By Karl Quinn
Published the week of May 20-26
This is the definitive Hamlet, the complete four-hour version, filmed and screened in 70mm. While it's big on spectacle, names and atmosphere, it's also big on hysteria, self-glorification and ego - all from that man Kenneth Branagh.
The play itself is familiar enough, even to audiences who saw Zefferelli's version starring Mel Gibson six years ago. Hamlet (Branagh) is a dispirited Danish prince visited by the ghost of his recently departed father (Brian Blessed), who informs him that the rotten thing in the state of Denmark is his brother Claudius (Derek Jacobi). According to the ghost, Hamlet's uncle killed him then married his wife Gertrude (Julie Christie) all in order to gain the crown. The ghost asks Hamlet to exact revenge, but Hamlet chooses to pretend to go mad instead, and just about everyone dies, including his lover, Ophelia (Kate Winslet), as a result.
To create a spectacle, Branagh has set the film in 19th Century Denmark, and has created a rich, colorful and lavish look. This is most evident in the costumes and the overblown State Room, tiled in black and white squares and lined with gilt framed mirrors. In fact the whole film has such a stylish appearance, it's easy to get sidetracked by these trappings. And there's the rub, because Branagh gets all this so right. His direction of the film, with a few exceptions, such as a giddying revolving camera and some obvious theatricality in the key speeches, is wonderful.
The cast, which also includes cameos from Gerard Depardieu, Robin Williams, Jack Lemmon, Judi Dench and Billy Crystal, is wonderful. If only Branagh's own performance was so accomplished. Not that young Ken doesn't know how to act in Shakespeare - he's more than able - but his interpretation of the character of Hamlet is hard to watch. He seems to be endlessly hysterical, blustering over the character's inaction with lots of shouting and spitting, and the emphasis is more on Hamlet as hero rather than Hamlet as ineffective tragic git.
Branagh is far too kind of himself in the film, making sure he looks
attractive with his blonded hair and slimming black outfits; and liking
the sound of his own voice too much. It seems that this once modest filmmaker-cum-actor
who has done marvelous work - Henry V in particular - has fallen foul of
his own ego. His Hamlet is a grandiose, but ultimately self-serving, film.