Second Age Theatre Company has specialized in Shakespeare since its inception. Its repertoire includes all of the heavy hitters (King Lear, Macbeth, Othello, Romeo and Juliet), with just a couple of local titles (The Playboy of the Western World, The Plough and the Stars).
This, their third production of Hamlet in ten years, is directed by the ubiquitous Alan Stanford (Jane Eyre) and it is surprising only insofar as there are no surprises. There is no overarching aesthetic to speak of; at least none which has any bearing on the interpretation of the text. The play is more or less intact, with characters, sub plots, and speeches frequently excised all present and accounted for. The costumes offer a 1950s look, though Claudius, Polonius, and Laertes sport green uniforms bedecked in medals which make the setting a bit uncertain. Fiona Cunningham’s fairly simple set and Eamon Fox’s quite flexible lighting frame the action only insofar as it is necessary to indicate shifts in time and location.
The audience’s attention is therefore firmly focused on the text. Stanford clearly has a love for the language which sees him unable to part with any of the character soliloquies, which is good, because increasingly we see productions which threaten literally to become one-man shows. Here the audience is given time to contemplate Claudius’ personal torment, Ophelia’s breaking heart, and Horatio’s reactions and reflections. They are also allowed access to the moments of pause provided by scenes which do not drive the plot but which do increase the richness of theme and characterization.
With all due respect to the Bard, it still requires skilled acting to make the evening worthwhile. Thankfully Stanford and Second Age have largely chosen their cast well. Rory Keenan is a good basic Hamlet. He plays the character more or less as written, veering from brooding melancholy to clownish antics to hysterical rage. Looking for all the world like a younger Brad Pitt, Keenan relishes the opportunity to break with the sustained solemnity usually associated with the role. He lets his ‘antic disposition’ and ‘wild and whirling words’ carry the performance into the realms of self-consciousness suggested by the character’s fascination with actors. He is particularly good in those scenes where Hamlet playfully tortures his tormentors, usually giving the audience just one moment or sidelong glance which shows the smoldering rage behind the mask.
Alan Smyth (The Importance of Being Earnest, How the Other Half Loves) gives another terrifically well judged supporting performance as Horatio. The sense of fellowship and personality he brings to this vital character goes a long way towards offsetting the potential pitfalls of a story carried entirely by its lead. Simon Coury and Helene Montague are less effective as Claudius and Gertrud. The former never really displays the hard edges which make the character a credible threat. He seems nervy and weak at the best of times. He hardly makes a true match for his wild nephew, especially when Barry McGovern’s positively reptilian Polonius is absent. Montague’s Gertrud, meanwhile, seems disconnected from her surroundings, to the extent that following the murder of Polonius, she seems unaware that there is a dead body behind her and that her son is responsible. On the plus side, Stanford makes a splendid ghost. His portentous appearances help to sustain a tone of dread, and this has its payoff in the final scene as the fascist black-clad Fortinbras strides in among the corpses to claim the Danish throne.
The venue is not ideal, with poor acoustics (particularly when sound effects or music are played over the speakers) and uncomfortable seats which tend to detract from the experience, but this is a very respectable production likely to attract substantial school audiences. It won’t challenge their sense of the boundaries of theatrical interpretation like Calixto Bieito’s Dublin Theatre Festival production, but there is plenty to enjoy in good middleground Shakespeare, and that is what we have here.
