What a vivid visceral madness this is!
Is this how Gertrude perceived Hamlet in the previous scene? Did she see turmoil in him like this? A frothy roiling fight?
Or is this an exaggeration for Claudius’ benefit?
Hamlet has told her to tell Claudius he is mad – which would imply that he thinks she thinks he is not so. But there is nothing in his behavior in that scene that would indicate non-madness from her perspective.

Here’s what she saw:
• her son suddenly whipping out his blade and run it through a curtain into Polonius
• her son seeing someone who wasn’t there – a ghost, he says, the ghost of his father. She sees no indication of a ghost.
• Her son ranting and raving, being inappropriately personal about her sex life and talking non-stop in a kind of mania.

I don’t think she’s lying when she says he’s mad. It’s just a matter of degree. Is he sea storm mad or pebble in a lake mad?

There’s a warmth to this line, somehow. “Mine own lord” feels heartfelt or personal in a way. Is this a last ditch attempt to re-connect with Claudius before choosing how to proceed? Her allegiance isn’t entirely clear – but it’s always felt to me that she wants Claudius to comfort her. He doesn’t. But she’s lost so much here- her son’s lost to her in many ways and she’s (sort of) promised to distance herself from Claudius. Polonius is dead. Who does she have? The only other woman in the play will shortly die as well. So… Gertie’s on her own. Of course she’d want comfort wherever she can find it.

In Rebecca Sonit’s essay, “Pandora’s Box and the Volunteer Police Force” she mentioned a feminist art exhibit from the 70s called “Your 5000 years are up.”
It makes me think of the conversation that Jill Soloway has started about maybe just making women’s movies for a little while – to just get the female gaze for a bit. Men had 5000 years in charge and the entire history of film so far – let’s switch it up – get just women’s voices for a bit. Like when Ruth Bader Ginsberg said we’d have actual equality on the Supreme Court when ALL of the justices were women.
There is something very appealing about all of these visions of the world –a world where we might rule for a bit – where the next 5000 years would be ours. We tried asking for equality. We were nice about it. We said we’d share. But….

The board of my college voted to dismantle their study abroad program in Florence, despite a torrent of protest from alumni, despite student dissent, despite faculty support, despite 29 years of success and international commendation.

We realized that the decision had actually been made long before and that the vote was simply a formality. It had been concluded before it even began. That’s how Boards do their dirty work.

I’m curious about this “Alack.”
Is she distraught because Hamlet’s being sent away?
If so – why was she not distraught about it before?
Is there a way his leaving suddenly feels like abandonment – despite the fact that he’s just been pretty horrible to her? Has he convinced her so thoroughly of Claudius’ ills that she doesn’t want to be left alone?
And why is Hamlet so concerned about her not telling Claudius that he’s only pretending to be mad when he won’t even be around?
His plans for escaping the English ship must already be in place. Which is funny because his escape does involve a chance meeting with pirates. Maybe that meeting is not such an accident. Maybe Hamlet has a pirate friend.
I wouldn’t put it past him.

In other words: you’re killin’ me, kid. You’re killin’ me.

This scene is so horrible from Gertrude’s perspective. First, she’s the witness to her son killing a high ranking official before her very eyes. Then over the corpse of that man, her son proceeds to berate her and see a ghost and then berates her some more.
I would play this scene so differently now than I did at 22. I would not let myself forget the dead man in his blood on the floor. I would escalate my emotional state – vibrate it so high it would be hard to stay in it. But it would be worth it. Because I think this scene must be torture for her.

It would appear that the Queen has learned some helplessness throughout the course of this scene – maybe this play. She’s not a wilting wallflower. She’s not a shrinking violet. She’s got a lot of fierce regality earlier in the play but now, suddenly, she’s all, “What shall I do?”
And it makes me think of my youth – when I was constantly hoping to give over my authority to other people. I’d learned I had not much to speak of – so in many matters, I would ask to be told what to do. For me, it was usually matters of not much consequence, like where to have lunch.

It seems that now a lot young people, male and female have learned helplessness as well. Even Ivy League kids (maybe especially?) don’t have their own compass, they just want instructions – not just for where to have lunch but on what to study and how and where. They’ve learned to just follow – and never seem to access their own inner compasses. It’s a little bit terrifying.

I have had my heart broken, though not cut in two. Gratefully.
It does feel quite a bit more dramatic to have a heart cleaved than broken or cracked.

Today I found myself with heart aching for a small boy on a marvelous train. The train is from decades and decades ago. It features sights, sounds and feelings from long ago. There is something to wonder at at every turn. If not the train-car itself than the people dressed up in the car or the people watching it with astonishment as it arrives. There are no shortage of ways to receive magic. And this small boy had a smartphone on which he played a game and never looked up.

It’s not a heart cleaving so much. He’s not my small boy. But to think that a small boy is already so immune to wonder, to think that he will grow up and never learn how to marvel at anything, well it does make my heart ache for him, his future and all the little ones like him who will only find patterns in front of them to look at.

Back when I played this part, I found this line very challenging – but looking at it now – I think if I just re-punctuated it –
With a dash
Instead of a period
It’s really just the weird ending with that “in”
But if it’s meant to go on…
Well…the ecstasy is very cunning in fooling your brain or showing you something – but she doesn’t get to say what the ecstasy is cunning in because Hamlet cuts in.
It’s the sort of thing I could do as an actor without having to actually re-punctuate. I could just think that I’m about to say more and all that anxiety I had about this line would have vanished.

It would be very cool if our brains could actually coin money. Like, if you could just think yourself solvent? Manufacture dollar coins by picturing them? Or, more efficiently, gold ones you could sell?
So many traditions try and convince us we can think ourselves into wealth.
Just picture your bank account growing.
Just create a vision board
Just chant enough times a day
Just believe hard enough
Just be grateful for what you have – cherish every penny that comes into your possession
But to actually be able to coin money with your brain? That would save you a whole lot of trouble.