Toying Around With A Swap Au Version Of Hamlet. Haven't Really Worked Out The Details, But Imagining

toying around with a swap au version of Hamlet. haven't really worked out the details, but imagining it'd be a Hamlet-Ophelia centric swap of parts: Ophelia (and Laertes is probably in on it to) tearing her life apart in her quest to revenge her dead parent with Hamlet as the cast aside lover, heartbroken and trying to seek out the truth in her love.

When Hamlet's father is killed, he spirals much faster, for two main reasons.

one: this time he knows that it was murder from the moment he finds out, and

two: not only was his father murdered and his corpse desecrated, but the one responsible was none other than the one he thought he loved.

Needless to say, it's no surprise when Horatio finds him on the roof.

Hamlet pales and trembles in the cold, wild eyes fixed on seeming vacancy: the prince's hair seems to stand on its very ends. He's ill-dressed for the conditions, and he looks ghastly, to say the least.

Horatio's heart could weep at the sight of him. He'd seemingly gone mad ever since the death of his father, and Horatio was finding it harder and harder to place his friend by the day. His appearance disheveled, his mirth dissipated, his discussions once scholarly and philosophical in nature now distracted ramblings with a morbid tendency to fixate on death. Lord knows where he'd found an actual skull from, and why he'd decided to bring it into the castle, all covered in muck and mud like a buried thing.

Now the rain and wind whip around his face and clothing, thin, white, and practically transparent in its wetness. Hamlet had startled at Horatio's arrival, but now he points. He points at the empty air in front of him.

He sees a ghost, he says. He sees his father, he says.

Horatio tries to convince him that it's only in his mind's eye, but his friend is too far gone. There's a wild desperation in his eyes, matched only by a sadness that seems to stretch into some neverending abyss.

Horatio has a bad feeling about this.

Hamlet begins to move, saying the ghost beckons him to follow, it won't talk to him in the presence of others. Horatio tells him that's it's a bad idea, and that he may find himself led somewhere dangerous, and he should really come back with him inside.

The prince doesn't listen, and begins to run, across the castle roof, towards some figment of the imagination, away from Horatio.

He's nearing an edge when Horatio catches him, tackling him to the ground. The two scuffle as Horatio pleads, begs him not to go. The wind is loud and the rain stings, and the fight continues until Horatio suddenly finds his throat on the other end of a blade; the prince has drawn his sword upon him.

He'll make a ghost of anyone that lets him, he threatens.

And Horatio's never seen this look in his friend's eyes, a pure, unfiltered hatred directed towards him, he's never been on the other end of his anger. He's frozen in complete shock, and Hamlet seizes the opportunity, turning and sprinting.

The prince chases the ghost, and follows it off the edge.

By the time Horatio sits up, all that lies before him is the night, the rain, and the empty castle roof. Only a thin railing separates him from a lethal drop, and if he wanted to, he could be over it in mere seconds. He can't move, he can barely think, and somehow he can't even bring himself to feel anything at all. It's not real to him, not yet. All he can think about is how he'll be the one to relay the news.

What does he do now?

What does he tell them?

The Prince of Denmark has fallen from great height, following his father's ghost into an early grave.

I think the reason why I tend to like more controversial film Shakespearean adaptations (eg Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet, Baz Luhrmann's Romeo and Juliet) is to me, keeping the complete integrity of the play whole and intact is just slightly less important than seeing the story get to be told in new and exciting ways? Like don't get me wrong, I very much appreciate the integrity of a play and might be using the wrong word entirely but I don't care if not every single detail is the exact same and if some of the deep implications are lost in favour of things that look cool.

I guess my view comes from the fact that Shakespeare is so hard to get into for a number of reasons: the excruciating language barrier especially for first time readers, the fact that the plays are all like 400 years old, and the way that everybody seems so pretentious about his works all the time that it's hard to connect to them in any meaningful way when people are just going to tell you you're not reading it right. It put me off for a good many years to the point where I held contempt for the playwright and every English teacher who'd made me study his works because it all felt so stupid and uptight and so much fuss about nothing (much ado about nothing, you might say) and I'd been taken to see live plays of his multiple times and every time my parents had been like 'oh it's a cultural experience! it's high art!' and it confused me and frustrated me and just didn't resonate with me at all. and quite potentially the ONLY reason I got into his works at all was three straight years studying his plays in, Hamlet came up on my radar as the play we'd have to perform a scene from for a Drama assessment. And he was Danish, and I'm Danish, and I thought 'yknow maybe I'll give this one a shot for cultural heritage purposes or whatever' and so I put in extra work to understand the play and realised it kind of hit hard. And then, after all these years of reading plays and watching them without a clue what was going on, it was getting the chance to perform a scene from a play that I understood with the instruction to make of it what we wanted it to be, I finally got it. I realised why this name had been one to go down in history.

But I can't get over how absolutely hard it was to get here, and how close I was to never being here at all despite my close proximity at many occasions of my life. And it's because people treat Shakespeare's works like 'high art' which they are, but they also take it to mean untouchable. And okay, maybe if it was the Mona Lisa or something. But this is theatre! This is the most adaptational, most personal, most intimate art form! And it's not only art where the value lies in viewing it, but there's value in being the ones to perform as well! And treating it like some godly, better-than-thou, scripture from the heavens makes it unrelatable and unapproachable. When the whole reason these stories have lasted for four hundred years is because they're relatable!

But sometimes three-four hour plays are hard to resonate with, especially the Shakesperean worded ones, whether that be read or viewed. Mostly for newcomers. And often, that can be where film comes in. And here's where I should add, a large amount of people don't watch Shakespeare with the intent of acting like they know everything about it. Having an adaptation that doesn't fully do the original justice should be okay, because at the end of the day it's more important that the stories are being told and adapted to draw in a modern audience (who then if interested can go and properly sink their teeth in) than kept in a glass case to be seen but not felt.

I hope people make really shitty film adaptations of Shakespeare. I hope people make film adaptations that do something daring and original that wasn't in the play. I hope people make adaptations that go offscipt entirely, I hope they make adaptations that don't quite make sense but they're going for more of a vibe than anything. I hope they make adaptations that are campy and ridiculous and I hope they make adaptations that really suit the original plays and capture all of their themes that make every scholar's heart ascend with happiness.

I hope people make many, many adaptations of Shakespeare's works, each with a bit of their own creativity and soul handcrafted into them. I hope these stories keep being adapted again and again and that every adaptation, whether it resonates with a large audience or not, really resonates with someone. I hope people have self-indulgent fun adapting his works. I hope that no one ever feels afraid to put something out into the world just because it might be awful.

I should also add, if you happen to dislike any of the adaptations I mentioned for valid reasons that's totally fine and I understand why you might lol. But in an ideal world, Hamlet has like a hundred different modern versions and I actually hate like half of them but it's okay because the fact that so many were made means that one also got made that's so good and so perfect for me that it keeps me up at night. I currently do have takes on the play that I absolutely despise anyway (Freud when I get my hands on you) but I recognise that there's merit in them existing and people finding meaning in them (even if they're WRONG according to me). I also understand the potential frustration in people who haven't studied the play coming into academic spaces and acting as if they have full authority because they've seen one adaptation. I just hope you sort of get the point I'm trying to make because we're probably not on opposite sides and I have a fear of misarticulating myself on the internet LOL

anyway the Hamlet scene I ended up doing for my Drama assessment was the latter half of Act 5 Scene 2 and our group's take on it were that Hamlet and Laertes were bitter exes lmao

what if hamlet characters had twitter and also there wasn’t any tragedy part 5: gertrude emerges

first/past/next

Cowboy western version of Hamlet by Baz Luhrmann when???

random little witchy Hamlet au! in this one Gertrude is a fae/witch/some type of magically aligned being who falls mutually in love with Hamlet Sr and becomes Queen of Denmark. this is met with mixed public opinion that eventually tips positively because she turns out to be pretty swell and the two have a little half-human child who grows up to be a pretty sweet prince.

Claudius grows resentful of the power that the young prince holds, both in ability and inheritance, and feels it is being misplaced in not being used to further their status. Denmark is in a politically unstable position, and they're not using all the tools at their disposal. He also fears that his own power pales, and so he feels the need to do something that will establish himself on top again.

In the months leading up to his father's murder, the young Hamlet is met with bad dreams that he can't always remember but leave a bitter taste in his mouth. They're often ghostly, demonic, and confusing, but frightening nonetheless.

In the weeks following his father's murder, the nightmares continue, but with added clarity. Some seem to be of the moments surrounding his father's death but they're hazy, and disorienting. The clearest are the ones of hands, bloody and pale. Swords, curtains, boats. A cup hits the floor and spills its wine red contents. He thinks the hands might be his own, but he's not sure.

When Horatio arrives, he tells Hamlet he's seen a ghost. He thinks, but he's not sure. The guards took him to a spot on the roof with some strange activity, wispy shadows, whispering voices, a site of general bad omens, hoping Hamlet can help them decipher it. Hamlet isn't entirely sure where to begin, but in the very moment the others turn their backs, he's struck with a debilitating vision of his father's murder, flashes of his father's present condition, and a chorus of strangled voices urging him to take revenge.

Over the coming weeks, Hamlet is stuck on exactly where to go and what to do with this information. He's not sure that it's all true, and fears it may be the trick of the devil. He's also been closing himself off deliberately from using any supernatural ability after his mother's taking of his uncle (unfortunately he can only do so much about visions), deciding that the use of magic is feminine and unholy. He's also swung heavily towards Catholicism in his paranoia, especially after some of the vision's aspects.

The story plays out largely the same way, with the au only affecting certain areas like: Hamlet accidentally cursing Ophelia, Hamlet and Gertrude having an added layer of messy to their relationship for each other to yell about, Hamlet being very deliberate in his usage (or lack thereof) of magic at the start of the play, but as it furthers and he slips further into madness, he starts to instinctually care less and it begins to creep back in.

For example, Hamlet kills Polonius with a sword. He yells at his mother about her wicked ways, about his resentment towards what she's made of him. She cries that she only ever wanted what was best for him, and she's ashamed.

But when he writes and seals the letter and the fates of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, perhaps he's a little too overzealous in his cause. When he escapes the ship and leaves the two on course to England, they never make it. The vessel goes down not four hours later in an unexpected storm that rips it apart, plank from plank.

When he accepts Laertes' challenge, he's more than happy for a chance to show off his fencing, a skill he's been in large practice of since his father's death. It was, after all, his father's choice to train him personally in the art of handling such a weapon. His mother taught him how to use magic, and his father taught him how to use his physical skills. And after his mother's betrayal of her post, he felt sickened by her craft and spent the extra time throwing himself into his fencing practice.

But when she dies, all of a sudden he finds that it doesn't really matter to him anymore. He can't remember how mad he was at her, he can only feel an empty and desperate depth where there once was feeling. So when Laertes reveals the king's guilt, it's the most natural feeling to have magic flow into his veins again, and he brings Claudius to his knees. He grabs him by his head, and using the same practices that his mother's hand once guided him in, ends him without even needing to lift his blade.

It's too late for him though, and it finishes off, again, much like the play. Hamlet gives Horatio and Fortinbras his blessing for their respective futures, before dying in Horatio's arms.

anyway this isn't very thought out and feel free to add anything but was just a silly idea I had :}

my Roman Empire is how in Hamlet, we are presented with four characters who were each at one point the person/people Hamlet held most dear, and one of them watches as Hamlet's actions lead the other three to suffer, lose their minds, and/or die.

Horatio is Hamlet's closest friend over the course of the play, the one he comes to again and again, refers to as being in his 'heart of hearts', and who keeps him stable and alive for at least the most part. We follow these two the most explicitly throughout the text.

Ophelia is Hamlet's lover, and their relationship can be read many ways, ranging from never-really-loved-the-other to they-did-it-numerous-times-and-in-fact-she-was-pregnant-(possibly)-(also)-(aborted) but for the sake of this post I'm going to go the middle ground and say they had a wholesome and happy relationship before Hamlet's dad died and he got all sad. Doubt the stars are fire, but never doubt I love.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Hamlet's childhood friends, and Gertrude remembers them as being so loved by him that 'two men there are not living to whom he more adheres'. It's clear that these three were very close during some stage of his life, likely his childhood and potentially teens. The point is, they meant the most to him at some point in his life.

But again, by the time the acts of Hamlet come to pass, Hamlet has chosen Horatio to be his sole compatriot. Whether or not this is prior to his actual arrival in Elsinore is largely irrelevant- Hamlet makes sure he spends a lot of the first half of the play flustered in the face of a prince who won't stop finding nice things to say about him. Hamlet butters him up with honeyed words, and tells him the truth about everything, or what he thinks, anyway.

Horatio is touched but one specific line does stick out to him a bit- when Hamlet assured him it was not an attempt at flattery, and went on to clarify that he feels free to love Horatio as Horatio doesn't want anything from him, and doesn't have anything to hide. If what the ghost said about Claudius were true, it makes sense for Hamlet to be paranoid and hold others at a distance, but Horatio can't help but think about the underlying implication that if Hamlet had any reason to be suspicious of Horatio, he'd be just as cold to him as everyone else. Which, again, makes sense, but something about it rubs him a strange way.

Horatio tries to relate his experiences with the others he knows were close to Hamlet. He doesn't know much about Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, but Hamlet has mentioned suspicion of them, but despite that, seems to have been cordial enough. As for Ophelia... She seems to have seen the worst of his feigned madness, so he doesn't really know about her. He also heard something about an argument, but he doesn't know to what extent.

After the play, and an odd interaction with R&G, Hamlet heads upstairs to speak to his mother and Horatio thinks about it some more.

He words the question properly to himself: would Hamlet still love me if I were in their position? And he doubts for a moment, but then he remembers what Hamlet told him, the look in his eyes as he proclaimed his sincerity, and even the rare laughter he'd indulged in after the play, in only his presence, and Hamlet has convinced him.

Up until he hears the news of Polonius's murder. And until he hears the recount of Claudius, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's intervention with the seemingly mad prince, and he begins to doubt him.

And when he's left to take care of Ophelia, driven mad by the death of her father and the wrath of her lover, and in her delirium she tells him things, tells him everything, and there's a strange sense of familiarity in her words. She shows him her letters, throwing them at him and laughing, tears running from her eyes, and Horatio recognises the poetic style, the sweet wording that always seems to know how to strike your heart closest, and he realises that she had once been where he had, received Hamlet's love in the same way. And it's strange, in a way he's not sure what to do with.

His fear is alleviated slightly when Hamlet sends him a letter, and he seems back to his usual sense of self, the one Horatio knows. Horatio is glad for the normalcy, and it does a part to clear his worry that he had been deceived in any nature, after his time with Ophelia.

Even further when he finally returns to Denmark, and while the two talk, they stumble upon Ophelia's funeral, and Hamlet takes no time to jump into her grave and proclaim his grief loudly. Horatio feels a bit sick at feeling any sort of relief at this, but the proof that Hamlet may have truly loved her and hadn't intended for this to happen does something to quell the fear again.

That is, until Hamlet recounts his journey.

And with a strange sort of expression that looks sort of like... pride, recounts how he sent Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to their deaths.

Horatio is a little shocked by this, as he can't recall the two having done anything particularly wrong, and this was clearly not accidental. Hamlet brushes him off by saying the two knew what they were getting into, showing strangely little remorse.

Horatio thinks, about how they were his childhood friends, and then again about Ophelia, and then again about his earlier question.

would Hamlet still love me if I were in their position?

And he realises, in a way that makes him nauseous, that the answer is no. And not only that, but for all Hamlet's laughter and flattering words, it wouldn't have saved him.

But still, he doesn't leave his side. Hamlet loves him now, and he's the lucky one. Nothing can be done anymore, and he feels they draw close to the end.

And he does still love him. And Hamlet loves him back.

Horatio reaches for the poisoned cup as Hamlet dies. It feels right that it should end this way, and he doesn't really want to go on.

But Hamlet wrestles the cup out of his hand with an intensity that catches him off guard, begging him to stay alive, to tell his story

and so he does, cradling the prince as he slips into a deeper dream.

Sometime after, Horatio will again think about it all. The four of them. Three dead by his hand, one alive by it.

He wonders.

Did Hamlet ever think about it too? About how his actions hurt the ones closest to him, and in his final moments, chose to break the pattern and save the only life he could?

Or did Hamlet only save him because he still loved him? Not out of guilt, or reflection on his previous actions necessarily, but because Horatio still hadn't done him wrong?