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Hamnet’s final scene and why it moved me so.
Before I saw the movie Hamnet, every anecdote I read from people I know and follow reported being overcome. Wrenching sobs. Crying from some point in the movie until the end. Warnings against seeing it if you have recently suffered loss. Or even if you just have a child. (Which I do not.) I had read the book, so I knew the core loss at the center of the book, and I remembered liking the book, but not that much more of the specifics about why I liked it. Honestly I was a little put off from seeing the movie because I hadn’t necessarily been in the “I need a good cry” mood.
I finally watched the movie, at home, just a day or two before the Oscars. I found the visuals nuanced and earthy, like a Flemish painting, and I admired Jessie Buckley and Paul Mescal’s acting. Buckley, in particular, displayed a sort of feral Earth mother-Goddess commitment as Shakespeare’s wife, Agnes.
But I did not cry. Not until the very end. And it wasn’t really about the core loss experienced in the movie; it was about the power of art to connect humans. To invoke a sort of emotional call and response, even silently.
Setting the scene
It is the very end of a performance of Shakespeare’s Hamlet at the Old Globe Theatre. Buckley’s character, Shakespeare’s wife and going through the worst thing that can happen to a mother, has come to see the play. To see what has kept her husband far away from her geographically and emotionally while she goes through this worst thing. To see what has kept him so engrossed that barely seems to share in her grief and loss…and certainly isn’t supporting her in it.
She is initially outraged…but as the play progresses, she begins to understand that this play is Shakespeare’s expression of grief, and that it will be immortal.
When time stands still
The young actor playing Hamlet comes to the very front and center of the stage, directly in front of Agnes, and begins his final utterances of the play.
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,
Absent thee from felicity awhile
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain
To tell my story.
O, I die, Horatio!
The potent poison quite o’ercrows my spirit.
I cannot live to hear the news from England.
But I do prophesy th’ election lights
On Fortinbras; he has my dying voice.
So tell him, with th’ occurrents, more and less,
Which have solicited—the rest is silence.
⟨O, O, O, O!⟩ (He dies.)
The “O!”s above do a lot of heavy lifting, the manner of Hamlet’s death is only thus described, giving actors and directors latitude on how to portray the final tragic moment of the protagonist. Of course in the play there is dialog after Hamlet’s death, when Horatio inked promises to tell his story, as Fortinbras makes a triumphal entrance to signal a final change in fortunes for Denmark.
But the movie leaves us here with Hamlet’s final moments, and as the young Hamlet faces his death with tears in his eyes, Agnes reaches out to him…reaches out a hand to comfort him? To give him strength? To reassure him that he is not as alone in his death as she fears her own son was? I think we can all fill in that blank on our own. (In fact, I think leaving blanks for an individual viewer to fill in is critical to creating a universal and eternal work of art.)
The actor is taken aback and then he is transported himself. And in witnessing this silent human exchange the entire audience at the Old Globe joins in the transcendent moment. These groundlings…as the people who could only afford to stand in the open air, standing room only portion of the house were called…these possible inspirations for the “rude mechanicals” in Midsummer Night’s Dream…they lean in. They reach out. Their eyes fill with the tears of every loss they have experienced. It is like time suspended. Everyone on screen seems to be holding their breath and refusing to break the spell. This is a communal experience, a communal but silent howl.
And I too feel myself hold my breath. Or, rather, gasp then hold it. I felt my eyes tear up. I felt my chest ache.
Yes, I felt all this as though I was one of the groundlings. but I also felt it as though I was the actor playing Hamlet. That moment when you know you have taken your audience some place far away from their daily concerns or worries or cares or responsibilities. When you know you have given them a moment of joy without condition…or the opportunity to feel their grief without self-consciousness.
If I miss anything from my days of performing, it is the experience of building something with your fellow performers and knowing you have crafted moments such as these. Moments that seem to suspend time. In the past 25 years, but this may be the first time I have ever seen it captured on film.
The act of creation. Collaborative creation. Yes. I miss it. Did that scene hit you like a ton of bricks, like it hit me? Have you experienced this beauty of collaborative creation yourself?
Bonus: Two theatre examples…see these if you ever get the chance
I have experienced this yearning for that experience in the theatre on multiple occasions.
The movie Once is charming, but one way that the stage musical version elevates the work is by having a small cast of actor-musicians who play the roles and create all the music. At the end of Act 1 the lead male character is performing at the pub, a love song called “Gold.” As the song continues every cast member grabs their instrument and joins in. The song builds, first with music, then movement, and as I stumbled out, overcome with emotion, for intermission, I imagined what it must feel like to make that beauty every single day. (This video is from their Tony Awards performance…it gives you a good idea, but the cutting for television viewers does detract, every so slightly, from the experience of seeing everyone all at once across the stage, and noticing as each person joins in.)
The current Broadway hit Maybe Happy Ending is a small, intimate musical. Only a handful of actors, and an offstage band. When the curtain came down the first thing I thought to say was how lovely it was to hear delicate singing. To have moments of true silence, and lovely, quiet. Many shows on Broadway seek to leverage and integrate technology…but often in loud and over-stimulating ways. (Think Dear Evan Hanson and the constant stream of projected text and social media messages.) Maybe Happy Ending is about technology, in a way, with two protagonists who are robots, but it leverages technology in appropriately delicate ways…creating a forest of fireflies, for example. There is one scene in that firefly forest where, as the music builds, the unseen band suddenly emerges on stage like a chamber orchestra, complete in formal wear. This performance on the Tonys below gives you a sense, but during the actual performance they appear in a circle, and as if by magic (and without having to see the pesky TV cameraman in the shot LOL). You are suddenly transported to another place, another time, the music is soaring, the fireflies are filling the sky, and you see the humans at the heart of the beautiful music you are listening to. It felt utterly magical, and yes, again, I caught my breath, and my heart ached with the beauty and poignancy.
Can you think of any other examples?
a final word
For the theatre's audience, this is a mourning for a fictional character, whose life they've only come to know over an hour or two. Yet for Agnes, it's a recognition of what her husband has conjured through only words: a collective grieving for their son whose spirit still lingers between their realm and the next.
-From “Art is an Act of Resurrection,” a wonderful exploration of this scene in Hamnet.
Until next time,
Elisa CP