Ophelia's brother Laertes is usually considered to be an Angry Young Man. But since this label has been commandeered by Walken's Hamlet. Chris Sarandon's Laertes has chosen to take on Hamlet's customary poetic sensibility. Sarandon displays the vocal virtues that were evident in his Prince Hal a few weeks ago. His Laertes is beautifully spoken, with plenty of variety and modulation. Yet he can summon up power when demanding of the King where his father Polonius is (even threateningly laying a sword on the King's shoulder), or when voicing his eagerness to engage Hamlet in combat. This is an unorthodox Laertes, but Sarandon has the skills to make it work. I could not help thinking how this production would have been improved if Walken and Sarandon had exchanged roles.
Roy doctrine has wisely found more in Poloniua than a silly buffoon When he talks Laertes eats off with a string of maxims for living, this bespectacled pedant warns against dressing gaudily and rips a pendant from around his son's neck. As he presses on with his list, we see Ophelia, sitting at his feet, silently mouthing the words along with him, having obviously heard the advice a dozen times; Polonius notices the mockery and gives her a playful cuff. Doctrice also doubles amusingly as the First Gracedigger.
On this very stage in year past, Fred Gwynne '51 was unforgettable at the Stage Manager in Our Term and Big The Ref. and also managed a couple of Shakespeare's eccentrics. But the major serious role of King Claudius is beyond him. Above the level of mezzo-piano his voice takes on an unpleasant ring. And he falls to imbuse the King with sufficient intelligence and efficiency. It is strange, too, that a man who has murdered his way to the throne and is hanging onto it for dear life never once appears with a crown on his head. At the end, however, his indulges in a fresh bit of business: instead of being stabbed with Hamlet's poisoned rapier, he tries to seize the weapon and fatally cuts himself in the tussle. Once again, I wish Gwynne and Dotrice had swapped assignments.
In the first half of the play, Lisabeth Bartlett is an appealing Ophelia. But when the maiden loses her wits, she rises to heartrending heights, even thinking that Horatio is her beloved Hamlet. Her final two appearances are strong, violent, and above all inventive; they constitute, quite simply, the best Mad Ophelia I have ever seen.
As the loyal Horatio, Stephen Lang is, like his two immediate predecessors on these boards, passable but bland--a far cry from the exemplary Horatio that Earle Hyman gave us here in 1958. In a traditional doubling, Michael Allinson is effective both as the possibly angelic, possibly diabolic Ghost (supported by amplified heartbeats) and as the First Player. Coe has solved the seeming redundancy of the dumb-show and play-within-a-play by conflating the two. While some of the brightly-garbed troupe of thespians mime the action, the First and Second Players forgo reciting their lines in favor of singing them with harp and guitar accompaniment (original music courtesy of Joe Griffiths).
In the last analysis, no congeries of ancillary virtues can salvage a production of the world's most celebrated play if its titular hero, with 40 percent of the lines, does not enlist our sympathy until the final five minutes.
[The AST introduction of 'Hamlet' is scheduled to continue in Stratford through Sept. 5. The drive to the AST grounds on the Housatonto River takes about two and three-quarters hours at legal speeds, via the Massachusetts Turnpike. Interstate 86 and 91, and the Connecticut Turnpike to Exit 32 or 31. Performances in the air-conditioned theater tend to start promptly at the designated hour. There are facilities for picnickers on the premises, and four minstrels sing and play on the lawn a half hour before curtain.]