Hamlet is without a doubt the most opulent, extravagant film ever made from a Shakespearean play. Director and star Kenneth Branagh chose to shoot it in widescreen, 70-mm Technicolor (allowing for much sharper resolution than the standard 35 mm). Banishing the usual medieval gloom, he has shifted the setting to the 19th century and staged it on a series of lavish sets -- the main hall of Elsinore Castle is a stunning showpiece of gilt and mirrors, its vast floor checkered with 7,500 hand-painted black-and-white tiles. For the exteriors, he had the grounds of Britain's Blenheim Palace blanketed with 180 acres of artificial snow -- more than for any film in history, including Dr. Zhivago.
Visually, this Hamlet is decadently sumptuous. But the film is also unwieldy and uneven. Things get off to a rocky start with Jack Lemmon popping up as the guard Marcellus. He seems absurdly out of place. Then, during Hamlet's midnight encounter with his father's ghost, as cheesy effects show the earth cracking open and erupting with fireballs, it looks as if Branagh is suddenly remaking his Frankenstein movie.
But the play's juiciest scenes -- Hamlet's display of "antic disposition," his cruelty to Ophelia, his diabolical mounting of the play-within-the-play, the climactic sword fight -- all work beautifully. And behind the razzmatazz of the production, Branagh is terrifically compelling in this, the most daunting of roles. His Hamlet bristles with energy, intelligence and razor sarcasm. He has no lack of ego: his soliloquys tend to escalate into bombastic tirades -- heavy-metal solos of iambic pentameter. But, as always, Branagh seems hugely at home in the language, tearing into it with a carnivorous passion.
Meanwhile, he has assembed a sensational cast. A crisply malevolent Derek Jacobi gives a perfect performance as Claudius. Aging beauty Julie Christie is eerily well cast as Gertrude. Richard Briers brings a shrewd intelligence to the usually buffoon-like Polonius. And Kate Winslet finds the right note of fragile emotion for Ophelia. Jack Lemmon notwithstanding, even the Hollywood stars acquit themselves with dignity. Charlton Hestion's pomposity makes him eminently suited for the role of the Player King. Billy Crystal makes an incongruous gravedigger, but his comic timing hits the spot. And Robin Williams is well contained in an amusing cameo as Osric, his eyes twinkling behind a mask of buttonchop whiskers.
Branagh's Hamlet is flashy and too eager to please. At four hours, it sags under its own weight. Still, it is a triumphant feat, and well worth seeing -- although some may prefer to wait for a much shorter version that Branagh has prepared for broader release next year.
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