Synopsis: New York, 2000. A specter in the guise of the newly-dead CEO of Denmark Corporation appears to Hamlet, tells of murder most foul, demands revenge, and identifies the killer as Claudius, the new head of Denmark, Hamlet's uncle and now step-father. Hamlet must determine if the ghost is truly his father, and if Claudius did the deed. To buy time, Hamlet feigns madness; to catch his uncle's conscience, he invites him to watch a film he's made that shows a tale of murder. Finally convinced of Claudius's guilt, Hamlet must avenge his father. Claudius now knows Hamlet is a threat and even uses Ophelia, Hamlet's love, in his own plots against the young man. Murder will out?
Director(s): Michael Almereyda
Production: Miramax Films
  1 win & 2 nominations.
Rotten Tomatoes:
112 min

I have of late,

wherefore I know not...

Iost all my mirth.

What a piece of work is a man.

How noble in reason,

how infinite in faculties.

In form, in moving,

how express and admirable.

In action, how like an ngel.

In apprehensin, how like a god.

The beauty of the worid,

the paragon of animals.

And yet to me...

what is this

quintessence of dust?

Though yet of Hamlet

our dear brother's death...

our memory be green

and that it is us befitted

to bear our heart in grief,

and our whole kingdom to be

contracted in one brow of woe.

Yet so far hath discretion

fought with nature

that we with wisest sorrow

think on him

together with remembrance

of ourselves.

Therefore our sometime sister,

now our Queen,

the imperial jointress

to this warlike state

have we, as 'twere,

with a defeated joy,

with an auspicious

and dropping eye,

with mirth and funeral,

and with dirge in marriage,

in equal scale,

weighing delight and dole,

taken to wife.

Nor have we herein

barred your better wisdoms

which have freely gone

with this affair along.

For all...

Our thanks.

Now follow that you know,

young Fortinbras,

holding a weak supposal

of our worth

or thinking by our late

dear brother's death

our state to be disjoint

and out of frame,

co-leagued with this

dream of his advantage,

he hath not failed to

pester us with message,

importing the surrender of

those lands

lost by his father,

with all bond of law

to our most valiant brother.

So much for him.

And now, Laertes,

what's the news with you?

The head is not more native to

the heart, the hand to the mouth,

than the throne of Denmark

to thy father.

What wouldst thou have, Laertes?

My dread lord, your leave

and favour to return to France,

from whence, though willing I come

to show my duty in your coronation,

now I must confess that duty done,

my thoughts bend again to France.

Have you your father's leave?

What says Polonius?

He has wrung from me by slow leave,

by laboursome petition

and at last upon his will

I sealed my hard consent.

I do beseech you

give him leave to go.

Take thy fair hour, Laertes.

Time be thine,

and thy best grace.

Spend it at thy will.

My cousin Hamlet, and my son.

How is it that the clouds

still hang on you?


cast thy nighted colour off,

and let thine eye look like

a friend on Denmark.

Do not with veiled lids seek for

thy noble father in the dust.

Thou know'st 'tis common.

All that lives must die,

passing through nature to eternity.

Ay, madam, it is common.

If it be,

why seems it so

particular with thee?

Seems, madam?

Nay, it is.

I know not seems.

'Tis not alone my inky cloak,

good mother,

nor customary suits

of solemn black,

nor windy suspiration

of forced breath. No.

Nor the fruitful river in the eye

that can denote me truly.

These indeed seem.

They are actions

that a man might play.

But I have within

that passeth show

these but the trappings

and the suits of woe.

'Tis sweet and commendable

in your nature, Hamlet,

to give these mourning duties

to your father.

That father lost,

lost his,

and the survivor bound

in filial obligation for some term

to do obsequious sorrow.

But to persevere in condolement

is impious stubbornness.

'Tis unmanly grief.

It shows a will most incorrect

to heaven,

a heart unfortified,

a mind impatient.

For your intent on going back

to school in Wittenberg

is most retrograde

to our desire.

We beseech you to remain in

the care and comfort of our eye.

Let not thy mother

lose her prayers, Hamlet.

Stay with us, go not

to Wittenberg.

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William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare was an English poet, playwright, and actor, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet, and the "Bard of Avon". more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018


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"Hamlet" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 8 Apr. 2020. <https://www.scripts.com/script/hamlet_9526>.

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