Writer: William Shakespeare
Director: Robert Hastie
The first thing you notice about Robert Hastie’s new version of Hamlet for the National’s Lyttelton Theatre is Ben Stones’s set. The night watchmen are patrolling not the battlements of Elsinore, but an enormous state room, their torch beams affording glimpses of tables set for the forthcoming reception after Queen Gertrude marries her dead husband’s brother, Claudius, during which he will be crowned king.
The walls of the state room are lined with a huge fresco adorned with pastoral and battle scenes through the ages, symbolising perhaps the pertinence of Shakespeare’s tragic tale through the ages.
The setting makes the appearance of the ghost – illuminated in a beam of light, then gone as soon as he arrived – all the more dramatic, and also affords us an introduction to Tessa Wong’s Horatio. Her portrayal is cocksure and unbelieving at first, then thoroughly spooked. Her character never quite has the same impact again, which is a shame.
That cannot be said for much of the rest of the case. Hiran Abeyesekera’s Hamlet is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, quite happy to pause the action on stage while he seems to extemporise his character’s great soliloquies to the audience. There is little pomp given to the character’s best-known lines; it is the meaning that Hamlet is constantly striving for that is essential, not the wherewithal of getting there.
Beside him, Francesca Mills burns fire as Ophelia. In her opening scenes, she is a fully headstrong, witty, and charming party guest, loving her brother Laertes and father Polonius enough to listen to them as they advise her on how she should behave, yet rolling her eyes behind their backs. It is such a delightful, spirited performance that Hamlet’s rejection of her lands differently than usual. That’s from both sides: Abeyesekera’s delivery of “get thee to a nunnery” comes across less as an expulsion from his sight and more as well-meant advice, an eagerness to protect her from the world of men of which he is but a part.
Where Abeyesekera is flighty, unpredictable and therefore dangerous, Alastair Petrie’s Claudius instead finds his power in imperious stillness. This is a role that always deserves to be played as if he is the hero, and all around him are in his way; Hastie and Petrie both understand the character well enough to deliver.
Ayesha Dharker’s Gertrude, caught between these two electric performances, struggles to meet them on such terms. It is a performance that feels much more as if it is going through the motions. That does change in Act II, as a distrustful Gertrude clings to the walls of the state room rather than stand directly beside her husband, but there is more to be done with the role that can be done here.
The same cannot be said for Geoffrey Streatfeild’s superbly played Polonius. Portrayed as younger than the role has traditionally been cast, his character’s loquaciousness comes across as a nervous tic from a man who seems afraid of ever finishing a thought. Tom Glenister’s Laertes, comprising the final third of the family, appears flatter in comparison to his father and daughter, allowing his stoicism to contrast with the extremes of his other family members.
And just as Mills delights with her confident, likeable Ophelia in Act I, her decline is also all too recognisably captured. The original strength always threatens to break through, only to be consumed again by immeasurable grief at the loss of her father by Hamlet’s hand.
It is a more convincing, more emotional descent into mental ill health than Hamlet’s own. The fervid nature of Abeyesekera’s earlier characterisation makes it harder for his later behaviour to have anywhere to go. Instead, he feels propelled along by the rest of the cast.
Straddling the interval, Stone’s set design turns into a lush, velvet-draped theatre for the travelling players, led by Siobhán Redmond. Their Death of Gonzago – microphones, plastic chairs, plywood flats, dousing characters in pots of blood – is a fun, sly nod to the likes of Jamie Lloyd.
Indeed, throughout, you get the sense that Hastie and his team are having a ball. As Polonius tells us, plays can be tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, or tragical-comical-historical-pastoral. Like all the best versions of the tale, this production of Hamlet manages to fit into each one of those boxes. Will it go down as an all-time classic interpretation? Possibly not. But it delivers with a lot of grace and style, making it an enjoyable pleasure.
Runs until 22 November 2025
