In Robert O’Hara’s new production of Hamlet at the Mark Taper Forum, the iconic Danish prince trades his royal title for the heirship of a fictional film empire, “Elsinore Productions.” But despite the glitzy reimagining, this modern adaptation proves that not all that glitters is gold.
Patrick Ball (HBO’s The Pitt) takes on the title role with intensity and undeniable presence, sulking through the play in a leather jacket and a see-through mesh top, much like a Gen-Z James Dean. This Hamlet is not just brooding; he’s actively unraveling, torn between grief, lust, and a craving for revenge after his father’s murder. When the ghost of the elder Hamlet appears and reveals that his brother Claudius (now Hamlet’s stepfather and studio head) is the killer, the stage is set for the familiar descent into madness. But things quickly veer off course.
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Coral Peña’s Ophelia is not merely a doomed ingénue here; she’s Hamlet’s sexual partner, although she’s competing with Hamlet’s bestie Horatio (Jakeem Powell), who receives more than a few flirtatious glances and longing touches. In O’Hara’s hands, Hamlet is unapologetically bisexual, adding a new dimension to his isolation, but one that ultimately feels underexplored. The first act is largely faithful to Shakespeare’s text, albeit in a modern setting. Still, the second act morphs into a bizarre Knives Out-style whodunit, complete with a gumshoe detective (Joe Chrest) and liberal helpings of f-bombs and juvenile double entendres.
It’s a wild tonal swing that might have worked if the play had committed to one genre. Instead, it vacillates between Shakespearean tragedy, corporate satire, and comedy sketch show. The transition from verse to vulgarity is jarring, and by the time the cast is trading barbs instead of baring souls, the emotional core of Hamlet has been thoroughly ejected.
There are technical triumphs: the projected prologue, styled like a 1930s Universal monster movie, is visually stunning, and the lighting, sound, and set design throughout are uniformly excellent. But even those cinematic flourishes feel disconnected from the actual content, as the production never convincingly ties its movie studio setting to the themes of legacy, betrayal, and madness.
The ensemble does their best with an overstuffed and muddled adaptation. Ball has charisma to spare, but can’t steer the ship alone. Peña delivers a layered, haunted performance, while Gina Torres, tragically underutilized as Gertrude, struggles to find substance in a role that has been hollowed out. Ramiz Monsef’s Polonius, while often funny, seems lifted from a completely different production, somewhere between Adam Sandler and sitcom dad energy. And Powell’s Horatio, despite evident charm, races through his lines so quickly they’re often lost in the wind.
Ultimately, O’Hara’s Hamlet is less a reinvention than a deconstruction that forgets to rebuild. With muddled themes, conflicting styles, and an overindulgent script, this tragedy collapses under the weight of its own cleverness. It’s a bold swing, but one that misses the mark. This adaptation needed a clearer vision for it “to be” rather than “not to be.”
