It’s funny. A lot of guys who play Hamlet played Romeo earlier in their careers. I wonder if any of them get to this line and suddenly feel tempted to say, “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” instead of “noise.”
Probably not. But this, “But soft, what…” is a lot less famous than that other one is.
It’s also a moment alone – just like Romeo.
It’s a “shut up” to himself.

I always picture Hamlet stuffing Polonius into some structure that’s a bit like a Murphy Bed. Maybe a Murphy Bed.

But it’s a thing that is long and folds into the wall and Hamlet places Polonius’ dead body on it and gets him all nestled in his closet or Murphy Bed or ironing board cupboard and then shuts it up. Literally up. And I imagine Polonius’s body in there – not as the grotesque and morbid horror show that I think I’d see if I actually found a bleeding dead old man in a cupboard but like a peaceful creature in a womb.

And where do these images come from? It is just the nautical sense of “safely stowed”? Is that where I invented a whole (strange) sequence for myself? Possibly.

God night, Denmark. Good night, castle.
Good night, ramparts. Good night, vassal.
Good night, Player. Good night, Ghost.
Good night, drinkers. Good night, toast.
Good night, Rosencrantz in your good night pants.
Good night, Guildenstern, with your loyalty dance.
Good night, Pirates. Good night, graves.
Good night, soldiers. Good night, knaves.
Good night, good night, in the hall.
Good night, good night, good night all.

And now, we present, the Weekend at Bernie’s section of the Tragedy of Hamlet. Fun with a dead body.
You know…the dead body trope has been around for centuries, I’m sure. And yet this lousy film from the 80s is our touchstone for it. Why is that? Was it particularly popular?
Or was it just that they took the conceit so far no one could forget it?
I don’t know. But it is fun when dead bodies can be funny. Or we can be funny around dead bodies. Even just crack a joke – laugh at their lifelessness – or perhaps what we’re really doing is laughing at our own mortality.

Nice epitaph.
Not sure it’s one I’d want on my tombstone but…
It does have a nice rhyme.
I wouldn’t mind “foolish” somehow
Probably because of my clowning.
“Prating” though, is tough. Wouldn’t want that epithet.
“Knave” I could live with –due to the fun one can get out of making mischief.

But while I appreciate the word play, I’m not sure Polonius deserves such an ignominious eulogy from Hamlet.
He talked a lot, sure, and some of it was ridiculous but he’s not without sense and he was the father to the woman Hamlet (theoretically) loved. Why does he feel so little remorse at his murder? It’s almost like he has to convince himself Polonius was worse than he was so as not to feel horrible at his death.

I wonder what time it is.
What time was the show?
When did Danes go to bed in the Renaissance? Or, really, the English…when was bedtime?
They all seem to go to bed right after the show is called off – so it would seem like maybe an evening show, on the later side.
There may, though, be a tradition of going to bed to get a bit of alone time at the end of a day. I’m just curious if the show was unusually late or if those folks are all going to bed unusually early.

I’ve just started to wonder why he does this. I mean – it’s not as if he’s planning on trying to pretend he HASN’T killed Polonius – so he’s not hiding the body for purposes of avoiding the consequences. He knows what consequences are coming. I suddenly just wondered if this is a gesture of kindness towards Gertrude. I mean, he’s removing a dead body from her bedroom – and not taking it far – just the room nearby. I’ve never seen it played with tenderness – but I’m suddenly quite curious about playing it that way.

I came across this line on a day wherein I both packed and unpacked my suitcase in the space of an hour. Packing stresses me out. Even when it’s already decided. I just – worry, I guess. Is it all going to fit? Am I late? How will I get all these things collected before the deadline?

98% of my nightmares are packing dreams. I have things to pack like apartments or rooms or my clothes or something and there is a deadline – like a plane waiting. And I am always sure I will miss that deadline as I race around the space trying to collect all the things, which seem to multiply as I collect them

Hamlet’s mixing his metaphors quite dramatically in this passage, it would seem. We’re doing all this mine talking – sweeping, martial-ness, military and explosions, etc – and now suddenly – crafts – which are usually boats. So …is the metaphor mixing reflective of a state of mind? Hamlet’s pretty clear and consistent most of the time.
As for this metaphor, is it expressing a kind of delight in confrontation? A joy in the battle? One craft traveling along refusing to budge when the other comes straight at it?
No one’s coming straight at anyone in this play, though. It’s all skirting around the edges. Digging beneath, spying and surprise.

Very crafty warcraft there, Hamlet.
Is this a strategy that actually works, though?
Can you dig under a mine and set up a whole other mine? I mean – it’s a great metaphor of beating someone at their own game…but practically…if someone has set up a mine for you, they probably won’t go near it again – cause they know a mine’s there.
Or is that Hamlet’s gonna get there first and dig below where they’re gonna dig and when they start digging, kaboom!