Actor makes Hamlet human in unforgettable performance

BOSTON -- Here’s how it usually works: A few minutes before "Hamlet" comes to an end, the tragic hero dies in the arms of his cherished friend Horatio, who utters the famous, "Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to they rest."

And several hundred people in the audience are thinking, "What was so sweet about him, exactly?" Before he even gets to the final sword fight, Hamlet has killed an old man, arranged for the execution of two companions, driven one woman to suicide and paved the way for the downfall of his mother and uncle. He has feigned madness, plotted revenge and manipulated his friends and relatives.

Suffice it to say we don’t get to see Hamlet through Horatio’s eyes.

Until now.

In a performance they’ll no doubt be talking about for years to come, Simon Russell Beale gives us the sweet prince, at last -- a tender, vulnerable Hamlet possessed not so much by demons but by the knowledge of how easily love can be drained away by lust, by pride, by betrayal, by death.

This Hamlet is haunted not merely by the ghost of his murdered father, but by life’s hardest lesson: that sometimes you must simply "let be." Sometimes love disappears into the ether. A beloved father dies, a mother turns to someone else for comfort, friends put power and influence above affection. With the shrug of a shoulder, a rueful laugh and eyes that shift effortlessly from self-mockery to sorrow, Beale shows us the heavy price we mortals pay for accepting each other’s humanity.

As this Royal National Theatre production of "Hamlet" moves across the country en route to New York, much will be written about the "accessibility" of Beale’s Hamlet. It’s a cold word, "accessibility" -- any day now, we’ll be reading that he has made the famous Dane "user-friendly."

People will interpret that as meaning they need not run screaming into the hills when this particular piece of Shakespeare comes to town. But in this case, "accessibility" means something beyond "you can understand the language." It means you can understand what Hamlet is feeling. It’s as if the play’s director, John Caird, has torn away all the cloaks that Hamlets past have worn -- the tortured soul, the madman, the dutiful heir, the Oedipus-driven son, the wily soldier -- and revealed the core of the man, grieving the loss of love and trust as much as for his father. Beale’s Hamlet, although decisive and active when that is called for, is more sad than mad -- he has no tics, and his rages are rare. (In an early newspaper interview, the actor said he did not so much think of his character as being mad but rather "not well." Thank God for the British.)

This more charming, more human Hamlet allows for stage moments that are achingly poignant: The ghost of his father and his living mother touch his face tenderly at the same time; his mother reaches to smooth his hair, to soothe him, but he pushes her away, smoothing the hair himself. The portrayal also allows for more humor -- more double-takes, more knowing asides, more laughter, often self-deprecating, that shakes Beale’s shoulders.

Around Beale is assembled a splendid cast that helps make the 3 1-2-hour production seem to breeze by. Peter McEnery brings a lively intelligence and even compassion to the difficult role of King Claudius, Hamlet’s uncle. Sara Kestelman’s cool Queen Gertrude seems to shatter after she is confronted with the truth of her first husband’s death. And Peter Blythe elevates the tedious Polonius to the almost unthinkable: a sympathetic character.

The clever set by Tim Hatley, a series of steel-colored doorways in an arch, and sea chests that serve as everything from beds to graves, reminds us that this is a play -- perhaps more than we need be reminded. But it also allows for wonderful continuity and several dramatically lit entrances and departures.

One final note: Much has been written about Beale’s physical appearance. He’s 40, he’s pudgy, and he’s gone a little gray in the beard. He’s not Kenneth Branagh. My advice: Get over it. Maybe his Everyman is exactly what the bard had in mind. After all, he was, by all pictorial accounts, no Ralph Fiennes himself.

Alicia Blaisdell-Bannon is the managing editor of the Cape Cod Times.

During her 19 years at the Times, she also has served as news editor, night news editor, lifestyles/home/food/health editor and copy editor. She has written a weekly humor column for 17 years. Her editing and writing awards include those from Investigative Reporters and Editors; the Associated Press; the Scripps Howard Foundation; the Goldsmith Awards at Harvard University; the University of Missouri’s Baccardi Award for Environmental Journalism; the American Association of Sunday and Feature Editors; the Gerald Loeb Awards at UCLA; the Benjamin Fine Award for Educational Reporting; the New England Newspaper Association; and the New England Press Association.

Before coming to the Times, she worked as an editor for the Navy and as editor in chief of the weekly paper at Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland. She has also been a reporter for weekly papers in Minnesota, Maryland and Massachusetts.

She is a graduate of the Newhouse School of Communications at Syracuse University. She shares her home with two teenagers and a foolish collie named Bailey.