The note on Genius says that a chough is a chatterbox. I think this is one of those ourobouros meanings. Someone has decided that this word means something that the character seems to be. However – some light googling reveals that a chough is actually a bird – a species of crow, to be precise, or a jackdaw. And that is much more meaningful than “chatterbox.” A crow is a very particular sort of bird to invoke. There is the sense of their tendency to show up where you don’t particularly want them – perhaps their tendency to steal – or their tendency to make a great deal of noise. As a performer, thinking of Osric as a jackdaw – a crow – does a whole lot more for me than a “chatterbox.” It could give me a full character if I wanted. It could give me a voice – a cawing quality of speech – it could give me a sense of preening – as crows do seem to be quite aggressively proud birds.

All these years with Hamlet and I never looked up this word before but it could be such a rich investigation. And Shakespeare’s knowledge of the natural world suggests to me that he would not be unaware of the layers.

I guess Osric lucked out. I’m gonna assume he didn’t get his fertile land from tilling the fields and laying the fertilizer. I’m gonna guess that he didn’t get his fertile land from husbanding his resources and gathering the best farmers around.

Probably Osric’s dad had some good land and he passed it on to his waterfly kid when he died. Probably Osric has never had to do much in his life but suck up to the people.

What a way to say “You’re lucky not to know that guy.” To imagine that one has more grace just due to not being acquainted with someone is an interesting way of looking at things.
There are a few people I feel this way about – that my capacity for Grace would be much increased had I never made contact with them. Not necessarily because they are so evil but because my response to their foibles disturbs my peace like a hurricane.

I like that the “thou” in this sentence is implied. We know he means “thou” rather than “you” because “dost” and “you” do not go together. The “dost” without the “thou” adds an extra layer of familiarity and ease; It suggests to me that Hamlet has become pretty comfortable with Horatio. Most of us start to use a shorthand when we’re close to someone; We leave out unnecessary words. We shorten phrases and summarize references to inside jokes with single words. Hamlet doesn’t need to say “thou” when asking Horatio about his knowledge of Osric and he can also skip right to his own opinion of the man.
I don’t know a lot about waterflies but I suspect that at least one of their qualities that brings them to Hamlet’s mind on this occasion is the fly’s tendency to irritate. A fly, especially on the water, will buzz around and around. They will alight and land. They will not catch a single hint or even an instruction to go away. They will get too close to your eyes, your ears and sometimes cause a bit of chaos while trying to swat them away. But they are ultimately harmless.

This is some interesting status play. (For those reading who are not trained in practical status work in theatre, playing with levels of status can keep many a scene alive and some status play is written right in. This is one of those. If you want to learn more about this, Keith Johnstone’s book on Impro is fabulous.)
It’s interesting because Hamlet objectively has the higher status. He is the Prince and heir apparent. But Osric comes in and raises his own status by welcoming Hamlet home. Hamlet responds, not by raising his status, but by lowering it – by thanking Osric with humility. His humble thanks outwardly lower his status while inwardly, his status rises, because the humility is so performative. The toying begins here and will go to such extremes once the hat play commences.

Is that what that was?
A towering passion, was it?

A passion is one thing.
But a towering one is another. I picture it like an angry animal, like a bull, maybe. And at first there’s just one angry bull but they start to multiply. They are piled one on top of another until they form a tower and as the tower grows, their fury increases as well. And sooner or later, the tower is about to fall and all the furious bulls will tumble down and let their rage run wild.

I wonder what Hamlet’s plan for this is. How will he win Laertes over? Does he imagine taking him for a drink or going to watch a match of some kind?

How did Hamlet imagine this before he’s enrolled in the rapier and dagger game with him in a moment?

It is unfortunate that so many of us can only see through the images of our own causes. It’s like we’re all wearing lenses that filter out anything that is not our experience. The self-oriented glasses reframe everything to ourselves.

It is a tremendous obstacle when trying to teach empathy. Why care about someone who is different from you, who has different life experience?

Hamlet shouldn’t have to have an epiphany that Laertes’ experience is like his. It would be great if he could recognize Laertes’ grief for Ophelia separate from his own. But in the moment, he can’t. So he has to backtrack to understand how Laertes’ situation is so like his.

You sure did, Hamlet.
You sure did.
You jumped in his sister’s grave and challenged him to a grief-off.
That was some serious self forgetting.

This is a good line to give to students, actually – one of those that can be introduced as “there is almost no agreement on what the heck Hamlet is talking about here. It may be very simple. Or it may be very complex. What do you think Hamlet means here?”

And then just let them bat it around for a while. There are no words that are particularly challenging – it feels simple. Though it isn’t. I feel I’d enjoy watching students wrestle with its possibilities. I know there would be students who would be as certain as they could be that they knew the answers. There are always such students.

But none of us can be certain.
We don’t know what this “one” is referring to is.
The number? A self? A life? A moment? An interim?