Kenneth Branagh’s film adaptation of Shakespeare’s tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark is justifiably famous and admired for being the very first attempt—not to mention successful attempt—to put on screen every last scene and every single one of the more than 30,000 words of dialogue conjured by the Bard. Just that alone makes Branagh’s film a cinematic achievement of renown. At the same time, however, it is also what puts a dent in the critical appreciation of that achievement.
Six years earlier Franco Zeffirelli directed the version starring Mel Gibson which was released with a running time of 134 minutes. By contrast, Branagh’s film rolls in at 242 minutes in the full uncut version. That is nearly twice as long which means, naturally, that Zeffirelli followed in the tradition of previous directors in making judicious edits in the story including the elimination of characters and the excision of entire scenes and subplots. In this way, Branagh’s version diverges from a tradition which met its apex in 1949 when a version also starring the director became the first—and so far, only—Shakespeare adaptation to win the Best Picture Oscar. That version has a running time of 155 minutes. Any two-and-a-half hour long film is nothing to sneeze at but consider that even the legendary Olivier’s definitive (to date) adaptation of Shakespeare’s tragedy still runs nearly an hour-and-a-half shorter than Branagh.
So it stands to reason that any fully intact, unabridged, mostly faithful adaptation (the setting has been moved to the 19th century) would be considered the greatest version ever made since, after all, Hamlet is routinely referred to as the greatest play ever written. Whether or not that is actually true is certainly up for debate, but the majority of people think it or at least assume other who know better think it. Putting every single word of the greatest play ever written (let’s say) would just seem to naturally translate into the best film version ever made.
And yet that is not an opinion universally shared by literary critics, college instructors and the academic world in general. The Mel Gibson version ranks number 14 (as of this writing) on the all-time list ratings by IMDB voters for the best Shakespeare adaptation ever. Number one? Kenneth Branagh’s Hamlet. Moviegoers may consider Zeffirelli and Olivier to be submissive to Branagh’s achievement, but that is not necessarily the case with those approaching the film with a more critical eye. Not that Branagh is appreciated and even held in the highest esteem by many, but even then there is an asterisk attached. Many appreciated this version on a purely cinematic level and, indeed, how could they not. It is a sumptuous feast for the eyes that revolutionizes the traditional visual approach: Elsinore is a colorful feast for the eyes rather than dank, sparsely decoration place whose palette reflects the melancholia of its title character. In addition to these visual flourishes, Branagh also comes closest to making his film “feel” like one is watching a live performance as a result of his long takes and epic compositions. Put all those things together and only the most doggedly dogmatic of Shakespearean critics could complain. No, there is a much more simple—and yet aesthetically complicated—reason behind the lower placement of appreciation for what Branagh did among both film and literary scholars. And that reason is perhaps the height of irony.
It’s not Branagh’s film, it’s Shakespeare’s. (Or, to be more precise, Branagh's and Shakespeare's.)
What that means is that the vision of a director who chooses to attempt putting Hamlet on screen is judged more by what he decided to leave out rather than how much he kept in. Hamlet is perhaps the ripest play ever written for a director to put his visionary stamp upon. The reasoning goes thusly: while it is a feast for the eyes, Branagh’s vision is limited merely to making the first unabridged adaptation. By choosing what to cut, every other director makes a film that is less Shakespeare than his own. (Or, at the very least, a film that is shared equally.) Olivier’s version opens with a line that comes straight from the 20th century and not from the Bard:
"This is the tragedy of a man who could not make up his mind."
So right there, from the start, viewers know what Olivier wants to convey and any element which doesn’t adhere to that overarching theme is out.
Gibson’s Hamlet is far closer to one of his actions heroes than to a depressed man who can’t make up his mind and so Zeffirelli is credited with taking an alternative—some might say too alternative—approach to Hamlet. At the very least, Gibson’s Hamlet is nearly the complete opposite of Olivier’s and neither can truly be said to fully represent the nuanced complexity of the title character which inexorably draws every actor toward it as a test case for his (or her) talent.
Which is exactly what Branagh delivers. To suggest that his performance as the title character should not at the very least be considered the definitive portrayal of Hamlet on film is simply to be ornery for ornery’s sake. Indeed, when one considers that Branagh did receive an Oscar nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay, but for neither Best Actor no Best Director, many can sit back and shake their head in wonder.
Others, however, will smile secretly and nod their heads. Because what’s missing from that Oscar nomination is an essential collaborator. And if Branagh’s Hamlet can be called nothing else, it can certainly be called the faithful cinematic adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Hamlet that has ever been. And may very well be the most faithful version that will ever be. As for being the most singular vision of the tragedy, well, alas, that is not to be.
