It's acting!

Who, when, how long?
Kevin Kline, 1990 (PBS version dir. by Kline, based on Joseph Papp's NYSF production), 3 hrs.

What sort of Hamlet?
Actorly.

What's missing?
Bits and pieces, judiciously pruned. Ghost appears only once in I.1; no Polonius envoy to report on Laertes in France; no scene w/ Claudius, Gertrude, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern--we first see the latter two w/ Ham; there are actual women among the Players, so no joke to "my young lady and mistress" about his voice changing; no "I'll use them according to their deserts"; no dumbshow; no "I will not speak with her" before Ophelia's first mad scene, which begins w/ O's demand for "the beauteous majesty of Denmark"; only one Clown/Gravedigger, and no bit about Alexander's rotted remains being used to stop a bunghole; at swordfight, Laertes accepts Ham's apology without qualification; and they fight w/ foils only, no daggers (and thus no "that's two of his weapons" joke at Osric's expense); no "hoist."

These are all at the margins, and probably none is a unique cut (except perhaps the swordfight dagger and L's officious rebuttal to Ham's apology--about which more anon). But one omission is significant enough it could as well be covered under "What's odd": Hamlet is unarmed.

The production is in modern dress (complete w/ a Danish flag in the lobby and what I assume are more or less accurate Danish military uniforms), so it's natural that a civilian not carry a sword--but it would be equally natural for a royal to carry a ceremonial one. But Ham does not.

Which means that in I.5 "I'll make a ghost of him who lets me" is a hollow threat, and neither he nor the Ghost can ask his comrades to swear their silence by his sword: instead, he simply holds out his hands, and they put theirs on top, like a basketball team about to break from a timeout huddle.

But of course there comes a time when Ham must be carrying a pointy stick to wield rashly. So how do we arm the otherwise unarmed man?

Well, when play-within-the-play assassin Lucianus enters to kill Gonzago, he brandishes a dagger at "thoughts bleak, hands apt," as if weighing other options to "drugs fit," but when he lights upon that option, he disposes of the dagger by impaling the stage with it--whence Ham removes it after everyone has rushed away. Thus he has it when he comes upon the praying Claudius, brandishing it within an inch of the king's ear, and later when he hears a rat behind the arras. An inventive means of putting the weapon in his hands--necessitated by the odd decision to remove it from his hands in the first place.

What's changed?
Most important changes (or colorings) have to do w/ Polonius's children, who seem to share a tacit understanding of the old man's foolishness. As with the other 1990 example, O's heart doesn't quite seem to be in her promise, "I shall obey, my lord"--i.e., break it off w/ Ham; that coincidence may be explained by the feminist resistance of the time. (Oh, failed to mention a small but very interesting omission from that scene: O tells Pol that Ham "hath given countenance to his his speech, my lord/With all the holy vows of heaven"--deleting an important "almost.")

But her brother is the most notable element of this production: a hulking Frankenstein's monster of a Laertes who grows much more of a conscience much earlier in the final scene than WS gave him. As I've mentioned, he accepts Ham's apology, and then, after surrendering the first hit, he has Ham at his mercy after a stumble, but he declines to capitalize, walks away, and yields the second hit unchallenged.

Then after promising Claud to finish it but acknowledging to himself that 'tis almost against his conscience, he begins to put his money where his aside is, going to the rack of foils to exchange his unbated and envenomed blade for a bated, unenvenomed one. But he's interrupted--and perhaps put back on message--by Ham's taunt.

Even then, though, when Ham goes to drink from the poisoned chalice, L stops him--with the blade--then flicks it to cut him. After Ham secures the wicked blade, L (suicidally?) grabs at it and is cut when Ham whips it away.

What else is odd--or, let's say, notable?

• I.2 opens on Gert & Claud playing tonsil hockey.
• At "your chaste treasure," O covers L's mouth w/ her hand, a nice sisterly MYOB gesture.
• Ham swoons backward off platform into his comrades' arms after encountering the Ghost, like a rock star w/ his fans.
• Kline plays act II barefoot.
• Ham has R&G lie with him on their backs at "brave o'erhanging firmament."
• Soliloquies are oddly static.
• The act III Ham-O encounter is strikingly marked almost as much by tenderness as by anger. The remembrances are letters, which Ham tears up, the pieces reappearing in O's second mad scene as the herbs she distributes. At "you jig" Ham grabs her arms and jerks her around like a marionette; by the end of the scene, she seems already well on her way to madness.
• Before the play Ham moves the royals' chairs up onto the stage, which forces the Players to act around them, sometimes descending to the floor--an effective device for getting faces pointing toward the camera. In stark contrast to what I saw the night before, Claud's guilt is manifest: he drops a brandy snifter at "the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife."
• In the Gertrude's closet scene she is at first defiant, then long resistant--more in keeping w/ my reading than most portrayals. (Dana Ivey is a striking Gert, by the way, her mouth often turning down in a remarkable simulation of a Greek tragedy mask.)
• Ham kisses Claud on the mouth at "my mother."

Flesh?

Solid. And O isn't lowered into the grave, so no one jumps in.

Ghost?

Standard Danish Army issue.

Gert-Ham eros?

No.

Other characters?

I've already commented on the interesting ones, but it's worth noting that Hor and Guild and one courtier are played by black actors--notable because I don't believe I've seen an actor of color in any of the five previous versions.

In sum, while I wouldn't call it a bad production, it's certainly the one of the six so far that I'm least likely ever to revisit. I'd never say Kline is a less-skilled actor than Gibson, but of the two 1990 Hamlets, Mel's is by far the more convincing. He seems genuinely unmoored (no Othello pun intended) and capable of committing crazy and destructive and self-destructive acts; Kline's performance never conceals that after he's carried out, he'll hop up, go backstage to wipe off the makeup and change clothes, then go somewhere nice for dinner w/ Phoebe. Three rats behind the arras.