Theatre review: Hamlet (National Theatre / Lyttelton)

The new Artistic Director has launched the season by reminding us of the National Theatre's close connection with Ancient Greek Tragedy, now her new deputy gets to do the same for Shakespeare: Robert Hastie's take on Hamlet stays on dry land, but if it's not overtly high concept it's still full of ideas, and little nods to past productions. Hiran Abeysekera's Hamlet is a stroppy prince, performatively wearing black clothes and nail polish at his mother's wedding in protest at how soon it's come after her first husband, Hamlet's father's, death. But if there's something of the attention-seeking, overgrown teenager to him, the front becomes reality when his father's ghost starts haunting the palace: The dead king's spirit (Ryan Ellsworth) tells him he was murdered by his brother Claudius (Alistair Petrie.)

Claudius went on to steal not only the throne of Denmark but his widow Gertrude (Ayesha Dharker,) and the ghost demands justice. But while promising to deliver it, Hamlet instead goes on more of an existential journey than a bloody rampage.

Hastie's production is modern-dress, taking place almost entirely in a single stateroom and giving the impression of a Danish royal family that's modern but still inevitably bound by tradition and deference. But designer Ben Stones also covers its walls in a mural depicting battles down the ages between Denmark and Norway, reflecting the play's military backdrop in an otherwise largely domestic production.

Abeysekera may be an award-winning actor but he's never been one I've quite clicked with, there's a kind of archness to his performance style that I find off-putting at times. But while his Hamlet isn't one of the best I've seen it's probably my favourite performance of his: Hastie has mostly managed to either get him to tone this down, or elsewhere used it to the advantage of a show that, like Bacchae next door, makes statements about the importance and uniqueness of theatre itself. Hamlet's status with the audience is really narrowed in on, and while he might have no control over his life he does have some over how his story is told, so when Polonius has his own asides to the audience Hamlet both hears them, and is quite offended that anyone other than him gets to break the fourth wall.

50-year-old Geoffrey Streatfeild is the latest instance of casting directors seeming to personally attack me with people my age as canonically ancient characters* but he is of course old enough to have adult children, and his ukulele-playing Polonius is more cringey dad jokes than doddering old fool. Tom Glenister manages to overcome the fact that his Laertes has been styled to look like Jamie Laing, and once again Francesca Mills proves true the adage that actors who are great comedians can turn that to drama with seeming effortlessness.

For an iconic role Ophelia can easily fade into the background but Mills puts her at the heart of the story, really contributing to the light, comic tone Hastie allows much of the evening to carry, which of course means her downfall is all the more heartbreaking - I heard gasps when Gertrude announced her death. At around 40 Abeysekera is actually on the older side of Hamlets I've seen but he looks younger, so his and Ophelia's relationship has a youthful innocence and genuineness: I'd guess this Hamlet is asexual but not necessarily aromantic, as he seems to have had chaste but genuine relationships with Ophelia, Hari Mackinnon's Rosencrantz and possibly Tessa Wong's Horatio in the past.

This does make it particularly harsh how casually Hamlet sends off his old friends to die - adding the unnecessarily cruel note of not allowing them to pray before their executions, in a universe that explicitly contains purgatory. Here Rosencrantz is definitely the junior partner in the famous duo, Joe Bolland's Guildenstern much more enthusiastically and consciously embracing the role of spy for Claudius. Although Rosencrantz does appear to have got a blowie off of one of the Players at one point so well done him.

There's a lot of subtle little touches I enjoyed: Hamlet is fond of making a gun out of his hand to point at his own head, and among all the black fingernails only the two that form the barrel are painted red. Ellsworth's Player King wears merch from the Rory Kinnear Hamlet, apparently there's an Arden Shakespeare edition of The Murder of Gonzago, and while the First Player is a comparatively small role, Siobhán Redmond not only makes the most of her speeches but also responds in exactly the way you would expect the city's leading tragedians to respond to some random member of the royal family giving them a lecture on how acting works.

All in all this speedy production - it comes in at three hours without any obvious plotlines being cut entirely, although a lot of individual speeches are pruned - feels fresh, clever and interesting. Not necessarily a reinvention for the ages or a revelatory take on the central character but certainly one that suggests the classical element of the National's remit is in safe - but not too safe - hands.

Hamlet by William Shakespeare is booking until the 22nd of November at the National Theatre's Lyttelton.

Running time: 3 hours including interval.

Photo credit: Sam Taylor

*although Alastair Coomer was at university at the same time as me so he's spiting his own face as much as mine