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the only secular rival to his greatest precursors in personality. Like them,
upon the world's culture is incalculable. After Jesus, Hamlet is the most
evades him for long either. (He cannot be reduced to a role for an actor;
one would have to begin by speaking of "roles for actors" anyway, since
there are more Hamlets than actors to play them.) Overfamiliar yet always
who was (according to Borges) everyone and no one, an art so infinite that
it contains us, and will go on enclosing those likely to come after us.
STORYLINES/PLOTS
DRAMATIC TECHNIQUES
SOLILOQUIES
IAN KOTT
Storylines
Hamlet doesn’t fit the classic normative as regards unity of
action, time and space.
Action:
Ghost’s revelations
Delayed revenge
Laertes
Fortimbras
Place:
The action develops in Denmark, mainly at Elsinor Castle, as well as
in the cemetery.
Dramatic
techniques
Tragic Pathos
(awakening
emotion Aristotle)
Supernatural
elements
Coexistence of
elements
Dramatic techniques
The word as a
constructive element:
soliloquies and
monologues
theatre/meta-theatrical
elements/plays within
the play
Dramatic techniques
Style:
Alternation between blank
verse and prose
Registers (formal and informal)
Moods (sarcasm, hatred, bitterness, hypocrisy,
innocence)
Discourses (philosophy, lyric, and
conversational),
Styles according to each character: variety of
figures of speech
Hamlet’s Soliloquies
According to Harold Bloom,
“In Shakespeare, characters develop rather than unfold, and they develop
creating utterly different yet self-consistent voices for his more than one
characters”
Hamlet’s Soliloquies
making him know the truth, truth too intolerable for us to endure.”
revenge.”
Soliloquy N°1: Act I, Scene ii
Context: Alone, Hamlet reflects on his By what it fed on, and yet within a month--
continuing mourning of his father’s death Let me not think on't; Frailty, thy name is woman--
despite the festivities for his mother and King
Claudius’ wedding.
HAMLET:
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew,
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed A little month, or ere those shoes were old
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter. O God, God, With which she followed my poor father's body
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she--
Seem to me all the uses of this world! O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason
Fie on't, ah, fie, 'tis an unweeded garden Would have mourned longer--married with my uncle,
That grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature My father's brother, but no more like my father
Possess it merely. That it should come to this, Than I to Hercules. Within a month,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
So excellent a king, that was to this Had left the flushing in her gallèd eyes,
Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth, It is not nor it cannot come to good.
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.
As if increase of appetite had grown
Soliloquy N°2: Act II, Scene ii
Context: After watching a player work himself to tears over But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall
the fictional character of Hecuba, Hamlet chastises himself To make oppression bitter, or ere this
for a lack of passion in the matter of avenging his father’s I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal. Bloody, bawdy villain!
real and unnatural death Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
HAMLET: Now I am alone. O, vengeance!
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
Is it not monstrous that this player here, That I, the son of a dear father murdered,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit Must like a whore unpack my heart with words
That from her working all his visage wanned, And fall a-cursing like a very drab,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A scullion! Fie upon't! Foh! About, my brain!
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting I have heard that guilty creatures sitting at a play
With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! Have by the very cunning of the scene
For Hecuba! Been struck so to the soul that presently
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, They have proclaim'd their malefactions.
That he should weep for her? What would he do, For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
Had he the motive and the cue for passion With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears Play something like the murder of my father
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech, Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks.
Make mad the guilty and appal the free, I'll tent him to the quick. If he but blench,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, May be the devil, and the devil hath power
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, T' assume a pleasing shape, yea, and perhaps
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
And can say nothing. No, not for a king, As he is very potent with such spirits,
Upon whose property and most dear life Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds
A damned defeat was made. Am I a coward? More relative than this. The play's the thing
Who calls me villain? Breaks my pate across? Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? Gives me the lie i' th' throat,
As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this?
Ha! 'Swounds, I should take it, for it cannot be
Soliloquy N°3: Act III, Scene i
Context: As King Claudius and Polonius
observe from him behind an arras, Hamlet
seems to contemplate suicide.
HAMLET: To be, or not to be - that is the question: When he himself might his quietus make
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles But that the dread of something after death,
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep-- The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No more--and by a sleep to say we end No traveller returns, puzzles the will
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks And makes us rather bear those ills we have
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation Than fly to others that we know not of?
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep-- Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub, And thus the native hue of resolution
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, And enterprises of great pitch and moment
Must give us pause. There's the respect With this regard their currents turn awry
That makes calamity of so long life. And lose the name of action.--Soft you now,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, Be all my sins remembered.
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
Soliloquy N°4: Act III, Scene iii
Context: Certain at last of his uncle’s guilt, When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage,
and finding the King vulnerable and Or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed,
unprotected, Hamlet prepares to avenge his At gaming, swearing, or about some act
That has no relish of salvation in't;
father’s murder as Claudius prays for
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven,
absolution. And that his soul may be as damned and black
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays.
This physic but prolongs thy sickly days.
HAMLET: Now might I do it pat, now he is praying,
And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven,
And so am I revenged. That would be scanned.
A villain kills my father, and for that
I, his sole son, do this same villain send to heaven.
O, this is hire and salary, not revenge.
He took my father grossly, full of bread,
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
And how his audit stands who knows save heaven?
But in our circumstance and course of thought,
'Tis heavy with him; and am I then revenged,
To take him in the purging of his soul,
When he is fit and seasoned for his passage? No!
Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid occasion.
Soliloquy N°5: Act IV, Scene iv
function?
forces.
GRAND MECHANISM
A stair case by
which tyrants
rise to power.
Hamlet of the Mid-century
POLITICS ULTIMATE DUEL
PURPOSE OF LIFE
FAMILY A BLOODY
DRAMA STORY
GENERAL DEEP
SLAUGHTER PSYCHOLOGICAL
ANALYSIS
“Watch” and “enquire” were the words most commonly heard from the stage. In
this (play) everybody, without exception, was being constantly watched:
Polonius:
Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;
And how, and who, what means and where they keep,
What company, at what expense; and finding
By this encompassment and drift of question
That they do know my son, come you more nearer
Than your particular demands will touch it
(II, i)
more or less tragic and cruel part to play, and has magnificent
dictates their words and gestures. But it does not say who the
A great drama has been concluded. People fought, plotted, killed one
another, committed crimes for love, and went mad for love. They told
amazing things about life, death and human fate. They set traps to
each other, and fell into them. They defended their power, or revolted
against power. They wanted to build a better world, or just save
themselves. They all stood for something. Even their crimes had a
certain greatness. And then a vigorous young lad comes, and says with
a charming smile: “Take away these corpses. Now I shall be your
king”.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Bloom, Harold. Shakespeare The Invention of the Human. New York, Riverhead Books, 1998.
Ford, Boris (ed.). The New Pelican Guide to English Literature: The Age of Shakespeare.
Lewis, C. S. Selected Literary Essays, “Hamlet: The Prince or the Poem?” Cambridge, CUP,
1969.
Kott, Ian. Shakespeare our Contemporary. USA,W. W. Norton & Company, 1974.