It’s rare, but thrilling, when Shakespeare’s lines sound brand new. A novel inflection or an inspired pause suddenly shifts the meaning of words that seemed frozen in place. There are several moments like that in Amy Leach’s fresh, stripped-back production of Hamlet at Leeds Playhouse. It holds the Bard’s play up to the light and reveals previously unseen contours.
Much has been made of this production’s gender reversal, but a woman playing Hamlet is nothing new. Sarah Siddons was doing it in the late 18th century. The key difference here, though, is that Hamlet is allowed to be fully female; there is no suggestion that Tessa Parr is playing the part of a man, and nor does her performance suggest the kind of androgyny embraced by Maxine Peake in the same role. Instead, Hamlet is immediately established as a woman, opening the play to a fascinating series of new possibilities. Lines such as “frailty, thy name is woman” hit the ear differently.
Confidently taking up this challenge, Parr is by turns melancholy, vulnerable, churlish, mercurial, vicious, playful, righteous – a long list that throws into relief the restricted range of many female roles. In Leach’s wordless prologue, a short series of scenes, we see Parr’s Hamlet pre-tragedy, smiling and affectionate. It’s an insight that adds depth to her later disintegration, as we watch this once carefree student crumble by degrees. And a brief, early moment of intimacy lends a rare tenderness to Hamlet’s relationship with Ophelia (an affecting Simona Bitmate), making it all the more bitter when grief curdles into cruelty.
The addition of these introductory scenes is one of several smart efforts to blow the dust off this well-worn play. Leach’s version of the text is streamlined and economical, making each line feel vital – in every sense of the word. Hayley Grindle’s set is similarly spare, its austere black lines allowing the action to speak for itself, while a tucked-away shrine of flowers and candles lends a funereal mood to this plot bookended with death. Perhaps most impressively, Shakespeare’s drama of procrastination manages to feel almost like a thriller – taut, fast-moving and occasionally even revelatory.
