Theater Review | Something Old, Something Completely New 

Ensemble Theatre Company’s production of Hamlet (directed by Margaret Shigeko Starbuck) is a perfect example of how a collection of artists can take a well-known and well-loved piece and reinvent it in a way that feels wholly unique to them. Inspired by Nordic noir — a genre of crime fiction generally set in bleak Scandinavian landscapes, where the quiet, still, and sparse setting contrasts with the darker, violent crimes at the heart of the story — it’s hard to decide which factor is responsible for making this play so delightful: the intimacy of the production, the aesthetic of the design and thoughtful direction, or the incredible skill with which the cast wields their words. 

Will Block’s Hamlet is a manic Harry Potter in constant motion, spitting out rapid-fire insults, mad riddles, and self-deprecating jokes fast enough to deserve immediate consideration for any future Amy Sherman-Palladino projects. When the audience is first introduced to him, he is standing at the side of his mother and her new husband, his uncle, at what feels like a press conference. He plays the part of the dutiful son, suffering through tender family moments turned into photo ops and swallowing back his discomfort with tense smiles and nervous, awkward gestures. It isn’t until the group has dispersed that sound and lighting shift and his focus turns subtly to the audience. The fourth wall dissolves and it is in this mysterious liminal space that Hamlet is able to truly express the emotions he represses in front of the public eye, boiling under the surface. He comes across as the cleverest voice in the room, even as he’s munching on cheese puffs in a bathrobe at the height of his play-acted “madness.” His college friends, his mother, even the sweetly moody Ophelia — styled in preppy skirt sets like a modern-day young Kennedy — can’t seem to keep up. His knowledge of events and acute perception of the world set him apart from family and peers, isolating him completely.

I particularly enjoyed the friendship between Hamlet and Ana Nicolle Chavez’s Ophelia, two young adults trapped together in a world that neither feels particularly comfortable in. Ophelia exists without autonomy; she is lectured, scolded, and used as a tool to manipulate the mad, young prince, expected to play the role she has been born into and stand quietly to the side as the adults discuss their business and make decisions on her behalf. It isn’t until Act II where madness and sorrow finally give Ophelia a voice … and a karaoke microphone to amplify it.