#players' ring having the Player play horatio at the ending

[agentravensong]

considering making a post about how horatio is... used? accounted for? in the productions of r&g are dead that i've watched and listened to cause 3/4 (not counting the movie) have, as almost certainly unintentional consequences of their choices, gotten me thinking about that one post i made and frothing at the mouth a bit, in different ways

[universal-kitty]

.: Day 1 - F/O February :.

Reverse Self-Ship: You are your F/O’s F/O!!

I’m from a video game series akin to an odd mix of Watch_Dogs and Grand Theft Auto. Things can get a little pervy, hijacking cars is involved, stealth and adventure abound...but so is a bunch of ridiculous, silly things, like a petting minigame that triggers randomly when interacting with my cat.

There’s a single-player mode focused on my background and meeting up with past friends or exes...and is story-based, allowing you to attack and kill them, befriend them again... All sorts of stuff.

Also, the option to adopt more cats and become a crazy cat lady...in spirit.

Shit, romance people if you want! Live life!

Marcus got Wrench (Reggie) the game as a birthday gift. It was mostly a joke, because Reg REALLY thought he wouldn’t like it....and what else do best friends do but give their bffs prank gifts?

Still, Marcus bought it for him new... So Reg boots it up and gives it a chance, anyways.

......holy shit, he actually likes this WAY more than he first thought he would.

First of all, he HATES animals; every one he’s ever met seems to hate him and hurt him, so he’s turned his back on animalkind. However, throughout the game, I’m NOTHING but kind to every animal and suspicious of every person I meet.... Some of which he understands completely. There are some ASSHOLES in this game!!

Also, the way I croon to my cat and get into baby talk... It’s so damn cute to him. Really makes him feel some kinda way, which he flushes over. (Haha, wow that’s embarrassing.)

The point is, he ends up hating animals a little less and starts loving cats a LOT more.

Actually had to put down the controller and walk away from the game when doing a dancing minigame. He could barely focus on the button commands with how cute I was being while doing the dances.

Proceeds to look up people who 100% the dances just so he can save them to his phone. Watch them whenever he wants.

Later deletes them, 100%s them on his own, and THEN saves them onto his phone. Is a lot more happy with them, cause they’re HIS gameplay videos and not someone else’s.

LOVES messing around with outfits. Someone on the staff was either a big fan of cats or just...made that my most out-there personality trait (second only to the games and show in my world that are obviously knock-offs of real-world games), but he’s not complaining. Running around in cat ears and a cat tail? So damn cute.

His personal favorites are the masks I have combined with the matching jackets; it makes me feel more relatable to him...but he’s a greedy man and always eventually takes them off so he can look at my face.

Has SO MANY PICTURES on Facebook of him playing this damn game. Marcus kinda thought he was pranking at first, but now the whole squad knows Reg is a bit of an addict.

They got him the other games on Christmas and he cried. Everyone was....kinda in awe.

Josh got him a t-shirt with my character on it that reads “Bee Paw-sitive~!” on it. He wears it a LOT.

He definitely started up a collection that rivaled....basically no one else in the fandom.

HATES seeing the fandom pairings. And since you can romance anyone due to my sexuality canonly being Panromantic...it’s frustrating.

(Well, he’s Bi, so some of the people he wouldn’t mind sharing with, yeah....but he’s specifically venomous over the people he’s SURE are my friends only. Or are/were super toxic to me in my past. So, so bitter that anyone likes those ships, but holds his tongue only bc he got a figurine of me doing some cutesy pose next to his monitor. It helps him keep his head.)

Literally has a savings account reserved for merchandise. If it exists, he wants to buy it. If it doesn’t, but someone’s commissions are open? He’s gonna buy it.

Has bought art, jumped on art-trades/requests to get MORE art of us together. Has two plushies of me, as well as a body pillow. Continues to seek more things.

Is honestly upset that my size is medium (and so he can’t wear my canonly fitted clothes), BUT that doesn’t stop him from owning a single shirt in my size AND getting items that mimic my wardrobe.

He likes to imagine we can match together....or I can wear HIS version of my fave shirts when mine are dirty~!

Is still debating getting a kitten. Until that day, cat plushes are among the only other plushes he has (aside from mine).

Weird as he felt about it, he later admitted to his friends that he....kinda felt romantically towards me? And was thinking about just being fictoromantic...

Josh was the first one to see no problem with it and fast. People can be hard to work with, so... You do you. (Reg then felt bad about bullying him so much....oop.)

Horatio was also quickly on board. “Hey man, they make you happy. If it helps, it helps.”

Marcus....was a little more confused, but got in the spirit of it, regardless. “man, if I knew you would’ve actually liked it, I woulda got it for you a lot sooner!! Have fun, man.”

Sitara doesn’t quite get it, but.... It sure explains why Reg kept pestering her to tag “Purrfect Anarchy” in certain places and commissioning her for stylized art of him with them.

T-Bone....kinda harasses him about it, but the group stands by Reg. Josh is pretty upset about it, though.

He also follows every piece of news and publicly shares it, after admitting to being ficto. LOTS more pictures like, “Cutie’s got good taste.” [selfie with him sticking out his tongue and wearing one of the replica shirts] “Dinner date with bae!” [screenshot of me looking at the screen of his laptop, dinner and candlelight between us]

Everyone rolled with it more and more over time, so now it’s entirely not uncommon for them to bribe Reg to do things by dragging me into it...

Sitara: Hey, you leaving? Wrench: ...yeah, why? Sitara: Can you get me a coffee while you’re out? Wrench: Wh-? Why should I get you-? Sitara: I bet Rachel would like you doing something like that, y’know. Wrench: .....That’s cruel. You’re cruel. Sitara: I know~! You know how I like it, thank you, and Rachel loves you. Wrench: [sputters audibly and shuffles out the door, muttering to himself, embarrassed]

They don’t do a LOT of crimes anymore, but... Definitely still fuck shit up w/ cops. Reg daydreams a shitton about a masked romance and the anarchy we could commit together... After all, I helped him be braver. So he could help me, too, and then..... So much glorious chaos. Maybe makeouts in his car...

Was literally the type to not give a SHIT about marriage or kids, but now nonstop thinks about our lives together. Anarchy and domestic lifestyle shit can coexist, right? We can be married, have our cute lil’ two story (three, if you count the attic AND a basement), and some kids.....and also go create anarchy and throw bricks at cop cars and cause so much damn trouble..... Right?

He’ll even get a CAT for our home. It’ll be our first kid and not only will he be SO COOL, but they’ll name her (yes, a girl) Princess Leia and I’ll probably cry in happiness!!

Reg is DETERMINED to be the best husband/boyfriend ever. Doesn’t matter which, cause whatever speed I’d like to go at? Hell yeah, he’s down for it. Just as long as he can still hold my hand and gush over how cute I am and-

Has gushed about me and my series before and WILL do so again, prompted or not.

Actually participated in the fandom a little. Mostly does reblogs and such, but has written a few stories (self-inserts are the majority), done some not too shabby art, and prides himself on being the BIGGEST fan of the series with all the merch he has AND commissions bought.

Made a select few friends who also are fans, but... Is constantly anxious about his self-shipping. Either that they might eventually think he’s weird, send more anon hate (he’s gotten some in the past for “being a creep”), or- worst yet- also self-ship with me and he’s still dealing with that idea.

Until then, he’s got a wedding ring he bought cheap at the jewelry section of some store, so.... Coping skills, babey.

[blackcatkita]

Mark/Dani 💕

Thank you for asking Asti! You know how much I love Mark and I’m so glad you requested them!

who hogs the duvet- Neither. They either fall asleep in each others arms or spooning and they have a Queen sized bed because Mark thinks “It’s the perfect size to have enough room without being too far away from each other.”

who texts/rings to check how their day is going- Both, but Dani does it more because she makes her own schedule. When she’s out researching places or interviewing people for her company, she always makes sure he knows where she is, just in case, so he doesn’t really need to ask. He will text her between meetings to see if they have plans or just to say he’s thinking about her.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts- Usually Dani but with the work she does she has an unfair advantage and because of that Mark thinks his gifts are never good enough to show how much he loves her. He knocked it out of the park for their first anniversary, taking her on a tour of all their favorite hang out spots from their college days. At the end of the night he set up a projector screen in the back yard and they cuddled on a blanket watching Avatar under the stars, the first movie they went to see together. 

who gets up first in the morning- Mark during the week because he has to go to work and Dani can work whenever unless she has a meeting scheduled. On the weekends Mark likes to sleep in, so Dani gets up early to make breakfast.

who suggests new things in bed- Dani though it doesn’t go past a sexy outfit she knows will drive him crazy, a new position or her trusty scarf.

who cries at movies- Dani cries often during movies and Mark never really understood how she could cry in a public theater... until he saw Avengers: Infinity War. (Drabble coming soon!)

who gives unprompted massages- Both. Since they both spend a lot of time on the computer, their necks and shoulders get knotted up. Mark’s tell is when he rubs the back of his neck and Dani’s is when she rolls her shoulders. Whenever one of them sees the other’s tells, they make them take a break for a massage.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick- Dani fusses over Mark, because she feels bad that he is “dying”. He is so pitiful, it’s hard for her to not laugh at how adorable she thinks he is.

who gets jealous easiest- Neither one of them gets jealous easily. They have to attend a lot of events because of Mark’s job and he loves making his co-workers jealous, because he’s with the most beautiful woman in the world.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music- They have very similar taste in music, so it’s either both of them or neither, depending on who you ask. 

who collects something unusual- Dani inherited her grandmothers souvenir spoon collection and has continued the tradition, getting a new one when they travel to different places.

who takes the longest to get ready- They are both pretty low maintenance in their day to day lives but when they have an event to attend Dani definitely takes longer. She loves the way Mark looks at her when she’s all dressed up, like he’s the luckiest guy in the world.

who is the most tidy and organized- Mark, but Dani isn’t messy either. 

who gets most excited about the holidays- Dani, she loves everything about the holiday season, decorating, shopping, spending time with family... Mark likes the holidays but what he loves most is how excited she gets and how her eyes sparkle when they light the tree the first time. 

who is the big spoon/little spoon- Mark is the big spoon, Dani is the little spoon unless she is sleeping tucked beside him with her head resting in the crook of his shoulder.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports- They are both super competitive when playing cards, board games, or red herring but Dani knows better than to play video games with Mark, he would mop the floor with her.

who starts the most arguments- They know each other so well that they don’t really argue and on the rare occasion that they do, Mark is able to discuss the problem calmly, helping Dani see things logically.

who suggests that they buy a pet- Mark. He wants their kids to have a dog so they can learn responsibility. Dani thinks they should start with a guinea pig.

what couple traditions they have- On their respective birthdays, the rule is they get to pick the movie and the other has to watch it without complaint. Mark picks a movie with a basketball player in it. every. time. Also, every Sunday, Dani gets up early to make breakfast for them but every once in awhile, Mark beats her to it and serves her breakfast in bed.

what tv shows they watch together- The Crown and the Flame, Game of Thrones and they re-watch Lost, over and over.

what other couple they hang out with- Brooke and Keo, Horatio and Tara and Ben and Amanda (OC)

how they spend time together as a couple- they make dinner together every night, they snuggle on the couch with a bowl of popcorn watching movies or their favorite shows and have “date night” at least once a week. 

who made the first move- Dani thinks she did the first time she met him, when she wrote her number on his chest but it wasn’t until years later when Mark confessed his feelings that they finally accepted they were always more than friends.

who brings flowers home- Usually Dani does the grocery shopping but when Mark goes to the store, he always brings her flowers.

who is the best cook- Dani is the better cook but after taking a few cooking classes together Mark can definitely hold his own in the kitchen.

tagging those I think like lovehacks. If you want to be added to LoveHacks writings (or if you don't) just let me know!

 @kinkykingliam @writtenbycandy @darley1101 @theroyalweisme @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @katurrade @mfackenthal @debramcg1106 @alicars @flyawayblue56 @josieschoices @alwaysthebestchoice @kennaxval @mariamatsuo @penguininapinktuxedo @endlessly-searching-for-you @sstee1 @speedyoperarascalparty @mitalijoshi @chiarace @never-ending-choices @drakelover78 @scarlettedragon

[makerof150papermasks]

Hamlet Mariofied Act 3 Scene 2

Bolded names refer to the Mario characters playing the roles. The character role names remain the same in the context of the play and its dialogue.

Mario = Hamlet

Birdo = First Player

Diddy Kong, Dixie Kong = Other Players

Kamek = Polonius

Wario = Rosencrantz

Waluigi = Guildenstern

Luigi = Horatio

Bowser = Claudius

Peach = Gertrude

Wendy = Ophelia

Amazing Flyin’ Hammer Bro, Buster Beetle, Whimp = Lords Attendant

Terrapin, Hammer Bro, Fire Bro, Ice Bro, Boomerang Bro, Sledge Bro, Armored Koopa (Koopatrol), Terra Cotta = Guards

Mouser, Fryguy = Trumpeters

Clawgrip, Tryclyde = Drummers

Gooper Blooper, King Bob-omb, Eyerok, Boss Wiggler = Hautboys

Wart = Player King

Rosalina = Player Queen

Mallow = Lucianus Player

Morton, Roy, Ludwig, Booster = Mutes

Act III, Scene 2

Elsinore. Hall in the Castle.

Enter Mario and three of the Players [Birdo, Diddy Kong, and Dixie Kong]. Tune to Overworld Theme from Super Mario Bros 2

Mario. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you,

trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our

players do, I had as live the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do

 not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all

gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say)

whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a

temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the

soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to

 tatters, to very rags, to split the cars of the groundlings, who

(for the most part) are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb

shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipp'd for o'erdoing

Termagant. It out-herods Herod. Pray you avoid it.

Birdo. I warrant your honour.

 Mario. Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your

tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with

this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of

nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing,

whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as

 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show Virtue her own feature,

scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his

form and pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy off, though

it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious

grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance

 o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I

have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly (not to

speak it profanely), that, neither having the accent of

Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so

strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of Nature's

 journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated

humanity so abominably.

Birdo. I hope we have reform'd that indifferently with us, sir.

Mario. O, reform it altogether! And let those that play your clowns

speak no more than is set down for them. For there be of them

 that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren

spectators to laugh too, though in the mean time some necessary

question of the play be then to be considered. That's villanous

and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go

make you ready.

 [Exeunt Players.]

Enter Kamek, Wario, and Waluigi. Music of Muda Kingdom from Super Mario Land.

How now, my lord? Will the King hear this piece of work?

Kamek. And the Queen too, and that presently.

Mario. Bid the players make haste, [Exit Kamek.] Will you two

 help to hasten them?

Wario. [with Waluigi] We will, my lord.

Exeunt they two.

Mario. What, ho, Horatio!

Enter Luigi.

Luigi. Here, sweet lord, at your service.

Mario. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man

As e'er my conversation cop'd withal.

Luigi. O, my dear lord!

Mario. Nay, do not think I flatter;

 For what advancement may I hope from thee,

That no revenue hast but thy good spirits

To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd?

No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,

And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee

 Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?

Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice

And could of men distinguish, her election

Hath seal'd thee for herself. For thou hast been

As one, in suff'ring all, that suffers nothing;

 A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards

Hast ta'en with equal thanks; and blest are those

Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled

That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger

To sound what stop she please. Give me that man

 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him

In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,

As I do thee. Something too much of this I

There is a play to-night before the King.

One scene of it comes near the circumstance,

 Which I have told thee, of my father's death.

I prithee, when thou seest that act afoot,

Even with the very comment of thy soul

Observe my uncle. If his occulted guilt

Do not itself unkennel in one speech,

 It is a damned ghost that we have seen,

And my imaginations are as foul

As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note;

For I mine eyes will rivet to his face,

And after we will both our judgments join

 In censure of his seeming.

Luigi. Well, my lord.

If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing,

And scape detecting, I will pay the theft.

Sound a flourish. Enter Trumpets and Kettledrums. Danish

 march. [nter Bowser, Peach, Wendy, Wario, Waluigi,

and other Lords attendant, with the Guard carrying torches. Commence character select screen from Super Mario Bros 2

Mario. They are coming to the play. I must be idle.

Get you a place.

Bowser. How fares our cousin Hamlet?

 Mario. Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish. I eat the air,

promise-cramm'd. You cannot feed capons so.

Bowser. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet. These words are not

mine.

Mario. No, nor mine now. [To Kamek] My lord, you play'd once

 i' th' university, you say?

Kamek. That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor.

Mario. What did you enact?

Kamek. I did enact Julius Caesar; I was kill'd i' th' Capitol; Brutus

kill'd me.

 Mario. It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there. Be

the players ready.

Wario. Ay, my lord. They stay upon your patience.

Peach. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.

Mario. No, good mother. Here's metal more attractive.

Kamek. [to the King] O, ho! do you mark that?

Mario. Lady, shall I lie in your lap?

[Sits down at Wendy’s feet.]

Wendy. No, my lord.

Mario. I mean, my head upon your lap?

 Wendy. Ay, my lord.

Mario. Do you think I meant country matters?

Wendy. I think nothing, my lord.

Mario. That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs.

Wendy. What is, my lord?

 Mario. Nothing.

Wendy. You are merry, my lord.

Mario. Who, I?

Wendy. Ay, my lord.

Mario. O God, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry?

 For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died

within 's two hours.

Wendy. Nay 'tis twice two months, my lord.

Mario. So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I'll have a

suit of sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten

  yet? Then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life

half a year. But, by'r Lady, he must build churches then; or else

shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose

epitaph is 'For O, for O, the hobby-horse is forgot!'

[Hautboys play. The dumb show enters.]

 Enter Wart and Rosalina very lovingly; Rosalina embracing

him and he her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation

unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her

neck. He lays him down upon a bank of flowers. She, seeing

him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his

 crown, kisses it, pours poison in the sleeper's ears, and

leaves him. Rosalina returns, finds Wart dead, and makes

passionate action. Mallow with some three or four Mutes,

comes in again, seem to condole with her. The dead body is

carried away. Mallow wooes the Queen with gifts; she

 seems harsh and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts

his love.

Exeunt.

Wendy. What means this, my lord?

Mario. Marry, this is miching malhecho; it means mischief.

 Wendy. Belike this show imports the argument of the play.

Enter Prologue. Cue Delfino Airstrip.

Mario. We shall know by this fellow. The players cannot keep counsel;

they'll tell all.

Wendy. Will he tell us what this show meant?

 Mario. Ay, or any show that you'll show him. Be not you asham'd to

show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means.

Wendy. You are naught, you are naught! I'll mark the play.

Pro. For us, and for our tragedy,

Here stooping to your clemency,

 We beg your hearing patiently. [Exit.]

Mario. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?

Wendy. 'Tis brief, my lord.

Mario. As woman's love.

Enter Wart and Rosalina

Wart. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round

Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground,

And thirty dozen moons with borrowed sheen

About the world have times twelve thirties been,

Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands,

 Unite comutual in most sacred bands.

Rosalina. So many journeys may the sun and moon

Make us again count o'er ere love be done!

But woe is me! you are so sick of late,

So far from cheer and from your former state.

 That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust,

Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must;

For women's fear and love holds quantity,

In neither aught, or in extremity.

Now what my love is, proof hath made you know;

  And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so.

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;

Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.

Wart. Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too;

My operant powers their functions leave to do.

 And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,

Honour'd, belov'd, and haply one as kind

For husband shalt thou-

Rosalina. O, confound the rest!

Such love must needs be treason in my breast.

 When second husband let me be accurst!

None wed the second but who killed the first.

Mario. [aside] Wormwood, wormwood!

Peach. The instances that second marriage move

Are base respects of thrift, but none of love.

 A second time I kill my husband dead

When second husband kisses me in bed.

Wart. I do believe you think what now you speak;

But what we do determine oft we break.

Purpose is but the slave to memory,

 Of violent birth, but poor validity;

Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree,

But fall unshaken when they mellow be.

Most necessary 'tis that we forget

To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt.

 What to ourselves in passion we propose,

The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.

The violence of either grief or joy

Their own enactures with themselves destroy.

Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament;

 Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.

This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange

That even our loves should with our fortunes change;

For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,

Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.

 The great man down, you mark his favourite flies,

The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies;

And hitherto doth love on fortune tend,

For who not needs shall never lack a friend,

And who in want a hollow friend doth try,

 Directly seasons him his enemy.

But, orderly to end where I begun,

Our wills and fates do so contrary run

That our devices still are overthrown;

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.

 So think thou wilt no second husband wed;

But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.

Rosalina. Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light,

Sport and repose lock from me day and night,

To desperation turn my trust and hope,

 An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope,

Each opposite that blanks the face of joy

Meet what I would have well, and it destroy,

Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife,

If, once a widow, ever I be wife!

 Mario. If she should break it now!

Wart. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile.

My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile

The tedious day with sleep.

Rosalina. Sleep rock thy brain,

 [He sleeps.]

Rosalina. And never come mischance between us twain!

Exit.

Mario. Madam, how like you this play?

Peach. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

 Mario. O, but she'll keep her word.

Bowser. Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't?

Mario. No, no! They do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' th'

world.

Bowser. What do you call the play?

 Mario. 'The Mousetrap.' Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the

image of a murther done in Vienna. Gonzago is the duke's name;

his wife, Baptista. You shall see anon. 'Tis a knavish piece of

work; but what o' that? Your Majesty, and we that have free

souls, it touches us not. Let the gall'd jade winch; our withers

 are unwrung. Enter Mallow.

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King.

Wendy. You are as good as a chorus, my lord.

Hamlet. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see

the puppets dallying.

 Wendy. You are keen, my lord, you are keen.

Mario. It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.

Wendy. Still better, and worse.

Mario. So you must take your husbands.- Begin, murtherer. Pox, leave

thy damnable faces, and begin! Come, the croaking raven doth

 bellow for revenge.

Mallow. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing; Confederate season, else no creature seeing; Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, Thy natural magic and dire property On wholesome life usurp immediately.

Pours the poison in his ears. Play The Sword Descends and The Stars Scatter from Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars

Mario. He poisons him i' th' garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago.

The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian. You

 shall see anon how the murtherer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

Peach. The King rises.

Mario. What, frighted with false fire?

Peach. How fares my lord?

Kamek. Give o'er the play.

 Bowser. Give me some light! Away!

All. Lights, lights, lights!

Exeunt all but Mario and Luigi. Cue underground music from Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island.

Mario. Why, let the strucken deer go weep,

The hart ungalled play;

 For some must watch, while some must sleep:

Thus runs the world away.

Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers- if the rest of my

fortunes turn Turk with me-with two Provincial roses on my raz'd

shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir?

 Luigi. Half a share.

Mario. A whole one I!

For thou dost know, O Damon dear,

This realm dismantled was

Of Jove himself; and now reigns here

 A very, very- pajock.

Luigi. You might have rhym'd.

Mario. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand

pound! Didst perceive?

Luigi. Very well, my lord.

 Mario. Upon the talk of the poisoning?

Luigi. I did very well note him.

Mario. Aha! Come, some music! Come, the recorders!

For if the King like not the comedy,

Why then, belike he likes it not, perdy.

 Come, some music!

Enter Wario and Waluigi.

Waluigi. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.

Mario. Sir, a whole history.

Waluigi. The King, sir-

 Mario. Ay, sir, what of him?

Waluigi. Is in his retirement, marvellous distemper'd.

Mario. With drink, sir?

Waluigi. No, my lord; rather with choler.

Mario. Your wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to

 the doctor; for me to put him to his purgation would perhaps

plunge him into far more choler.

Waluigi. Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start

not so wildly from my affair.

Mario. I am tame, sir; pronounce.

 Waluigi. The Queen, your mother, in most great affliction of spirit

hath sent me to you.

Mario. You are welcome.

Waluigi. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed.

If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do

 your mother's commandment; if not, your pardon and my return

shall be the end of my business.

Mario. Sir, I cannot.

Waluigi. What, my lord?

Mario. Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's diseas'd. But, sir, such

 answer as I can make, you shall command; or rather, as you say,

my mother. Therefore no more, but to the matter! My mother, you

say-

Wario. Then thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into

amazement and admiration.

 Mario. O wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother! But is there no

sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? Impart.

Wario. She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed.

Hamlet. We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any

further trade with us?

 Wario. My lord, you once did love me.

Mario. And do still, by these pickers and stealers!

Wario. Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do surely

bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to

your friend.

 Mario. Sir, I lack advancement.

Wario. How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself

for your succession in Denmark?

Mario. Ay, sir, but 'while the grass grows'- the proverb is something

musty.

 [Enter Diddy Kong and Dixie Kong with recorders. ]

O, the recorders! Let me see one. To withdraw with you- why do

you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me

into a toil?

Guildenstern. O my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly.

 Mario. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?

Waluigi. My lord, I cannot.

Mario. I pray you.

Waluigi. Believe me, I cannot.

Mario. I do beseech you.

 Waluigi. I know, no touch of it, my lord.

Mario. It is as easy as lying. Govern these ventages with your

fingers and thumbs, give it breath with your mouth, and it will

discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops.

Waluigi. But these cannot I command to any utt'rance of harmony. I

 have not the skill.

Mario. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You

would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would

pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my

lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music,

 excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it

speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be play'd on than a

pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me,

you cannot play upon me.

[Enter Kamek.]

God bless you, sir!

Kamek. My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently.

Mario. Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?

Kamek. By th' mass, and 'tis like a camel indeed.

Mario. Methinks it is like a weasel.

 Kamek. It is back'd like a weasel.

Mario. Or like a whale.

Kamek. Very like a whale.

Mario. Then will I come to my mother by-and-by.- They fool me to the

top of my bent.- I will come by-and-by.

 Kamek. I will say so. Exit.

Mario. 'By-and-by' is easily said.- Leave me, friends.

Exeunt all but Mario. Tune from Corona Mountain reverberates.

'Tis now the very witching time of night,

When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out

 Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood

And do such bitter business as the day

Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother!

O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever

The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom.

 Let me be cruel, not unnatural;

I will speak daggers to her, but use none.

My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites-

How in my words somever she be shent,

To give them seals never, my soul, consent! Exit.

[uomo-accattivante]

A little over a third of the way into the modestly dressed, disarmingly brilliant production of Hamlet now playing at the Public, Oscar Isaac as the iconic prince turns to us before one of his famous soliloquies and calmly tells us, “Now I am alone.”

I caught my breath at these four words. They were not a statement of fact — they were an invitation to the audience to imagine.

Not every Hamlet calls attention to its own theatricality. This Hamlet — beginning with its use of the company onstage as a second audience, a mirror for us out in the seats — engages us in a game that makes us contemplate the very nature of performing. When Oscar Isaac tells us, still surrounded by his fellow actors, “I am alone,” he is not describing but instructing. He is working on our imaginary forces — or, as he might say, our mind’s eye — telling us, These are the rules of this game. Come, play.

It is a mark of this production’s intelligence that its rules are inscribed in its aesthetic from the very beginning by a set of design choices that blur the line between audience and stage. The Anspacher is a strange space: a thrust configuration — which is Shakespearean enough — but surrounded by raked banks of red upholstered seats that come from an entirely different era of spectatorship. Hamlet’s set (by David Zinn), like the production itself, is unassuming and very, very smart: It extends the feel of the seating banks by covering the whole stage in red carpet. The chairs used onstage are a match to those in the front rows of the audience: modern, institutional, more red upholstery. Hanging above the playing space are additional house lights mimicking those above the audience (these the domain of lighting designer Mark Barton, whose work is a subtle, powerful complement to Zinn’s).

The main playing area — apart from the chairs and a table that looks like it could have been pulled from one of the Public’s conference rooms — is empty. The back wall is unadorned. Props are few and almost all present at the back of the stage at the show’s beginning, waiting for eventual use. There is a station for a musician (the incredible Ernst Reijseger) who creates the entirety of the production’s sonic landscape on a cello and a set of wooden pipes that play like an eerie organ. Each actor has only one costume, and if designer Kaye Voyce has not pulled directly from the actors’ own closets, she has quietly and cleverly curated a palette that feels as if she has done so. Director Sam Gold and his team of designers seem to have constructed their world in alignment with Hamlet’s advice to the Players:

--- …O’erstep not the modesty of nature: for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as ‘twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. ---

The actors likewise adhere to these instructions: Their attack on the language is clear and often conversational. They carry us deftly through the poetry without bluster or bravado — we follow the threads of their thought, and when great emotion flows it flows naturally, from a wellspring of grief or rage or shame that feels real.

Real. Ay, there’s the rub. Nothing onstage in this Hamlet is “theatrical” in the way that we have come to understand the term — as a synonym for spectacular, outlandish, or exaggerated. Rather, Sam Gold and his company are interested in a different and perhaps deeper definition of theatricality: Their Hamlet is playing a game with our notions of real and pretend, of sincerity and falseness. After all, you might think that by following Hamlet’s advice to the Players you could simply end up with a realistic TV drama — but Hamlet isn’t asking for realism, he’s asking for truth. He’s asking for honesty wrapped in the artifice of play. The heart of Gold’s production — and its genius — lies in its obsession with the paradox of the Honest Performance.

Hamlet insists that he “know[s] not ‘seems.,” but any good actor will tell you that you can feel all day long, but without seeming — without the show of that feeling — there’s no play. And Hamlet, the character, is a good actor. (This Hamlet, in the person of Oscar Isaac, at once mischievous and deeply soulful, is exceedingly good.) Part of the character’s tragedy is that he is a thoughtful comedian trapped in the bloody, archaic genre of the Revenge Play, forced into playing a role his very nature abhors. Imagine if Othello or Hotspur had been Old Hamlet’s son. Claudius would be dead and young Fortinbras defeated by Act 2, Scene 1.

Gold’s production dispenses with Fortinbras and with all references to any wider political conflict. (In interviews, he and Isaac have repeatedly described the show as “intimate.”) It’s a vision of a Hamlet in which the wider world is not Scandinavia but the theater. The company’s members are aware on some deep level of their existence both as actors and as characters in a play. Keegan-Michael Key (who makes a charming Horatio) begins the performance with a casual, endearingly silly curtain speech to the audience, but this is no mere lark: It introduces us to Horatio as a kind of narrator, a role that he will return to with much more gravity when, at the play’s end, he assumes responsibility for telling Hamlet’s story. He even adopts one of Fortinbras’s lines at the finale — “[Let] these bodies / High on a stage be placed to the view” — and when he says it, we hear not a dictator organizing a military funeral but a stage manager preparing for a literal eternity of performances of Hamlet.

In cautioning Ophelia not to trust Hamlet’s declarations of love, Laertes shows a similar subliminal awareness of the play-world he inhabits. He warns his sister that Hamlet “may not, as unvalued persons do, / Carve for himself, for on his choice depends / The safety and health of this whole state.” By “whole state” he typically means Denmark, but in this production Laertes (the compelling Anatol Yusef) gestures to us, the audience, and around the room at the chairs, the table, the lighting grid. Laertes is warning his sister, This story depends on him, and there’s only one way it can go. Likewise, when plotting to send Hamlet to England, Claudius (the superb Ritchie Coster) growls that he can’t outright punish his troublesome stepson, because “he’s loved of the distracted multitude.” Those last two words can only mean us. We, the audience, love Hamlet, and our imaginary forces hold sway in this room; Claudius, Laertes, and the rest of this ensemble maintain an understated awareness that they are acting in Hamlet’s play. This is not nudge-nudge-wink-wink mugging; the actors are not nodding their heads at us and mouthing, as Hamlet might have it, “Well, well we know.” A showier self-consciousness of theatrical artifice is fairly common on the stage these days. There is something subtler at work here — an investigation of the paradoxical alchemy of sincerity and deceit that lies at the heart of Hamlet and of theater itself.

The layers of this theatrical onion are further multiplied by the fact that the nine-person company of players doubles as … the Company of Players. By limiting the number of bodies onstage and letting each one accumulate valences of meaning, Gold sounds Shakespeare’s play like a great resonant bell. Seeing the Player King/Player Queen scene played out in the bodies of Gertrude and Claudius (who is also the ghost of Old Hamlet) is a revelation: Often delivered with self-conscious puffy artifice, here the scene feels like a moment out of time, like watching Hamlet witness a moment that might truly have taken place between his mother and his sickly father. And the Player King’s warning to his Queen — that she won’t be able to keep her vows never to remarry — rings with pathos and prophecy: “Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.” So says this false king — this actor — prefiguring Hamlet’s recognition of the “divinity that shapes our ends” and summing up in a single line the tragedy of the prince’s character. What is Hamlet if not a creature of thought, doomed to an end none of his own?

Or take the doubling of Laertes and the Lead Player, who enters into a friendly competition with Hamlet over their shared delivery of the great Pyrrhus speech. The Player astounds Hamlet with his ability to “force his soul so to his own conceit” — he can make himself weep on cue! “For nothing! For Hecuba!” — which drives Hamlet to the frenzied contemplation of his own inaction. By this point, the Hamlet who could clearly separate performance from substance is gone: He now longs to act in all senses of the word, even if it means conflating those senses. In attempting to follow the Player’s example, Hamlet substitutes performance for the real action he so craves (and fears), winding up screaming melodramatically into the winds (“Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! / O, vengeance!”) and, here, doing great violence to a dish of lasagna. No wonder Isaac looks up afterwards — the clown who tried to play the avenger — and cracks a wry, abashed smile: “Why, what an ass am I!”

Though Hamlet knows in his most lucid moments that the performance of a thing is not the thing itself, he remains obsessed with the enactment of his own feelings, as if performing them paradoxically proves their honesty. When this Hamlet confronts Laertes at Ophelia’s grave (“What is he whose grief / Bears such an emphasis?”), we have already seen these two men compete in the performance of grief. First, it was for Hecuba, a mere fantasy, a play. Now, it is for Ophelia, a real woman whom they both loved. Laertes and Hamlet are both wracked by real anguish, and they are also playing at it: Who loved her more? Who can mourn her better? It’s a wrenching thing to watch — who among us has not felt something deeply and simultaneously felt ourselves performing the feeling? Acting is in our nature; we long to be witnessed.

Is such ore always there for the mining in this scene between the grieving lover and the grieving brother? Yes. But does every Hamlet mine it? No. It is the mark of a deeply intelligent production when it makes you hear anew a work encrusted with so many barnacles of historical, literary, and theatrical precedent.

They don’t call it “Poem Unlimited” for nothing. The glory of Hamlet is its unsoundable depth. Another director with another production might strike its great bell from a slightly different angle and produce completely different resonances. Another director might be as fascinated by kingship, war, and affairs of state as Sam Gold is by layers of theatricality. Still, while Gold might have stripped the play of its original political context, this “intimate” production has not been stripped of politics. Its seeming domesticity is deceptive; it has something pointed to say about the political state of our world, but its tool is a needle, not a bludgeon. By its indirections, we find directions out.

“Ay sir,” quips Hamlet to Polonius, “to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.” It’s a great line, always, but at this moment I heard it cut the air with a new sharpness. That word, honest, rings out over and over in this production. The politics of this Hamlet is a politics of performance, of being and seeming, of sincerity and hypocrisy, truth and corruption. In this way, Gold’s production may well be an abstract and brief chronicle for our time. After all, how many of our highest politicians might currently be asking themselves, “May one be pardoned and retain the offence?”

Hamlet is at the Public Theater through September 3.

###

@poe-also-bucky

[thatcomesandstaysfire]

Not that anyone asked, but I just thought I’d share where my (current) URL comes from.

It comes from this absolute BOP from Pippin, sung by the talented Patina Miller (who btw played Paylor in Mockingjay part 1 & 2. I was so excited when I saw her on the big screen I let out an audible EEK! in the theater. My worlds collided at that moment) 

Pippin is one of those shows that, while being both a spectacle and a bit superficial at times, has a message that I resonate with. If you are unfamiliar with the show, here's a brief-ish summary; Pippin, son of King Charlamagne, has finished university and he’s looking for his purpose. He is led through his journey by The Leading Player, a ring leader/Horatio/devil to Pippin’s Faust type character, who presents him with various endeavors that he thinks will grant him fulfillment (war, sex, power) all of which are fantastical, over the top. Shockingly, none of these endeavors satisfy Pippin and leave him feeling more lost than when he started. (That's where this song takes place, but more on that later). This leads him to a simple “ordinary woman” named Catherine, who is recently widowed, left with the responsibility of taking care of her young son and farm on her own. Pippin resists this life, thinking he’s above it (he is a prince after all) but he eventually comes to fall in love with Catherine and her son. Ultimately Pippin refuses the leading players definition of fulfillment and realizes that all he ever needed was someone to love and someone to love him back.

The main takeaway of Pippin is: 

Fulfillment is found through seeking, not the actual goal itself. 

Inner peace and self-worth are found in giving yourself to others, rather than selfish pursuits. 

The choice between reality and non-reality. Everything the Leading Player presents to Pippin in fantastical and “extraordinary” but it's not real. The staging of this show is quite literally a circus. Pippin finds the magic in what is real with Catherine. Love, family, and a quiet life that is dedicated to others.

I mentioned that the Leading Player is like the devil to Pippin’s Faust, which is true. But the Leading Player is not evil or seeking to harm Pippin. LP is there to help Pippin find fulfillment, albeit in a very misguided way.  The LP and the ensemble are not human. They are otherworldly and they only really care about providing spectacle, and splendor, and they want to provide this for Pippin. But like I said earlier, it’s not real, and it's not what Pippin needs.

Now, this song. It comes after Pippin’s failed attempts to find fulfillment. He’s experienced war, where finds no glory, only horror. He’s experienced meaningless sex, which rapidly becomes depraved and detached. And he’s experienced power, acquired by killing his father, and he finds he is unsuited for it. Pippin believes he will never find his purpose. That this has all been for naught. He wants to give up.  This song is the Leading Player essentially telling him that, despite his failures and the way he’s feeling, he is exactly where he’s supposed to be. The answer just hasn’t revealed itself yet. It’s about perseverance and having faith that things will work out. And the Leading Player is right. After this song, Pippin meets Catherine. Pippin needed to experience those things that seemingly left him feeling lost, in order to truly appreciate his time with Catherine.

I love this song, not only because it’s really catchy, but because it contains a theme of the show that I actively try to apply to my own life. Even when things seem completely hopeless and lost, you have to trust that you will end up where you’re supposed to and that you’re prepared to fully appreciate what comes next.

[donalsgirl]

A Hamlet Where Everyone’s Onstage

A little over a third of the way into the modestly dressed, disarmingly brilliant production of Hamlet now playing at the Public, Oscar Isaac as the iconic prince turns to us before one of his famous soliloquies and calmly tells us, “Now I am alone.”

I caught my breath at these four words. They were not a statement of fact — they were an invitation to the audience to imagine.

Isaac was not alone, not in this moment nor ever. Hamlet as written contains seven soliloquies, but the Hamlet who is now wrestling with his fate on the red-carpeted boards of the Anspacher Theater is never a solo figure: He always has an audience. During each soliloquy, members of the ensemble sit or stand strewn about the stage, still present, giving their prince a quiet, serious attention — a company of players, watching and listening.

Not every Hamlet calls attention to its own theatricality. This Hamlet — beginning with its use of the company onstage as a second audience, a mirror for us out in the seats — engages us in a game that makes us contemplate the very nature of performing. When Oscar Isaac tells us, still surrounded by his fellow actors, “I am alone,” he is not describing but instructing. He is working on our imaginary forces — or, as he might say, our mind’s eye — telling us, These are the rules of this game. Come, play.

It is a mark of this production’s intelligence that its rules are inscribed in its aesthetic from the very beginning by a set of design choices that blur the line between audience and stage. The Anspacher is a strange space: a thrust configuration — which is Shakespearean enough — but surrounded by raked banks of red upholstered seats that come from an entirely different era of spectatorship. Hamlet’s set (by David Zinn), like the production itself, is unassuming and very, very smart: It extends the feel of the seating banks by covering the whole stage in red carpet. The chairs used onstage are a match to those in the front rows of the audience: modern, institutional, more red upholstery. Hanging above the playing space are additional house lights mimicking those above the audience (these the domain of lighting designer Mark Barton, whose work is a subtle, powerful complement to Zinn’s).

The main playing area — apart from the chairs and a table that looks like it could have been pulled from one of the Public’s conference rooms — is empty. The back wall is unadorned. Props are few and almost all present at the back of the stage at the show’s beginning, waiting for eventual use. There is a station for a musician (the incredible Ernst Reijseger) who creates the entirety of the production’s sonic landscape on a cello and a set of wooden pipes that play like an eerie organ. Each actor has only one costume, and if designer Kaye Voyce has not pulled directly from the actors’ own closets, she has quietly and cleverly curated a palette that feels as if she has done so. Director Sam Gold and his team of designers seem to have constructed their world in alignment with Hamlet’s advice to the Players:

…O’erstep not the modesty of nature: for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as ‘twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.

The actors likewise adhere to these instructions: Their attack on the language is clear and often conversational. They carry us deftly through the poetry without bluster or bravado — we follow the threads of their thought, and when great emotion flows it flows naturally, from a wellspring of grief or rage or shame that feels real.

Real. Ay, there’s the rub. Nothing onstage in this Hamlet is “theatrical” in the way that we have come to understand the term — as a synonym for spectacular, outlandish, or exaggerated. Rather, Sam Gold and his company are interested in a different and perhaps deeper definition of theatricality: Their Hamlet is playing a game with our notions of real and pretend, of sincerity and falseness. After all, you might think that by following Hamlet’s advice to the Players you could simply end up with a realistic TV drama — but Hamlet isn’t asking for realism, he’s asking for truth. He’s asking for honesty wrapped in the artifice of play. The heart of Gold’s production — and its genius — lies in its obsession with the paradox of the Honest Performance.

Hamlet insists that he “know[s] not ‘seems.,” but any good actor will tell you that you can feel all day long, but without seeming — without the show of that feeling — there’s no play. And Hamlet, the character, is a good actor. (This Hamlet, in the person of Oscar Isaac, at once mischievous and deeply soulful, is exceedingly good.) Part of the character’s tragedy is that he is a thoughtful comedian trapped in the bloody, archaic genre of the Revenge Play, forced into playing a role his very nature abhors. Imagine if Othello or Hotspur had been Old Hamlet’s son. Claudius would be dead and young Fortinbras defeated by Act 2, Scene 1.

Gold’s production dispenses with Fortinbras and with all references to any wider political conflict. (In interviews, he and Isaac have repeatedly described the show as “intimate.”) It’s a vision of a Hamlet in which the wider world is not Scandinavia but the theater. The company’s members are aware on some deep level of their existence both as actors and as characters in a play. Keegan-Michael Key (who makes a charming Horatio) begins the performance with a casual, endearingly silly curtain speech to the audience, but this is no mere lark: It introduces us to Horatio as a kind of narrator, a role that he will return to with much more gravity when, at the play’s end, he assumes responsibility for telling Hamlet’s story. He even adopts one of Fortinbras’s lines at the finale — “[Let] these bodies / High on a stage be placed to the view” — and when he says it, we hear not a dictator organizing a military funeral but a stage manager preparing for a literal eternity of performances of Hamlet.

In cautioning Ophelia not to trust Hamlet’s declarations of love, Laertes shows a similar subliminal awareness of the play-world he inhabits. He warns his sister that Hamlet “may not, as unvalued persons do, / Carve for himself, for on his choice depends / The safety and health of this whole state.” By “whole state” he typically means Denmark, but in this production Laertes (the compelling Anatol Yusef) gestures to us, the audience, and around the room at the chairs, the table, the lighting grid. Laertes is warning his sister, This story depends on him, and there’s only one way it can go. Likewise, when plotting to send Hamlet to England, Claudius (the superb Ritchie Coster) growls that he can’t outright punish his troublesome stepson, because “he’s loved of the distracted multitude.” Those last two words can only mean us. We, the audience, love Hamlet, and our imaginary forces hold sway in this room; Claudius, Laertes, and the rest of this ensemble maintain an understated awareness that they are acting in Hamlet’s play. This is not nudge-nudge-wink-wink mugging; the actors are not nodding their heads at us and mouthing, as Hamlet might have it, “Well, well we know.” A showier self-consciousness of theatrical artifice is fairly common on the stage these days. There is something subtler at work here — an investigation of the paradoxical alchemy of sincerity and deceit that lies at the heart of Hamlet and of theater itself.

The layers of this theatrical onion are further multiplied by the fact that the nine-person company of players doubles as … the Company of Players. By limiting the number of bodies onstage and letting each one accumulate valences of meaning, Gold sounds Shakespeare’s play like a great resonant bell. Seeing the Player King/Player Queen scene played out in the bodies of Gertrude and Claudius (who is also the ghost of Old Hamlet) is a revelation: Often delivered with self-conscious puffy artifice, here the scene feels like a moment out of time, like watching Hamlet witness a moment that might truly have taken place between his mother and his sickly father. And the Player King’s warning to his Queen — that she won’t be able to keep her vows never to remarry — rings with pathos and prophecy: “Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.” So says this false king — this actor — prefiguring Hamlet’s recognition of the “divinity that shapes our ends” and summing up in a single line the tragedy of the prince’s character. What is Hamlet if not a creature of thought, doomed to an end none of his own?

Or take the doubling of Laertes and the Lead Player, who enters into a friendly competition with Hamlet over their shared delivery of the great Pyrrhus speech. The Player astounds Hamlet with his ability to “force his soul so to his own conceit” — he can make himself weep on cue! “For nothing! For Hecuba!” — which drives Hamlet to the frenzied contemplation of his own inaction. By this point, the Hamlet who could clearly separate performance from substance is gone: He now longs to act in all senses of the word, even if it means conflating those senses. In attempting to follow the Player’s example, Hamlet substitutes performance for the real action he so craves (and fears), winding up screaming melodramatically into the winds (“Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! / O, vengeance!”) and, here, doing great violence to a dish of lasagna. No wonder Isaac looks up afterwards — the clown who tried to play the avenger — and cracks a wry, abashed smile: “Why, what an ass am I!”

Though Hamlet knows in his most lucid moments that the performance of a thing is not the thing itself, he remains obsessed with the enactment of his own feelings, as if performing them paradoxically proves their honesty. When this Hamlet confronts Laertes at Ophelia’s grave (“What is he whose grief / Bears such an emphasis?”), we have already seen these two men compete in the performance of grief. First, it was for Hecuba, a mere fantasy, a play. Now, it is for Ophelia, a real woman whom they both loved. Laertes and Hamlet are both wracked by real anguish, and they are also playing at it: Who loved her more? Who can mourn her better? It’s a wrenching thing to watch — who among us has not felt something deeply and simultaneously felt ourselves performing the feeling? Acting is in our nature; we long to be witnessed.

Is such ore always there for the mining in this scene between the grieving lover and the grieving brother? Yes. But does every Hamlet mine it? No. It is the mark of a deeply intelligent production when it makes you hear anew a work encrusted with so many barnacles of historical, literary, and theatrical precedent.

They don’t call it “Poem Unlimited” for nothing. The glory of Hamlet is its unsoundable depth. Another director with another production might strike its great bell from a slightly different angle and produce completely different resonances. Another director might be as fascinated by kingship, war, and affairs of state as Sam Gold is by layers of theatricality. Still, while Gold might have stripped the play of its original political context, this “intimate” production has not been stripped of politics. Its seeming domesticity is deceptive; it has something pointed to say about the political state of our world, but its tool is a needle, not a bludgeon. By its indirections, we find directions out.

“Ay sir,” quips Hamlet to Polonius, “to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.” It’s a great line, always, but at this moment I heard it cut the air with a new sharpness. That word, honest, rings out over and over in this production. The politics of this Hamlet is a politics of performance, of being and seeming, of sincerity and hypocrisy, truth and corruption. In this way, Gold’s production may well be an abstract and brief chronicle for our time. After all, how many of our highest politicians might currently be asking themselves, “May one be pardoned and retain the offence?”

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