Chest hair. It all seems to boil down to chest hair. Kenneth Branagh set out on an audacious path when he decided to make his own film version of Hamlet, and the result is a film that is overall well-crafted and compelling. But this masterpiece, which Branagh directed, starred in and "wrote" himself, is often shot through with several glaring inconsistencies that take away from the power of the melodrama he has obviously worked hard to create.

Branagh sets the play in a pre-World-War-I era, apparently for no reason other than novelty. As all Hamlet-o-philes know, the story begins with the sighting of King Hamlet's ghost by Horatio (Nicholas Ferrell), Marcellus (Jack Lemmon '47) and Barnardo (Ian McElhinney). Here Bismarck-style hats poised atop the head of an improbably cast Marcellus steal a scene intended to prepare the audience for the play's mood of ranting and revenge. But to the audience's consternation, the period so over-emphasized early on plays a minor or non-existent role later in the movie's action.

When Branagh does use the period costumes to some effect, his motivation is questionable and questionably hairy. Hamlet, played by Branagh himself, wears black throughout, coupled with a lengthy trench-coat and cape for dramatic effect -- a trick already employed in his not-so-classic redux of Frankenstein. Nevertheless, Hamlet often also dons a white poet shirt, baggy enough to shift the audience's focus in several lengthy scenes to Branagh's chest hair.

Even in the final fencing scene between Laertes and Hamlet, a fencing vest is worn featuring fake pecs and six-packs that would make Batman jealous. Later, Branagh's vest is removed to uncover a skin-tight tank top, revealing, of course, Branagh's chest hair. Not only does Branagh seem to wish desperately that he be immediately lauded as sex symbol of the decade, but he also employs some heavy-handed Christ imagery when he is carried out after Fortinbras' coronation. Branagh seems to be going for much more than an Oscar here.

Unable to decide if he wants to scare us into being enthralled by the film, or present us with visual candy, Branagh falls short on special effects, particularly with those for the ghost of King Hamlet. Perhaps attempting to prove his knowledge of Saxo Grammaticus, one of Shakespeare's main sources for Hamlet, in which Hamlet Senior is more a demon than a shade, Branagh plays up Hamlet's first meeting with his father after his death like a campy horror film. Hamlet runs, panting, through a forest of wind-bent trees, while smoke bellows out of the ground seemingly due to talkative dry ice--the disembodied voice of King Hamlet.

When the dead King Hamlet himself finally does appear, he wears pale blue contact lenses, which make him look more frightening than the smoke would suggest. But King Hamlet's unfortunate run-in with Bausch and Lomb makes little sense and loses its effect when the living King Hamlet appears during one of the many flashback montages later on--wearing the same lenses and looking just as ethereal and possessed as he did when dead.

Branagh's spooky portrayal of King Hamlet commanding his son underlines his opinion that it is mainly the ghost who motivates the play's ensuing violence. Shifting the blame for Hamlet's sanguinary campaign of vengeance to the execution of King Hamlet's behest allows Branagh to play one of the more sane versions of the Dane seen in the last 20 years. His Hamlet is not moping and melancholy, but rather a clever and witty theater buff.

But Branagh foreshadows difficulties he will have with the film's conclusion through the clumsy manner in which he fades to intermission. Hamlet makes a speech reaffirming his zeal for revenge, above a field full of battle-ready Norwegians in the distance. The blue-screen contrivance of Hamlet's locale is obvious, and the soldiers in the distance resemble reassembling chromosomes. An oft-shouting, fiery character to this point, Branagh's Hamlet begins to scream at the top of his voice as the camera pans away. But the booming drums of the soundtrack drown out his already incoherent yelling.

The hour or so remaining after this intermission includes several of the weakest moments of the film, particularly in the final scene. When Hamlet finally kills Claudius, after prancing about with Laertes in their respective chest wigs, he does it as if cut from the same cloth as "Flash Gordon." Throwing his rapier from the balcony like a javelin, Hamlet pins Claudius to his throne (note: poetic justice) and swings down on the chandelier in order to splash drops of poison into his mouth, all the while bellowing about his impending death, the stellar revenge he has enacted, and his chest hair. (Well, not really, but Hamlet's expression shows he's thinking about it.)

Otherwise, Branagh's interpretation of the Bard's work is fairly uncontroversial, barring his sometimes pointless use of flashbacks, sudden cuts to action elsewhere, and repeated footage of the same scene. Branagh makes sure we don't miss his rebellious declaration of his interpretation of the relationship between Hamlet and Ophelia (Kate Winslet) by showing multiple flashes of their steamy love-making. Of course, Branagh's chest hair plays a prominent role in all. In reminding the audience of King Hamlet's gruesome death, Branagh feels it necessary to show over and over a close-up of his ear, bubbling under the skin's surface, and spurting blood. Perhaps the most unusual aspect of this production, emphasis is placed on the invasion of Fortinbras at the end of the play by having the entrance on the Fortinbras (Rufus Sewell), often alluded to in flashbacks, coincide with the poorly choreographed final death scene.

Branagh stumbles on his casting of Billy Crystal and Robin Williams as the First Gravedigger and Osric, respectively, but the generally strong cast more than makes up for this misjudgment. Claudius (Derek Jacobi) is subtly played, his motivation portrayed not in a devilish light, but more as ambition that has gotten in the way of morality. Horatio, always a difficult role to play, is handled deftly by Nicholas Farrell, who conveys the emotion of his part without over-emphasizing his relationship with Hamlet. Laertes, a role often overlooked in modern productions, is carefully played by Michael Maloney, who shows the dichotomy between being the puppet of Polonius and a man sucked into Claudius' rage and ambition. Charlton Heston turns in a wonderful performance as the Player King.

Despite problems with the concluding portion of the film, "Hamlet" is saved by the brilliance of its actors.