Grief takes the stage in Zhao’s gorgeous ‘Hamnet’
Can a film be transformative yet disappointing? For me, that was Chloé Zhao’s “Hamnet,” the speculative tale of how the death of Shakespeare’s only son inspired the Bard to pen his masterpiece, “Hamlet.” No denying that this handsomely mounted film is rendered from the finest cloth, accentuated by what many are predicting will be an Oscar-winning turn by Jessie Buckley as Will’s feral wife, Agnes (aka Anne). An equal number are accusing Zhao of dealing in grief porn, callously striving for tears over the passing of an 11-year-old child.
Both takes are accurate, but what leaves me impressed but unmoved is that “Hamnet” lacks the quiet, subtle pitch of “The Rider” and the Oscar-winning “Nomadland,” movies that accentuated Zhao’s gift for leaving her thumbs off the scale. Unlike here, they emitted no cues on how to feel and what to derive from the misfortune that befalls her protagonists. It also lacks the poetry of those tours de force, revealing itself to be too slick, too opulent, in overtly drawing attention to itself.
That includes Buckley. Typically a card-carrying member of the less-is-more club, here she defies restraint by playing to the back row with her actorly mannerisms. Instead of allowing us to interpret the pain and misery befalling her Agnes, she slaps you across the chops with it. It cheapens the impact, especially late in the picture, when Agnes crowds into the Globe Theater for the premiere of “Hamlet” and acts as if she has zero concept of what her husband does for a living.
She shouts at the stage, chastising the players for hitting too close to home with their iambic pentameter. She projects more insane than aggrieved. I could also not help comparing her portrayal of the agony of childbirth with Sydney Sweeney’s superior depiction of a similar moment in Ron Howard’s “Eden.” It immediately broke my suspension of disbelief because I could see Buckley acting.
Fortunately, such hysterics are minimal and do little to diminish an otherwise solid display in which she strikes the perfect balance between Agnes’ abhorrence toward domesticity and her gentleness in how she nurtures her three children: eldest, Susanna (Bodhi Rae Breathnack), and twins, Hamnet (Jacobi Jupe) and Judith (Olivia Lynes). A mystical woman (some say “witch”), Agnes also experiences disturbing visions, most troubling is the one she has of her deathbed, in which she sees only two of her children at her side. She fears it’s Judith who will pass before her, more so when the child is ravaged by bubonic plague.
Alas, it’s the sweet-faced Hamnet who winds up in the clutches of the Reaper in the throes of a moment of self-sacrifice right out of “Romeo & Juliet.” Yes, it’s contrived in a “Shakespeare in Love” sort of way, particularly in how it observes Will (an underutilized Paul Mescal) incorporating words and instances from his home life into his writing. But did he really compose the “To be, or not to be” soliloquy while threatening to take a fatal plunge into the Thames below?
He might have. Or, more likely, did not. We’ll never know because there is precious little recorded history concerning Mr. Shakespeare and his brood, who resided in Stratford-upon-Avon while he forged his craft in a lonely room in an expansive home in London. This lack of knowledge, of course, gave O’Farrell the freedom to be creative in both her crafting of the screenplay and the novel it’s based on. Most notably, the speculation that “Hamlet” was Will’s catharsis for the sorrow Hamnet’s death cast upon him.
Much of what’s here is certainly plausible, with the possible exception of how O’Farrell imagines Will and Agnes’ meet-cute courtship that culminates in a bit of primal sex in ye olde woodshed. That carnal display begets Susanna, and the previously withheld approval of their union by Will’s mom, Mary (Emily Watson), and Agnes’ protective brother, Bartholomew (Joe Alwyn).
It’s called “Hamnet,” but this is really the story of Agnes, her free-spiritedness and deep connection to nature, right down to befriending a hawk where she’s most at ease – the wilds. It’s a oneness best exemplified in the wake of having given birth to Susanne alone in the woods, where Will eventually finds his wife and daughter curled up tight under her favorite tree. It’s a lovely scene indicative of the gorgeous cinematography by Ɫukasz Żal, who impressively follows up on his previous triumphs, “The Zone of Interest” and “Cold War.”
Toss in an unobtrusive score by Max Richter and evocative sets courtesy of Fiona Crombie that speak volumes (love her use of small beds to represent massive loss) and you have all the trappings of an Oscar wannabe. I loved almost every second of it, yet, strangely, it never felt like a Zhao film. If anything, it felt closer to the works of her famed producers, Steven Spielberg and Sam Mendes.
Perhaps I protest too much. But as much as I appreciate what Zhao has crafted, I could not ignore the hints of frustration left in its aftermath. I kept asking myself, “What would Shakespeare make of this?” What would he say? “To go, or not to go?” Ah, that is the question. But given the slings and arrows of our winter of Oscar discontent, I say get thee not to a nunnery, but to “Hamnet.” All that glisters is not gold, but this comes pretty damn close.
Movie review
Hamnet
Rated: PG-13
Cast: Jessie Buckley, Paul Mescal, Emily Watson, Joe Alwyn, Jacobi Jupe and Noah Jupe
Director: Chloé Zhao
Writer: Chloé Zhao and Maggie O’Farrell
Runtime: 125 minutes
Where: Currently in theaters
Grade: B+
