What, ho, Horatio!

Is Horatio lurking? What is he DOING? And is this normal behavior? Is that how Hamlet knows to call him? Or is he calling him out at a distance? Why is Horatio here but not here? He’s nearby but not inside. Has Hamlet said, “Listen, wait here for a minute while I talk to the players. I have some advice to give them I want to talk with you?”

There’s something about Horatio’s instant availability that gives him a vampire vibe. Like, he wasn’t there and the suddenly he is. This might also be that I’ve seen a lot of tall men play Horatio. He’s played a little like Lurch sometimes. Just standing by the door, ready for the master’s call. And a little bit creepy.

Ay, my lord.

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.

Will you two help to hasten them?

Do the players really need three people to hurry them along?
Or is Hamlet just trying to get rid of them?
Given that he immediately calls in a different friend, it would seem that he wants to confide in someone and he doesn’t want those two hanging around spying. And having three people standing around hurrying you along might, in fact, make a group of players move a little faster.

Bid the players make haste.

This is my actor’s nightmare. The curtain time has been moved up, so there’s no time to prepare. Meanwhile, we’re working with brand new text that we haven’t really had time to memorize adequately. And the stakes are high – the entire royal family is about to watch this hurried, un-ready performance. My heart beats faster just thinking about it.

And the Queen, too, and that presently.

Who set the time for this show? Maybe in a world without clocks and watches on every surface – start times are a little more fluid. Especially when a king shows up and says, “I’m ready for the show now.” I imagine that the players couldn’t say, “But we’re still warming up. The clown is only in half his costume. We couldn’t possibly.”

I romanticize the old school player’s life – I love the notion of having all our gear in a cart, traveling and playing up and down the road. But the notion of having to start without time to prepare gives me anxiety. Of all the trappings of modern theatre, I think I’d appreciate having a consistent start time the most.

Will the king hear this piece of work?

What would happen if he wouldn’t? Like, what if the king were like, “I’m not really into the theatre. And actually, you know, I’ve got some business of State to get done tonight. You know, some king stuff. So you all enjoy the play.”

Would the play go on without him? Would Hamlet just cancel it? Would he reschedule it for a time he could make sure the king will see? What if the rest of Hamlet were Hamlet trying to get Claudius to come see his show? It would become a marketing drama, rather than a tragedy, perhaps. Maybe years would go by while Hamlet tries to get the King to watch this thing. He brings in critics to talk about how great it is. He has a bunch of postcards made and he leaves them everywhere the king happens to be. He stages pop-up teaser performances in the throne room.

How now, my lord?

In the workshop I was just teaching, we were trying to think of a good word to use when someone made a mistake in the game. Ideas of Huzzah! And Zounds! Were floated. But actually, I think How Now might be great. It’s a pretty versatile pair of words. Used in a variety of contexts, a flexible little iamb or troche, depending.

Well, go make you ready.

I don’t think Hamlet’s given them their full half hour call here. I mean, there’s pretty much only a page before the audience shows up to see this show. So maybe the players are already made-up and dressed. Hopefully, they got whatever warm-up they needed in before their pre-show meeting with the Prince of Denmark.

Maybe making themselves ready at this point is just some grounding, centering, about to hit the stage stuff. Some last minute props checking, etc. Maybe getting ready means PLACES (And squeezing in some clown reprimands.)

We will, my lord.

Hey, listen, Gobbo, since you didn’t bother coming to listen to the Prince of Fucking Denmark with us – he asked us to pass a message along to you. He says you can expect an order of execution sometime tomorrow unless you do the best performance of your life tonight.

Oh, alright, he didn’t order your execution – but I will, if you fuck around up there like you usually do. And I’m not kidding, he did have a message especially for you. I mean, – he went on for DAYS, or at least a few minutes, about shitty clowns – Am I right, fellas? Wasn’t it, like, an epic speech? It was the last thing he told us before sent us out. “Tell him” he said.

We’re telling you. No interrupting the play tonight. No catch phrases. No dancing around. None of it. Or we’ll all catch hell. You know what? Now that I think of it – we’re doing a tragedy tonight. We might be safer if you didn’t perform at all. It’ll be better for all of us – and none of us will get our heads chopped off. Fingers crossed.

Masters, tell him of it.

So the clown isn’t there when Hamlet gives this speech? He’s laying into bad clowns when there aren’t even clowns in the room?
Where is the clown, then?
The play’s about to start and the clown’s not with the rest of the players?
Is he doing some special clown warm-ups?
(That’s what I’d be doing – rolling on my back, stretching, breathing, etc.) Or is he somehow making mischief already? Drinking? His separation from the rest of the players is curious.
It makes me wonder if the clown was a bit marginal even within the ranks of the players at this time. Is he both a member and NOT a member of the company?
A pariah?
A star?
The clown is often the audience favorite – maybe this particular clown is off getting a nice massage before he dives into his star turn in the Murder of Gonzago or The Mousetrap. Maybe he’s got a star on his door and can’t be bothered with meetings with princes/playwrights.