A little presumptuous, isn’t this?
How can he be so sure?
This is a declarative sentence. It almost sounds like an accusation, which is a little bit disingenuous from a guy who’s been brought in to spy on his friend and fails to come clean about it.
It strikes me now because I’m struggling with my relationship – feeling like perhaps the love is gone – that my love no longer loves me. . . but I realized, in thinking about this line, that I would NEVER say this to him, even though I think it to be true. I think he did once love me and probably still does to some degree but I would never presume, not even about the past. I would ask. I wouldn’t declare.

That Rosencrantz declares
And at the moment when he’s affectively being dismissed, well, doesn’t say a lot for Rosencrantz’s delicacy.
Truth is, in addition to being a lousy friend, he’s also a lousy a spy. He lacks cunning, charm, savvy and acting skills.

When England gets that notice about beheading this traitor, they must look at him and go, “Really? This guy? I have trouble believing he’s a spy.”

It would be funny if Rosencrantz meant closet the way we mean closet today. If he were like:
“Yeah, your mom wants to meet with you, surrounded by her dresses and shoes. She’ll push the blouses to the side to make a little space for you to sit on the shoe shelf. It’s pretty sturdy.
I mean, I’ve been in your mom’s closet and it smells pretty good in there. It’s cozy. I like being surrounded by all the fancy clothes. Feels safe, too. It’s hard to be overheard in a closet. All those clothes act like soundproofing.”
And then the entire Gertrude and Hamlet scene is in there, entirely claustrophobic and weirdly intimate.

I fail to understand exactly what Hamlet has done from his mother’s perspective. He’s not guiltless, certainly. He orchestrated that whole show with the distinct purpose of upsetting his uncle – but Gertrude very likely doesn’t know that. Why would she blame Hamlet for Claudius’ response to a work of art? Would she blame him for his uncle’s distress at watching a ballet or looking at a painting? What exactly is this behavior that the Queen is so astonished by? Being giddy and enthusiastic at a show? 

Flirting with Ophelia? 

Talking during a play? 

I mean, that IS bad behavior. If I have students who talk through a show, I might have a chat with them about their behavior. I suspect, though, that this is not what Gertrude is upset about.

But what?

But what?

Why does Rosencrantz cut in here? Guildenstern seems to be handling this conversation on his own and then now Rosencrantz decides to join in?Guildenstern has been all “me” and “I” and “my affair” and not “our affair” or “us” or “we” but suddenly Rosencrantz is all in it.

Is there something going on between Rosencrantz and Guildenstern? Or has Guildenstern become disgusted and stepped away somehow? What’s going on with these two?

I picture the players behind a police barricade, clambering to get out, fiercely warming up – stretching their legs ballerina style, doing vocal exercises. The barrier, instead of NYPD reads “Patience.”
The players are chomping at the bit, ready to be released, hungry for the work before them, the way a runner will be hungry for the race.
They wear sweatbands and capes, which they could throw off at any moment. They drink bottles of Gatorade and trade preparatory barbs.
As soon as Rosencrantz lifts the barrier, they will come hurtling onto the stage like dogs released from a pen.

Rosencrantz, speaking first again. I mean, I assume Guildenstern is standing there, too and it is Rosencrantz who speaks.
I am building a whole case about Rosencrantz now. One in which he’s a little bit of a kiss-ass and in which Guildenstern is not sure what to do about it. Maybe he resents him? Maybe he’s impressed with Rosencrantz’s new found ambition with the higher-ups?
Maybe he’s used to it?
Oh, but that Rosencrantz, he’s such a suck-up.
There’s a world to be developed between them and certainly Tom Stoppard took them one way but there’s another narrative in here, too.
It’s not just a story of how alike they are, how they are mixed up, like twins. There is also a story of how they’re different.

Rosencrantz speaks for the both of them. Given the article I read this morning about gender and speech, it makes me think that Rosencrantz is a man and Guildenstern, a woman. It’s never played that way. I’ve seen female Rosencrantz and Guildensterns and male Rosencrantz and Guildensterns but never one of each. Probably this is due to people liking to make the joke about confusing them. And it might, indeed, make dramatic sense for them to be more alike than different. But I am very interested in their differences.

I spent the day teaching a group of people who are learning how to be teachers. It’s funny how a group of people can so quickly get on board and do whatever you ask them.

But, of course, that is a skill, that instant getting on board-ness. Not every person can do it. It’s a practice and a conscious effort, really. After so many years of doing it, it can seem like a given, like it takes no effort at all to buy in. But of course there are mountains of effort behind it. . . they’ve just already been climbed.

And were there command performances for just one person?

Like, when the Players are commissioned for The Mousetrap, they could be preparing to perform just for Hamlet – would that happen?

We know it’s not so here, as the whole plot hinges on Hamlet getting a particular audience in the room but are there Princes who just want to watch a show by themselves?

I imagine it doesn’t happen much, given how rare ACTUAL solitude would be for royalty. Even if you watched a play alone, you probably also have a handful of staff on hand. And if any dignitaries are around, it would be awfully rude to have a show and not invite them over to watch it.

So performing before a royal personage, as much as it sounds like performing for one person is likely to be a roomful.

This is one of the things Art does. It is not simply the work itself (though the work itself can bring joy) but the anticipation of the work. There is the play itself and there is the excitement before the play. In some cases, the pre-show anticipation is better than the play. And in others, the reverse.

Of course, as an artist, I often forget to look forward to seeing things. I get caught up in obligation, in seeing work out of duty, rather than pleasure. But there are the occasional performances that reignite that joy and keep it alight with the pay off. Kafka’s Monkey, for example, I looked forward to with great eagerness and had my expectations met and then exceeded. Told by an Idiot’s production of Casanova, Improbable’s Satyagraha, Complicite’s Mneumonic, Kneehigh’s Brief Encounter, Rapunzel and The Wild Bride, Theatre de le Jeune Lune’s The Miser, the Escapist’s Boy Girl Wall, Young Jean Lee’s The Shipment and so on.

And in a way, because I am so jaded and because of how often I roll my eyes at whatever production is announced, the joy of hearing about things I actually want to see is sweeter and more precious. Especially when they deliver the anticipated good work.