A Pared Down Hamlet Only Packs a Stronger Punch

I attended the Red Theater’s production of Hamlet with a special excitement: my partner, named Hamlet in real life, came with me. It was his first-ever live production of Hamlet. I’m happy to say, Hamlet exceeded Hamlet’s expectations.

The production opens on a stark stage-in-the-round, painted black, with a red design reminiscent of a target. A young person sits in the center, headphones on, going through an old family album. As the lights dim, the young person stands, removes the headphones (cutting off the song we were all hearing) and leaves the stage, one photo tucked in a back pocket.

With that moment, you are reminded that Hamlet is a story of a young man whose family has disintegrated and re-formed while he was away at school. A young man who’s entire understanding of the world and his place in it, has shattered.

The opening guard scene sets the visual tone for the whole production: costume designer Madeline Felauerp’s guards are dressed in a suggestion of armor, rather than actual armor. In fact, all the costumes feel like suggestions – as if Felauer is pointing us in the direction of the role each character plays but leaving the details to the imagination. It was the perfect choice for the spare setting. Jeff-nominated director Wyatt Kent made a significant and powerful decision with the entire presentation, as it goes without any major sets and only the most necessary of props: a few chairs, moved about as needed, swords, a cup to drink from, a book. Even Ophelia’s infamous herbs and flowers are imaginary. Rosemary is not just for remembrance, it is only remembered, a figment of her imagination and ours.

As the story, over 400 years old and so baked into our culture that it has achieved a ritualistic feel, unfolds before us, the stage, prop and costume choices leave the cast all the room they need to explore the deeper, emotional truths that Shakespeare’s words unlock. And what a cast this is. Collectively they speak and move with a familiarity and comfort that makes the 400+ year old lines feel natural and expected. They shout and mumble and laugh and pause and cry with none of the stilted reverence that can infect a less prepared and less studied actor. It is one of Shakespeare’s strengths that even the smaller roles have moments to shine, and this cast in particularly made that obvious. Each character felt like a real person, with a whole life lived offstage.

Harrison Lampert as Rosencrantz and Mary Townsend Cahoon as Guildenstern make a strong impression as a quirky, ambiguous odd couple. Reginald Hemphill’s Horatio has a warmth, solidity and humor that infuses every scene he is in. Josh Razavi’s Gravedigger is the sort of weird, funny guy you’d like to have a beer with.

I was particularly struck by Ian Maryfield as Laertes and Julia Rowley as Ophelia. Laertes is a difficult role, because he’s a pivotal character for the plot, but spends most of the play offstage. Ophelia is nearly always memorable, but she often comes across as a delicate, weak-minded little thing who dissolves easily into madness. Rowley’s Ophelia is a mischievous, spunky young woman who dearly loves her slightly silly, but well-intentioned father, (Zach Bloomfield) Polonius, and who is trying to what is right and expected of a young woman of her station, while still yearning for something more. Maryfield and Rowley manage to portray a loving, boisterous sibling bond that is palpable from the moment they are onstage together. So much so, that they become the beating heart of the production: it is their family, their lives, their love that is most destroyed by Hamlet’s choices.

That family bond mirrors what Hamlet thought he had, and rather thoughtlessly destroys. Ashley Fox’s Hamlet is a privileged young man, driven nearly hysterical by grief and injustice. Fox careens from self-reflective to anguished, from calculating to impulsive with dizzying speed. Her performance is a reminder of just how young and spoiled Hamlet is. His choices are centered on his own grief, his own self-righteousness, with very little room left for awareness of what those choices do to the less powerful people around him, including his mother, Polonius and his family, and his friends. Revenge against his Uncle Claudius (Robert Koon has the voice and stature for any classic king) is all Hamlet can see.

One aspect of a work like Hamlet is that it changes as the audience and culture changes. What struck me as the tragedy moves through its inevitable conclusion, is that Hamlet is a story of how the choices of the powerful can unintentionally destroy the lives of those below them. Fox’s Hamlet uses Ophelia in a way that only an oblivious young man can: as if she will be available to him when he wants, and retreat from view when he has no use for her. His mother’s choices are condemned, but never questioned. Kelly Levander’s Gertrude seems completely unaware that her husband, Robert Koon as Claudius, is a murderer. It suggests that perhaps she made the best choice she could for her safety and that of her son, given the circumstances. Levander’s portrayal is slightly aloof, as if she has spent her life avoiding any real reflection, concentrating on whatever will keep her and her son physically cared for, but not necessarily fulfilled.

Director Wyatt Kent’s choices to let the language and the actors do all the heavy lifting shines in many of the most human and relatable scenes of the play: in Hamlet’s famous instructions to the players, he is a self-important dilettante, Tulsi’s slightly modified and very sarcastic reply got a big laugh. Polonius’s long-winded and paradoxical advice to his children while they giggled and squirmed felt like a snapshot of every family with teenagers everywhere. It all came into stark relief in the final scene. It is often played so histrionically and the developments so ridiculous that it can be hard to feel the weight of the tragedy.

This time, Laertes’ ultimate regret for his choices is palpable. Hamlet’s rage and grief come to a head in a way that feels inevitable – and his final moments of life display a maturity that would have served him well, had he survived. Even Gertrude, an often-hated character, feels like a victim of circumstance, rather than an unrepentant adulteress.

Art, like sharks, dies if it stops moving. By embracing Hamlet without getting tripped up on a static reverence for the original text or the expected staging choices, Kent’s direction, with no distractions, special effects or extravagant sets, allowed Shakespeare’s words and a talented cast to invite their audience to laugh, cry and empathize with the timeless, universal experience of being human.