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Hamlet: Act III, scene (i), verses 28-47

King – Roger Oliveson
Queen – Shirley Miller
Ophelia – Claire Oliveson
Polonius – David Miller

KING: Sweet Gertrude…
POLONIUS: Oi!

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The actors all turned to look at David.

“That’s my wife you’re talking to!” he warned
“Jesus, Dave, it’s only acting” said Roger, wearily.
“Well you suddenly seem a lot more comfortable with it.”
“So what if I admire your wife?” Betty’s eyes narrowed as she heard her husband speak “I admire anyone who manages to put up with you!”
“Right!” exclaimed David, grabbing Roger by the lapels.

The two men scuffled rather comically, much to the shock of everyone. This sort of behaviour was very out of character for Roger Oliveson. The teenagers gathered in a circle around them chanting ‘fight, fight, fight’ Shirley went as white as a sheet. Betty grabbed her handbag strap and prepared to engage.

Sean, panicking, thought about the merits of separating the two men. Whilst he considered it, Claire barged between them. In truth they were rather pleased she did. Fighting was most undignified at their age. Betty sat back down, disappointed

“Honestly.” Claire chided, grabbing hold of their ear-lobes, one in each hand. She forced them to their knees, cursing. They both looked up at her anxiously.

“Now say you’re sorry to each other, or I’m sending you home.”
“sorry” said David meekly
“sorry” said Roger, pathetically.

Sean gathered himself. Some of the most famous lines in the play were coming up, and he wanted to get them right. In a way, this sight of his parents and in-laws wrestling was of some help to him, getting into character. Questions in his mind were being raised about his father, in fact about his parents in general. Nothing in life seemed quite as straightforward as he had always thought it ought to be. Now that he was married himself he looked back at his childhood and wondered who those people were, that brought him up so well.

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Hamlet: Act III, scene (i), verses 56-65

Hamlet – Sean Oliveson

HAMLET: To be, or not to be – that is the question;
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep –
No more – and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. ‘Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep –
To sleep – perchance to dream. Ay there’s the rub.
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil
Must give us pause.

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Sean suddenly stopped reading. His dreams of late began to return to him, and the harsh reality of his situation struck him like a claw hammer. A cold bead of sweat dripped from his brow.

“The dreams…” he whispered.
“Sean?” said Claire. She looked moderately concerned, just for a second. She considered that perhaps it wasn’t a good idea Sean reading such introspective parts at present. He’d always been a drama queen.
“Sean, shall we move on to the next bit?”
“What?” he said. He’d quite lost it for a second there. “Ah OK, we should crack on, eh?”
“It’s you and me anyway!”
“Yup” Sean agreed.

He was worried about the forthcoming section. Hamlet was about to say some quite rude things to Ophelia, and although he was sure Claire had read the script and knew what to expect he was still concerned that she would… well….

“Claire, you know that in this scene we’re acting, and I’m not really talking to you I’m Hamlet talking to Ophelia?”
“Of course!”
“OK, but you realise that even Hamlet doesn’t mean it, he’s only saying it to convince the watching Polonius… and the King actually… that he’s mad with love for Ophelia, and it’s not personal”
“Sean…”
“Look, it’s acting, right?”
“Sean, don’t be so silly!”
“Right.”

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Hamlet: Act III, scene (i), verses 135-141

Hamlet – Sean Oliveson
Ophelia – Claire Oliveson

HAMLET: If thou dost marry, I’ll give thee this plague for
thy dowry: be thou chaste as ice, as pure as snow,
thou shall not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery.
Go, farewell. Ore if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool.
For wise men know well enough what monsters you
make of them. To a nunnery, go, and quickly too. Farewell.

The echo from the slap rang out across the workshop. Sean winced and clutched at his cheek as he looked up from the floor, to which he had been smitten.

“I’m acting, you mentalist!” He wailed
“You’re acting too well!” screamed Claire, emotionally
“What??”
“Sean, you’ve been absolutely hopeless the whole way through, but we’ve all been very kind and applauded and said well done, and now finally, in this of all scenes, you suddenly manage to sound convincing!”
“It’s practice, isn’t it… at least I’m making an effort. I’ve you’d read anything other than your horoscope in the Chronicle maybe you wouldn’t sound so…. wooden!”
“Wooden? Why you mean spirited little…”
“It’s true, it’s like watching a 4 year old… oooofffff!”

Claire withdrew her pointy right shoe from where it had been violently buried, that is to say amongst Sean’s most prized possessions. Well you get the idea. She stared impassively as he writhed on the floor, in agony.

“You, are a bastard. My dad was right. I resign and may the mob have your ass. Are you all coming?” Claire looked around and about at her side of the family. They all looked awkward.

“Well…” David Miller spoke first. “I must admit, I’m rather enjoying all this now, and I’m right looking forward to using those little swords! You never told me about the little swords….” He eyed the still prone Sean, meaningfully.
“What?? You hated the whole thing; you said it was for nancy boys and losers!”
“Sorry, luv…”
“Mum?” Claire looked imploringly towards her mother. Shirley looked back, awkwardly, and then away.
“Well, flower..” Shirley began. “Of course, I only did this for you to begin with, but now I’d hate to let everyone down…” she risked a glance at Roger, who went very red. Then quickly back to her husband, who shot her a quizzical look. Shirly raised her eyebrows and shook her head, at which David grinned, and the awkward moment passed.
“Stanley?” Claire asked, with little hope.
Stanley shrugged. “this is the funniest thing I’ve seen in ages, sis. Sorry! Plus, you really are terrible.” “Stanley” chastised his mother, cuffing him round the back of the head.
“Ow” Stanley said.
“Fine.” Claire stood for a moment, then turned on her heel and stormed out, trying in vain to hide her tears.

Sean was still lying on the floor, watching in horror but still unable to speak, or even draw breath for that matter. He looked up helplessly and watched her go. Hugo ambled over to assist him.

“That looked like a sore one mate.”

Sean could only nod and gasp for breath as he struggled to his feet.

“Shall we finish the scene?” Mick suggested, trying to hide his grin.
“Claire….” Sean gasped, supporting himself on Hugo’s shoulder with one arm and jabbing desperately towards the door with the other.”
“I can be Ophelia, of course!”

Katie stood beaming, her bright flowing voice echoing across the room, and her bright flowing body swimming in Sean’s vision.

“Oh dear” whimpered Sean, softly.
“Excellent choice, I think!” Mick smiled beamingly.

It took several minutes, but Sean finally recovered himself enough to complete the scene. The show must go on, and all that. Plus, what had just happened was nothing compared to what an armed mob would do to him, he assumed.

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Hamlet: Act III, scene (i), verses 152-170

Ophelia – Katie Slivers King – David Miller

OPHELIA: O,what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye tongue, sword,
Th’expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
Th’observed of all observers, quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wreched,
That sucked the honey of his music vows,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason
Like sweet bells jangled, out of time and harsh,
That unmatched form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy. O, woe is me
T’have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

-------

The difference was startling. Katie’s lilting, confident delivery brought poetry to the prose as the bard intended and led to renewed appreciation from many of the cast members for the work they had been massacring. As Katie spoke, her eyes were fixed on Sean. Or at least that was how it felt. As Sean gazed back he felt that certain feeling stir within him. ‘Oh dear’ he thought again.

-------

Enter the King and Polonius

KING: Love? His affections do not that way tend;
Nor what he spake, though it lacked form a little,
Was not like madness. There’s something in his soul
O’er which his melancholy sits on brood,
And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose
Will be some danger; which for to prevent,
I have in quick determination
Thus set it down: he shall with speed to England

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“I wish I really could be sent to England.” Sean said, wistfully.
“Claire probably would if she could.” Hugo mumbled. Sean looked at him with intent.

At the end of the scene, the cast milled around lethargically. Sean decided that enough was enough for the evening. Blood from a stone and all that. He found his mind straying, too, to other complications. He had costumes, sets, a cast. He had one more day to get it right. He knew, though, that nobody, including himself (well, especially himself) would be able to remember their lines. There was just no point in trying. Instead he intended to attach cues and indeed large tracts of text to pillars and props and in some cases to other cast members. This, of course, meant an incredible amount of work for him, including the procurement of rare resources such as paper, pens and adhesives. He had a feeling that there was some paper upstairs, maybe the odd paper edition of the Chronicle, plus banners and such like. If all else failed he could write on stuff like pillars and the floor and, hell, even the costumes. He’d work it out, he thought, he had almost 24 hours until the next rehearsal after all.

At least he had multiple excuses for steering clear of Claire that night. His face wrinkled as he recalled the violence of which his spouse was capable. Maybe, come the next day, he’d be able to persuade her to come back. He wasn’t sure how though – he wasn’t dead keen on going out in public for the time being on account of the lynch mobs, and he doubted she’d speak to him remotely.

Sean gathered himself, and spoke to the group.

“OK everyone, great work today” he lied. “Tomorrow is our last rehearsal, so we’ll be in full costume, we’ll be using the theatre, and we’ll have the full set and props!”
“Does that mean the little swords?” David asked, eagerly.
“Well, perhaps not… anyway, you’re Polonius – you don’t use a sword.”
“I bloody will!”
Sean shrugged. “Fine, you get to use a sword. Or carry one, anyway.”
David beamed.

“Where are these costumes, son?” Roger asked, deliberately. “Should we not try them on now? I was thinking Shirl and I…”
“NO!” Sean said, a little too loudly. “I mean, we can do all that tomorrow, we just need to get here half an hour earlier, OK everyone?”
“Can’t wait!” said Mick, wearing his now accustomed smile, which had grown broader by the scene. He was looking forward to this.
“Marvellous.” said Sean, masking his terror.

Once everyone had left, Sean looked around him. The robots looked back from the dark corner in which he now kept them, impassive and expressionless and undeniably still broken. If only they would work. He walked over and expertly prodded at one of them, but nothing happened. It had only been a week. Sean considered the tasks he needed to perform. His swipe card would (unwisely, from a theatre point of view) allow him access to the upstairs office, hopefully he’d be able to find appropriate materials if he had a rummage up there. Terence Maloney almost exclusively spent his working day completing the Chronicle crossword, which meant that small disappearances of rarely used materials would likely go unnoticed, or at least unworried about. As for everything else – well he had a lot of very musty old props, a number of holographic set projections that they had used for the robots along with some more traditional fixtures, and a night and a day to set it all up. Easy.

It was unwise, he considered, to leave the office. The threat to his personal safety was too great. Even as he stood in the soundproofed maintenance shop, he was sure he could hear muffled chanting from outside. He thought about Claire, and felt bad for the way she must be feeling, but knew there was little he could do from the theatre. She needed time. That said, he was still thrilled by the looks that Katie had given him, felt the inexorable pull of something new and exciting and… different. It felt good, and it felt right, although he knew it to be wrong. For some reason….

The door opened, and Hugo emerged from the shadows carrying a crate of beer, with a take-away pizza balanced on top.

“I love you Hugo” Sean said simply.
“I know” Hugo stoically replied. They both knew it could never be.