Hamlet (1948): Eitan's Take

The four adaptations of Hamlet from the 90’s – Kenneth Branagh’s, Mel Gibson’s, Ethan Hawkes’, and The Lion King – cannot hold a candle to Laurence Olivier’s, which is forever enshrined as the sovereign version of Shakespeare’s (and, probably, humanity’s) greatest tragedy. Among the chief reasons are the cinematography, the color (or the lack thereof), and the beyond belief performance of Olivier in the title role. Swathed in deep blacks, the print is a wonder to behold; each inky frame carries with it the pall of existential dread that a color version, and even a great stage version, could not capture. Scenes such as Hamlet’s first encounter with his father’s ghost and Ophelia’s elegantly twisted death are shot with such an attention to detail and the complexity of human emotion that they are almost surreal. The whole film is rather ethereal, and several of Olivier’s directorial decisions, such as his excision of most of the supporting cast (even beloved stalwarts like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who are shockingly nowhere to be found) and the elimination of redundant or obvious soliloquies, do incredible justice to the overall mood and theme of the play by simplifying the whole proceeding. This serves to make it more accessible to new audiences of Hamlet, and also to make it tauter, more macabre, and more twisted and shocking. While it’s easy to watch it and, at some points, to shout out “Hey, he just edited out the ENTIRE monologue about how he will ensnare the conscience of the king,” it’s equally easy to watch it and admire the way Olivier pares down the familiar story to its most essential plot elements and move a four-hour story along at a speed fast enough to enjoy, but slow enough to allow reflection; I can even see how its camerawork, thematic explorations, and composition inspired the work of filmmakers like Bergman and Resnais.

And then, of course, there’s Olivier’s performance, which might be one of the best in cinema’s history. Having seen him in the throes of bizarre obsession just a few Oscar seasons earlier in Rebecca, it was interesting to see him assume a younger and more naïve role. He takes on Hamlet with incredible skill, and never slips into the comically-overdoing-it pit that so many Shakespearean actors fall prey to. He is simultaneously morbid, thoughtful, angered, heavy-hearted, and light on his feet. Olivier is definitely not reinventing this character from scratch; he merely plays it so true to the source material, and so thoroughly and emotionally, that you feel as though new life has been breathed into tired and overused lines (“To be or not to be,” “Alas, poor Yorick,” etc.). Modern actors revere Brando and Hepburn for their camera-ready simmer, but they should probably look further back to Olivier for a lesson in approaching complex and overwhelming roles with subtlety and ingenuity. I had seen this film once before, in an English class, but seeing it again in this more unique context has lent me an even more sincere appreciation for the dark and powerful form of this almost perfect Best Picture winner. 9/10.

Hamlet (1948): Shira's Take

What an empty interpretation of Hamlet. The castle had very little furniture, and the only thing visible onscreen aside from people throughout the movie was mist. It felt like its emptiness was intended to make the audience fully understand how rotten the state really was in Denmark. Also, Laurence Olivier played Hamlet so numbly. His performance was completely different from any other Hamlet I've seen. Most people play him angry and crazy, but Olivier's subtleties were really the best thing about the movie. My serious problem about it was Olivier's editing job of the play. I'm sorry, but it is NOT acceptable to cut ANY portion of the "To Be or Not to Be" soliloquy, and Hamlet just yelling, "The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king!" was totally pathetic. And instead, they gave us 15 straight minutes of insane Ophelia, and the "Speak the speech I pray you" scene in entirety. I didn't like Polonius. Beyond just being an annoying character, I think of him as a pompous jerk, but in this he was more clueless and bumbling.

Two memorable shots: 1. The gravedigger casts aside Yorick's skull, and Hamlet's shadow approaches to engulf it. 2. The camera slowly revolves around the room during the play within the play, showing the audience members' reactions, finally ending on Claudius freaking out.

Notes to myself: THE FOP MESSENGER WAS SO GOOD. 9/10

Rebecca (1940): Shira's Take

Ahh, yes. Finally a best picture winner that I really, really loved. Rebecca was very slow, almost unnervingly so. Its gradually unveiling twists, characteristic of any great Hitchcock film, were matched by its subtle, skilled actors. What else can be expected with Laurence Olivier (Maxim de Winter) and Joan Fontaine (the second Mrs. de Winter) as the stars? And with an incredible supporting cast as well, featuring Judith Anderson as the creepy-as-hell Mrs. Danvers, this film left absolutely nothing to be desired. The most amazing thing, I think, that the film accomplished was to make Rebecca's essence the most powerful force in the film. In the scene in the cottage, where Maxim reveals his secrets to his wife for the first time, it seems as though Rebecca is more a concept to him than just his former wife. I think this was Hitchcock's greatest power--to make something small and unimportant seem the most terrifying thing in the world (note: I still can't ever look at birds the same way). Truly a remarkable movie. 10/10

Rebecca (1940): Eitan's Take

I can't tell you how completely pleased I am -- if you could see the wide smirk across my face, you'd know -- that Alfred Hitchcock's utterly perverse, demented, and sickeningly awesome Rebecca won Best Picture. As impressed as I was by the sweep and perfectly executed drama of Gone With the Wind, it was a pretty obvious shoo-in for the award. Rebecca is the anti-GWTW, romantic in all the wrong ways, disquieting and raw, maddening, and suspenseful. It's far from a perfect film, and at some points I was waiting for Hitchcock to go all-out-Hitchcock on the sordid plot, but I realize he was slightly limited by the source material. Du Maurier's story is wonderful and chilling, and definitely worthy of his adaptation (as was her similarly creepy story "The Birds"), but I've always thought that Hitchcock did better with his own story ideas than with the ideas of others.

Either way, this movie confirms why Alfred Hitchcock is one of the most beloved directors of all time. In every scene, we feel his confident hand guide moment after moment of dread and queasiness. Every closeup of Laurence Olivier's tortured face, every shot of clandestinely lesbian Mrs. Danvers sullenly insist on the world's eternal love for the recently dead Rebecca, every moment we watch Joan Fontaine live a terrifying lie for her strange and wayward husband we are reminded of Hitchcock's total mastery of the camera. He mixes in elements of voyeurism (the creepy old man by the docks), murder (Rebecca's mysterious disappearance that goes unexplained until the very end), and the twists and turns we expect from him. While Rebecca doesn't quite measure up to the director's absolute masterpieces (Psycho, North by Northwest, Vertigo, Strangers on a Train), it shows the same penchant for smart, dark weirdness and the complete ugliness of humanity; after nearly a decade of middlebrow "important message films," I'm utterly pleased that the Academy took such a left turn and picked something rather unconventional for their award. I have no doubt that this choice set the precedent for many other winners in the same demented vein: Midnight Cowboy, Silence of the Lambs, and American Beauty. I give it an 8/10.