The Hamlet Project

I used to be a real sucker for words. Even if I didn’t believe them, they could still go straight to my guts. A man who could say flattering things to me sweetly and believably could send me into a flustered happy flurry. I treasured cards and letters and poems and songs.

I’m partnered now with a man who mostly calls me nice. I should say here that “nice” is extremely loaded for me. I have hated being called nice since the 4th grade when almost every student in Mrs. Wheeler’s class wrote “Emily is nice” when called upon to write something about me. I don’t particularly relish “nice” even now.

But flattering words aren’t this man’s cup of tea and I can somehow do a translation trick of hearing “I love you” when he says, “You’re nice.”

And his “You’re nice” is backed by a thousand acts of kindness and understanding that no one with a flattering tongue or flattering could ever even approach.

So even with words that aren’t particularly meaningful, he still manages to give me some of that sweet breath. 

My friend’s wife cheated on him – broke his heart and the ground on which he stood. In the midst of all the betrayals, the little cruelties, the thoughtless vanities, the unconcerned callousness, one of the most painful things is a card she gave him before it all came to light.

It is full of tenderness and affectionate language and he quotes it now, with shock waves of pain, that radiate through the phone.
I can imagine that he might well appreciate returning this card and all other sweetly penned bits of paper. Even better than burning them, returning letters might give at least a little bit of satisfaction, a little like unburdening yourself and giving it to the person who gave it to you.

Really? How longéd long could that be? She just started refusing his letters and access, etc – a few days before it would seem. Has it been ages, really? Did she long to return them as soon as they were sent?

It raises some questions for me, this line. Is it a word for word line reading from her father? Did Polonius drill her on her opening lines before sending her out as Hamlet bait?
What exactly does Polonius think is going to happen? That Ophelia returns Hamlet’s letters and he falls on his knees with love? That somehow Hamlet will read them to her, beg her to stay, try to win her back? Even if this love scene weren’t being observed (which, very likely, both Hamlet and Ophelia are aware of) it would not necessarily prove a love relationship. Sometimes when you look at people breaking up, they don’t resemble the people they were before at all. It’s sometimes hard to imagine them having been lovers at all as the darkness pours in – the vitriol, the heartbreak, the recriminations, whatever.

I would like to see a scene in which Polonius rehearses what he thinks this scene will be, where he plays Hamlet and tries out all of theories while making Ophelia say her lines properly.

So formal. So businesslike. 

If my lover greeted me like this (or some variation on it) I’d have an instant knowledge that something was up. There’s something so distant, so full of niceties. She calls him lord. (Something she does in almost every subsequent sentence) and then also your honor. So she’s laid on two titles and additionally, she’s tacked on this “for this many a day” business which serves to heighten the formality. She’s talking like a LeBeau or an Osric. Can this possibly be the way she speaks to him normally? If so that’s a pretty dull relationship. (Or maybe it can be sexy, “Good my lord, would it please your honor to remove your shirt?”) It could be that she’s trying to signal to Hamlet that they are not alone. Unlikely. But a nice thought. Or it could be that this is how Polonius expects his daughter to speak to the Prince and so she has to put extra effort in, due to being watched.
Or maybe this “my lord” business is just Ophelia business as usual.