I Heart Hamlet
Hamlet is hot.
Hamlet. Shakespearean dead guy. "To be or not to be..." Jumping in graves. Talking to skulls. Crazy dude. Often over-acted. Hot.
It's not any of the things I've just mentioned (taken out of context) that do it. Those are just the images most often brought to mind when one mentions Hamlet to someone who had to suffer through a less-than-inspiring English teacher. That's just the iconography we have been brainwashed as a society into associating with the sexiest man in world literature.
Jill: Hamlet--
Unfortunate victim of bad teaching: Ugh.
Jill: No, but listen. Shakespeare--
Unfortunate victim of bad teaching: Yuch.
Those images, taken out of context, cannot approach the depth, complexity, and sheer sex appeal that is the Danish prince. In my mind.
If the following paragraph makes no sense to you, don't be alarmed. It is merely an academic wise-ass deterrent. Feel free to read on, undeterred.
Yes, not only do I recognize that this is a characterization in my mind but I also have two years of intensive study in Structuralism and its critics that ensure that if you feel the compulsion to argue with my Reading of Hamlet on a level that privileges the Author rather than my experience of the Text as a Reader, I will be quoting Roland Barthes faster than you can complain about my lack of footnotes. The Author is Dead. Let's move on.
Resume here.
Sunday was Shakespeare's (assumed) birthday. (We have only a baptismal record for April 26, and since babies were traditionally christened three days later, it is assumed that Baby Will came into the world April 23, 1564.) I could think of no better way to celebrate (I would say "this joyous occasion", but he died on April 23 as well) than to explicate upon this two word thesis: "Hamlet. Hot."
As is the case regarding most details of Shakespeariana, there has been much debate about Hamlet's age and whether the textual evidence is consistent regarding the matter. Hamlet is usually accepted to be thirty--which is only a few years younger than Ralph Fiennes was when I spent the evening just about drooling over the mezzanine of the Belasco Theatre at his portrayal of His Royal Hotness. This makes Hamlet a man entering his prime. Purrrrr...
But let's put aside the physical for a moment. Let's also disregard the fact that he's a prince. I'm not a gold-digger. Can anyone you know beat this guy's wit? From the first words he utters, the darkly sarcastic "A little more than kin and less than kind" (1.2.65), on through the playful irreverence of his antic act...
Polonius: What do you read, my lord?
Hamlet: Words, words, words.
(2.2.191-2)
...to the naughty innuendoes he makes at Ophelia while awaiting the Players' performance, how can anyone compete with him on the basis of versatility of wordplay? And for those of you who are not entirely familiar with that specific exchange of dialogue, I present
Jill's Annotated Guide to Act 3, Scene 2, Lines 102-110
Hamlet: My lady, shall I lie in your lap? (May allude to innocent cuddling; may also be translated as "So, can we f*&k?")
Ophelia: No, my lord. (Obviously he has to have said it suggestively, or else she wouldn't say no.)
Hamlet: I mean with my head upon your lap? (Here he teases her by playing innocent. How naughty is that?)
Ophelia: Ay, my lord. (So she agrees.)
Hamlet: Do you think I meant country matters? ("You thought I meant something dirty, didn't you?" What a tease!)
Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord. (By the way, "nothing" or "0" was slang for vagina.)
Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between a maids' legs. ("Yep, that's a lovely thing to be between a girl's legs.")
Ophelia: What is, my lord? (Isn't she so decorous you could just scream?)
Hamlet: Nothing. (Essentially, "Pu$$y.")
Ophelia: You are merry, my lord. (Evidently, he conveyed the innuendo, because she basically says, "Wow, you're in a good mood tonight, huh?")
So: he is at his peak physically, and he has a prodigious wit, with a sex drive to match. And to pull off this interchange without getting slapped--how charming does this guy have to be? And not only with women--he has to have a certain disarming aura with men as well, or he wouldn't be able to so gracefully call Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's bluff when they try to pretend that they're not there to fish information out of him on behalf of Claudius (2.2). Not to mention that he would never have realized their intention in the first place if he didn't possess a finely-tuned ability to read people--a skill also illustrated when he realizes that he is being messed with when he is called to visit his mother's chambers (3.2.358-9).
Please tell me that you are beginning to swoon.
What about his intellect and psychological complexity? He's more intelligent than just about everyone else in the play, with only Horatio as his possible equal. He's obviously well-read in the classics, as demonstrated by his various allusions, and his easy references to Aeneas and Dido in discussion with the Players (2.2). He dryly suffers pompous fools such as Polonius and Osric, but not without getting in a few jabs at their expense.
He is living in a time and place experiencing a transition from a religious to a scientific worldview. Soooo he entertains thoughts of suicide for a moment or two--so what? He is struggling with a religious upbringing, but clearly leaning toward humanism--no doubt in large part to his university education and having lived in Wittenburg. (You know how wild and liberal those university towns are.) In fact, early on (1.2.174) he promises he'll teach Horatio to drink hard before he returns to school--all this, and the man can hold his liquor, too!
By the way, he can fence. Well.
Need more?
Not only can he recognize shrewd machinations, but he is able to put them into effect himself. (I can't help it--I like my men Machiavellian. And good at it.) The Mousetrap--"The play's the thing/Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king" (2.2.583-4)...? Sheer. Freakin'. Genius.
Suriviving the pirate attack? Resourceful.
Rewriting the letter to have Rosencrantz and Guildenstern killed instead of him? A tad cruel, possibly sociopathic--but definitive. You don't mess with my boy Hamlet.
Jumping in the grave to counter Laertes' drama, declaring "This is I, / Hamlet the Dane" (5.1.241-2)...? One word: badass.
When I go to literary Elysium, I am totally sleeping with Hamlet. Don't even think about trying to fight me for him.
And don't bother getting in line behind me, either.
Happy belated birthday, Billy. What are you now, 442? That's a lot of candles.
Hamlet. Shakespearean dead guy. "To be or not to be..." Jumping in graves. Talking to skulls. Crazy dude. Often over-acted. Hot.
It's not any of the things I've just mentioned (taken out of context) that do it. Those are just the images most often brought to mind when one mentions Hamlet to someone who had to suffer through a less-than-inspiring English teacher. That's just the iconography we have been brainwashed as a society into associating with the sexiest man in world literature.
Jill: Hamlet--
Unfortunate victim of bad teaching: Ugh.
Jill: No, but listen. Shakespeare--
Unfortunate victim of bad teaching: Yuch.
Those images, taken out of context, cannot approach the depth, complexity, and sheer sex appeal that is the Danish prince. In my mind.
If the following paragraph makes no sense to you, don't be alarmed. It is merely an academic wise-ass deterrent. Feel free to read on, undeterred.
Yes, not only do I recognize that this is a characterization in my mind but I also have two years of intensive study in Structuralism and its critics that ensure that if you feel the compulsion to argue with my Reading of Hamlet on a level that privileges the Author rather than my experience of the Text as a Reader, I will be quoting Roland Barthes faster than you can complain about my lack of footnotes. The Author is Dead. Let's move on.
Resume here.
Sunday was Shakespeare's (assumed) birthday. (We have only a baptismal record for April 26, and since babies were traditionally christened three days later, it is assumed that Baby Will came into the world April 23, 1564.) I could think of no better way to celebrate (I would say "this joyous occasion", but he died on April 23 as well) than to explicate upon this two word thesis: "Hamlet. Hot."
As is the case regarding most details of Shakespeariana, there has been much debate about Hamlet's age and whether the textual evidence is consistent regarding the matter. Hamlet is usually accepted to be thirty--which is only a few years younger than Ralph Fiennes was when I spent the evening just about drooling over the mezzanine of the Belasco Theatre at his portrayal of His Royal Hotness. This makes Hamlet a man entering his prime. Purrrrr...
But let's put aside the physical for a moment. Let's also disregard the fact that he's a prince. I'm not a gold-digger. Can anyone you know beat this guy's wit? From the first words he utters, the darkly sarcastic "A little more than kin and less than kind" (1.2.65), on through the playful irreverence of his antic act...
Polonius: What do you read, my lord?
Hamlet: Words, words, words.
(2.2.191-2)
...to the naughty innuendoes he makes at Ophelia while awaiting the Players' performance, how can anyone compete with him on the basis of versatility of wordplay? And for those of you who are not entirely familiar with that specific exchange of dialogue, I present
Jill's Annotated Guide to Act 3, Scene 2, Lines 102-110
Hamlet: My lady, shall I lie in your lap? (May allude to innocent cuddling; may also be translated as "So, can we f*&k?")
Ophelia: No, my lord. (Obviously he has to have said it suggestively, or else she wouldn't say no.)
Hamlet: I mean with my head upon your lap? (Here he teases her by playing innocent. How naughty is that?)
Ophelia: Ay, my lord. (So she agrees.)
Hamlet: Do you think I meant country matters? ("You thought I meant something dirty, didn't you?" What a tease!)
Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord. (By the way, "nothing" or "0" was slang for vagina.)
Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between a maids' legs. ("Yep, that's a lovely thing to be between a girl's legs.")
Ophelia: What is, my lord? (Isn't she so decorous you could just scream?)
Hamlet: Nothing. (Essentially, "Pu$$y.")
Ophelia: You are merry, my lord. (Evidently, he conveyed the innuendo, because she basically says, "Wow, you're in a good mood tonight, huh?")
So: he is at his peak physically, and he has a prodigious wit, with a sex drive to match. And to pull off this interchange without getting slapped--how charming does this guy have to be? And not only with women--he has to have a certain disarming aura with men as well, or he wouldn't be able to so gracefully call Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's bluff when they try to pretend that they're not there to fish information out of him on behalf of Claudius (2.2). Not to mention that he would never have realized their intention in the first place if he didn't possess a finely-tuned ability to read people--a skill also illustrated when he realizes that he is being messed with when he is called to visit his mother's chambers (3.2.358-9).
Please tell me that you are beginning to swoon.
What about his intellect and psychological complexity? He's more intelligent than just about everyone else in the play, with only Horatio as his possible equal. He's obviously well-read in the classics, as demonstrated by his various allusions, and his easy references to Aeneas and Dido in discussion with the Players (2.2). He dryly suffers pompous fools such as Polonius and Osric, but not without getting in a few jabs at their expense.
He is living in a time and place experiencing a transition from a religious to a scientific worldview. Soooo he entertains thoughts of suicide for a moment or two--so what? He is struggling with a religious upbringing, but clearly leaning toward humanism--no doubt in large part to his university education and having lived in Wittenburg. (You know how wild and liberal those university towns are.) In fact, early on (1.2.174) he promises he'll teach Horatio to drink hard before he returns to school--all this, and the man can hold his liquor, too!
By the way, he can fence. Well.
Need more?
Not only can he recognize shrewd machinations, but he is able to put them into effect himself. (I can't help it--I like my men Machiavellian. And good at it.) The Mousetrap--"The play's the thing/Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king" (2.2.583-4)...? Sheer. Freakin'. Genius.
Suriviving the pirate attack? Resourceful.
Rewriting the letter to have Rosencrantz and Guildenstern killed instead of him? A tad cruel, possibly sociopathic--but definitive. You don't mess with my boy Hamlet.
Jumping in the grave to counter Laertes' drama, declaring "This is I, / Hamlet the Dane" (5.1.241-2)...? One word: badass.
When I go to literary Elysium, I am totally sleeping with Hamlet. Don't even think about trying to fight me for him.
And don't bother getting in line behind me, either.
Happy belated birthday, Billy. What are you now, 442? That's a lot of candles.
Labels: adventures in theater, geeky interlude, Jill's attachments to fictional characters, most popular posts by various standards, on reading, specific men I openly adore, thoughts theories and discussions
posted by Jill at
4/25/2006 12:00:00 AM
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42 Comments
