"Hamlet."
Mr. Martin Harvey has evidently approached this high matter of the Shakspeare Tercentenary celebration with the sincerity and thoughtfulness which have so often laid us under debt to him. He makes you feel that his heart is more with his "darling" author than with any other lesser man. It is only an implacable public that has attached him so persistently to the steps of a guillotine against a blood-red sky.
It shows a considerable virtue in him to have adopted, without straining after a perversely original and disquieting effect, the very sensible simplifications of our modernist school. To play substantially the whole of Hamlet in under three and a-half hours is a highly creditable feat of stage direction. But the curtain method does more than give speed. Its rich simplicity provides an excellent foil for the jewel of this wonderful stage play. Of course it has its disadvantages. It tends to muffle the voice. On the other hand it lets through a certain amount of unrehearsed effect. I noted, for instance, even as Polonius was being pinked behind the arras, the voice of a stage carpenter complaining to his mate.
It showed wisdom, too, to confine the curtains to the interiors. The built-up crenellations of the battlement scenes, with the series of broad steps in front of them, was admirable for grouping and for movement, though it may be doubted whether the parapet would have provided adequate cover against the slings and arrows of a tough enemy; or even if it would have sufficed to prevent the Danes, when under the influence of wassail, from toppling into the moat. In the play scene the setting of the "Mouse Trap" against the "fourth wall," whereby the audience had a fuller view of the principals, entirely justified itself. The lighting was effective without being fussy.
The costumes call for little comment, which is as it should be. I fell to wondering in the last Act about what I took to be a team of local base-ball players—the four stout fellows with the black raven on their sweaters. And most distinctly would I counsel Mr. Harvey, at his entrance in the graveyard scene, to show a leg. In the murky gloom, with his inky cloak and proudly feathered bonnet, he was dangerously near giving the impression of a very smart young widow walking out with Horatio.
Mr. Harvey seemed at his very best in the earlier phases of the play. The reflective passages were excellent; the homelier bouts of dialogue were easy and varied; and his fine voice often enriched the splendid text. As the plot thickened and the eternally unsolvable in the reading and rendering of Hamlet's malady became more pressing, he seemed a little to lose grip. As, certainly, he lost the essential pace—the death scene unquestionably limped. His slurs, his impetuous accelerandos, his rather violent sforzandos, perhaps challenge criticism. But let us acknowledge them to be trifles. Mr. Harvey filled three short hours with the glory of a great name, and that should be reward enough for him.
I see no reason to protest against Mr. Rutland Barrington's unusually whimsical Polonius. True it did not fit that noblest of purple passages, the homily to Laertes. But then neither does the Polonius of the rest of the text—our Will is like that. Mr. Ross's notable bass and admirable elocution lent mystery and majesty to the Ghost. A full audience applauded long and heartily at the curtain's fall. No one would be less inclined than Mr. Martin Harvey to keep back grudgingly any share of that applause which was meant as a tribute to the memory of the exalted dead.T.