"Hamlet". Denis Arnold Hall, Faculty of Music. Review by Josephine Stern

The last time I saw a production of Hamlet, I spent a long evening at the Almeida Theatre in the presence of Andrew Scott. He had meandered seamlessly between fits of emphatic rage and brazen tears in a spine-tingling, if at points gruelling, four-hour stint. Hamlet is Shakespeare’s longest play; Robert Icke did not let me forget this on that evening in 2017. 

Director Seb Carrington’s adaptation, however, does not succumb to this challenge. From the moment I was greeted with the titular character strapped into a chair in the centre of the rather stifling Denis Arnold Hall – decked out in a straitjacket of sorts – right to his grisly end, I was left both relieved and impressed at the tight production. No discrete glances to the time to be had here. On the contrary, the audience feels immersed in a delightfully ambiguous world that feels at once familiar and enigmatic. 

Carrington had an ambitious vision for taking on the Everest of Shakespeare’s plays. It was to be a bold, high-octane adaptation, placing an analysis of the leading role at the forefront. ‘Bisonification’ – a fascinating sonic art form I was not familiar with, whereby electric signals in plants are transcribed to audible notes – was also to be integral as a metaphor for decay. Moreover, the actors are meant to be laid bare to the scrutiny of the audience, with no arbitrary or contrived gimmicks that dilute the extremes of human nature in sight.

The lofty objective set out was to some extent met, and at times gloriously so. 

There was no doubt in the interrogatory staging that the audience was to pore over Hamlet’s descent, and this was rightly the focal point of the play – the immense, ranting soliloquies were granted deserved attention to detail. The subtle humming reverb of the so-called ‘bisonification’ that soundtracks the production is greatly appreciated; it is a study in communicating the thrilling anxiety and sense of rotting conscience that underscores the whole tragedy. 

Hamlet lends itself generously to an ultra-contemporary adaptation, and Carrington ensures to make good use of this. A lot was promised in the first scenes: high-intensity strobe lighting, by no means for the faint-hearted; modern dress to the max in the white lab coats adorned by Marcellus (Cameron Spruce), Francisco (Jess Phillips), and Bernardo (Camille Branch); and an elusive hand-held microphone introduced with Timothy Blackburn’s commendably shallow, suit-wearing, politician-like take on Claudius. Perhaps slightly too much was promised, as the first half of the play suffers somewhat from an overactive imagination. The attention-grabbing lighting choice in the beginning, for example, would benefit from being followed through more judiciously, and if there was a method behind the madness of the use of the microphone, it admittedly eluded me. 

Carrington’s adaptation of Hamlet is a lot, but Hamlet is, by all accounts, a lot. The disorder which drives its existential uncertainty and internal conflict is, in some ways, a perfect match for the elaborate direction taken. 

Gilon Fox as Hamlet is unapologetically the standout of Seabass Theatre’s adaptation. He does not miss a note throughout the play; his fantastic subtlety and unwavering grip on the titular character’s conscience is a thrill to behold.

A particularly astute moment is in Act 3, Scene 3, wherein Hamlet comes close to killing his uncle. An eerie stream of white light in any otherwise blackened stage that hits the titular character’s maddened glare does wonders for Fox’s mastery of facial expression, as Blackburn stews well in his hollow guilt. Another noteworthy instance is the scene immediately after – Maia Pendower as Gertrude is wonderfully shrewd as she is confronted head-on with her complicity. Caeli Coolgan too must be celebrated for her portrayal of Laertes; especially given her being a fairly last-minute addition, she delivers a commanding and formidable performance.

Cameron Spruce is a marvel as Polonius, especially good during the play-within-a-play scene when he feigns forgetting his lines to emulate the character’s verbosity with an amusing pregnant pause. The play-within-a-play in itself is a theatrical juggernaut to pull off. Here, it is approached with poise and consideration, enchanting even if an underlying concept was lost on me.  

I am sure this will not be the last Hamlet I will see across my three years at Oxford; it is the enduring relevance and limitless complexity that the play offers in great measure that means there will never be a conclusive “right” way to perform it. It was a pleasure for my first of, I am sure, many attendances of the tragedy to be Carrington’s passionate and brave take.