mind production – what would he have done with a Malvolio, Polonius or Gloucester? A real shame that this was his only outing in the series.

These good touches however are few and far between in what is a desperately disappointing production, dry, dull and flat and largely not worth the three hours of your time. After the history cycle it also seems a chronic step back, lacking in visual and filmic ambition. After the work Moshinsky had done on previous productions I expected a lot better of this production. Part of that though I am willing to chalk up to the play itself, up there now with Merry Wives as perhaps one of the worst (and certainly hardest to perform) in the canon. A lot of people claim that there are a number of parallels between the events in this play and the life of Edward de Vere, making it a strong part of the argument that the Earl wrote the plays. Well, as far as I’m concerned, he can have this one.

Conclusion

The play itself is a mess, but that doesn’t excuse what is a rather flat, dull and boring production, slow paced and generally lacking creative imagination or visual interest. With a cold and dry mood and an overwhelming running time, there isn’t much to grab the viewer’s interest, let alone keep it. Pity poor Helen Mirren that two out of three of her offerings were this and the appalling As You Like It. Not one for the desert island.

Hamlet (Series 2 Episode 6)

First Transmitted 25th May 1980

Derek Jacobi climbs one of the literary summits of the world in Hamlet

Cast: Derek Jacobi (Hamlet), Patrick Stewart (Claudius), Claire Bloom (Gertrude), Eric Porter (Polonius), Lalla Ward (Ophelia), David Robb (Laertes), Patrick Allen (Ghost), Robert Swann (Horatio), Jonathan Hyde (Rosencrantz), Geoffrey Bateman (Guildenstern), Emrys James (Player King), Ian Charleson (Fortinbras), Tim Wylton (First Gravedigger), Peter Benson (Second Gravedigger), Paul Humpoletz (Marcellus), Jason Kemp (Player Queen), Geoffrey Beevers (Player/Lucianus), Peter Gale (Osric)

Director: Rodney Bennett

 

For his final production, producer Cedric Messina presented the most famous play of all time: Hamlet. His vision of Shakespeare was always sharply traditional with a focus on clarity, clearness and faithfulness with an aversion for invention and interpretative daring. So the real tragedy of Hamlet is that this most deep, complex and searching of works is strait jacketed here, with little real aim beyond capturing a ‘complete’ version of the play on screen.

 

Which is what you get: an almost complete reading of the play (there are no more than a dozen small cuts at most) with the characters and events interpreted more-or-less as you might expect. Characters circle around each other, communicating but not truly interacting. The play rolls gently from set-piece to set-piece, with Jacobi’s soliloquies hammered into the ground like milestones for the viewer to pace themselves to (however wonderfully they are performed). There is nothing unique or truly interesting here – if you’ve seen a couple of Hamlets you’ve probably seen every idea there is in this film. Combine this with the play’s bum-numbing length (I had to watch it in about four shifts) and there isn’t much here to tempt a viewer back for repeated viewings.

 

The focus here is firmly on the language of each scene, to the detriment of action, emotion and (of course) interpretation. This is not always a bad thing: if you want a chance to simply listen and think about the play, this might well be the production for you. I certainly enjoyed reflecting on the depths of Shakespeare’s writing – the six pages of thoughts and reflections I made about this production are a tribute to the intelligence of Jacobi and his fellow actors. But without drama there is a lack of engagement. If the production places the whole play on screen as an act of intellectual taxidermy what is there for me to invest in? Put it another way: would you rather see the stuffed animals in Natural History Museum or real ones at London Zoo?

 

Director Bennett originally wanted to film on location – an option vetoed after As You Like It. Instead the first truly impressionistic set we’ve seen so far in the series is created. The basic location is a sort of cyclorama, a bare blue oval into which are dropped various walls, perspective tricks, tables, graves and thrones to create different locations. It’s an attempt to bring theatricality to television once again, but much more successfully and consistently than in Henry V. And it pretty much works. It’s also the first production to use incidental music to develop mood. What music can do, when it’s used well, is to add texture and depth to film – and it’s used very well here, unobtrusively placed and used to particular effect at the end of Act 1 to underscore Hamlet’s encounter with the Ghost.

 

But the filming here is largely safe and straight forward. There is some neat editing in A3 S4 where different angles are used to show the different perspectives of Hamlet and Gertrude during the Ghost’s second visit (making it clear that Gertrude sees nothing). There has been a bit of ribbing of the Ghost’s appearance, like a fluorescent Jacob Marley, but it does give him an unworldly feeling. Typically, any interesting interpretative questioning of the Ghost’s faithfulness (or Hamlet’s relationship with what must have been a distant and imposing father) is ignored, although an interesting comparison is made between his overbearing browbeating of Hamlet and Polonius’ bullying of Ophelia one scene earlier, with similar angles and shots used.

 

But to really talk about a production of Hamlet you need to get down to the actor playing him. Messina went all out to get the biggest name he could get and secured the man who seemed to have spent most of the 1970s playing Hamlet all over the world. So, if nothing else, this film should be noted for recording one of the great Hamlets of the twentieth century for posterity. I feel (and this is a personal thing here) that this production allows you to see what a brilliantly cerebral actor Derek Jacobi is. Jacobi successfully plays Hamlet as an exceptional, deep thinking genius in a performance that is notable for its low-key, softly-spoken nature.

 

From his first lines the sharpness of his intelligence are clear, as he addresses Claudius in A1 S2 with a scruffy, hands-in-pockets contempt. His introspection has only been heightened by great sadness at his father’s death (crucially not despair), and you can feel a bookish gentleness to him. He’s a reserved man, close to only a few. He’s not an avenging angel. Like all performances, certain lines ring out, and when hearing of the Ghost the key phrase Jacobi embraces is “it troubles me” – his unease at the implications for him of the Ghost are plain. He may suspect Claudius – and his reaction to the Ghost’s story makes clear he does – but he’s not comfortable with the obligation of revenge.

 

Throughout, Jacobi explores the impact of this news on him, specifically the idea of how far Hamlet’s madness trickles over from pretence into reality. As an actor, Jacobi is willing to go quite far – after the departure of the Ghost, he howls and literally beats himself in fury, a frantic disposition quite alien from the opening scenes. His feigning has a gentle, open-mouthed simplicity to it but there is a hint under the surface of a wildness that has been activated in him. During his “rogue and peasant slave” speech he deliberately takes on the character of a man raging for revenge, either side of a more reflective nature – Jacobi even points up the ‘acting‘ Hamlet is doing, by stopping the speech and looking quizzically at his sword, as if unaware of what it is for.

 

But this is still a Hamlet energetic enough to do what it needs to get the truth. Jacobi takes over the play performance in A3 S2, pushing aside the players to act out the tragedy himself, Hamlet challenging Claudius directly – making it clear to the man he knows the truth and challenging him t make the next move. His maniac laughter and nonsense singing after the performance however suggest a looser grip on sanity – a feeling that continues throughout A3 S4 where it seems ambiguous as to whether his callous disregard for Polonius’ death and savage physical assault (including miming sex) on his mother stem from controlled rage or mania.

 

But Jacobi, like Shakespeare, is smarter than that – he knows madness is not only about running around shouting. From A3 S2 Hamlet is oddly disconnected (other than with Horatio). In A4 S1 he confronts Claudius with an eerie calmness. His “to be or not to be” speech may be a sharp intellectual meditation (and Jacobi does it very well) but it also has unsettling notes of suicidal peace and playful joy. By A4 S3 he seems almost psychotic, calmly talking about plans of murder. It’s a clear the Ghost has turned Hamlet from a reserved intellectual to a suicidal depressive with bouts of mania who, by the end of the play, has disconnected himself from all joy and lightness in the world and seems engaged only by death. And if that’s not a type of madness, I don’t know what is.

 

That’s a lot on one performance – but there is a lot there to analyse. Jacobi does a terrific job of bringing it to life, exploring the myriad ideas and debates behind him. If there is one thing missing, though, it’s heart. Ophelia is worthy of a few tears – at both her betrayal and death – and his closeness with Horatio has an almost homoerotic frisson, but neither really moved me as a viewer. I didn’t get the sense of emotion – and this is part of what I was saying earlier. It’s a production where ideas are triumphant over emotions, where characters talk but don’t interact. It’s brilliant (more accomplished than other filmed Hamlets), but it’s harder to love.

 

Many of the supporting performances are mixed. For me, Lalla Ward just doesn’t have the range for Ophelia. It’s a difficult part, but her performance is too weak and simpering, lacking in depth – it’s never clear why Hamlet is interested in her; it’s easy for a viewer to tune her out. I was also disappointed by David Robb’s Laertes. His Laertes doesn’t quite work – he has a patrician charisma, he’d make a very good Orsino but not a great Laertes. It’s hard not to see an actor as exciting as Ian Charleson wasted as Fortinbras and wishing they had swopped roles. Robert Swann makes very little of Horatio (though to be fair I’ve seen very few actors manage to make much of what must be the dullest role in all the great tragedies).

 

Eric Porter’s Polonius seems trapped between interpretative stools. There is a clear jump between A1 and A2 in how his character is portrayed, moving from an overbearing and controlling father to a more muddled old man, struggling to keep up with Hamlet. It’s a switch I found a little jarring, as if there had been a tug-of-war over interpretation and we had been left with a compromise performance as a result. Honourable mentions must go to Emrys James’ excellent Player King and Tim Wylton’s gravedigger (Wylton makes more impact in five minutes here than he did in three hours of Henry V).

 

Claire Bloom is the only cast member (including Jacobi) who speaks to the heart. She clearly has a genuine love for her son – though is not averse to slapping him in A3 S4 – and her breakdown into guilt and regret in A3 S4 is one of the best I’ve seen done. It’s a scene that clearly hangs over her and affects all her actions from that point on – you can see it in her growing distance from Claudius but also in the living death Bloom manages to show behind her eyes from that point on. It’s as good as her work on Henry VIII.

 

Patrick Stewart’s Claudius I found interesting, largely because it is very similar in tone and interpretation to the performance he would go on to give to almost universal acclaim in the David Tennant production 30 years later. Stewart’s Claudius is a cold politician, smiling and smiling but always a villain. He’s clearly a competent ruler but is playing the honest Joe to everyone while being deeply corrupt. Stewart throws in an interesting ending with Claudius, stressing at several points the character’s hatred and contempt for Hamlet – the tension between them in A3 S2 sizzles. Stewart plays him as a man obsessed with destroying Hamlet – even laughing when Hamlet murders him, as if overjoyed to have trapped him into committing open treason. But it’s a safe performance, helped by his undeniable charisma. Watch the Tennant Hamlet and you will see a great Claudius, one of the best on film.

 

Reading back through this review, Hamlet-like, I cannot decide if I have been either too harsh or too easy-going on this production. It’s trying its best, but it has no heart and it falls between too many stools. It feels like a mixture of intellectual exercise and faithful Xeroxing of the text. There is stuff here to admire and, whatever its flaws, Derek Jacobi’s performance simply has to be seen for anyone interested in this play. But I’m not sure there is enough here to come back to – certainly nothing in the bits he isn’t in. And in a world where we have so many filmed Hamlets it’s hard to see anyone rushing back to this one when they have a choice of Olivier’s, Branagh’s, Gibson’s, Tennant’s, Hawkes’, Kozintsev’s or Williamson’s.

 

Conclusion

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. That probably sums up what’s missing from a production that I looked upon if anything with a countenance more in sorrow than in anger. You won’t find your tongue full of praise for it. Jacobi is brilliant, but the rest just doesn’t quite cut it.

NEXT TIME: We move into the reign of Jonathan Miller with John Cleese casting his mission statement in The Taming of the Shrew.