His cast assembled once again and his head slowly clearing, Sean considered the task ahead. The second scene presented many more problems. To start with, everyone was involved at some point or other. Whilst it contained scope for a great deal of intra-family interaction and bonding, there as also a lot more could go wrong. If there was going to be a riot of some description, there were plenty of likely flashpoints. Deep down, though, Sean didn’t care about any of that type of thing any more, he was past that… and besides... he was in this scene. This was his chance to do what, in his mind, he was born to do. As he readied his script, Sean mentally preened himself, reaching deep for the Hamlet within him; wronged, belittled and overtaken by events beyond his control.

-------

Hamlet: Act I, scene (ii), verses 63-76

King – Roger Oliveson
Queen – Shirley Miller
Polonius – David Miller
Laertes – Stanley Miller
Hamlet – Sean Oliveson

KING: Take.. thy.. fair.. hour, Laertes. Time.. be.. thine;
And.. thy.. best.. graces.. spend.. it.. at.. thy.. will.
But.. now, my.. cousin.. Hamlet.. and.. my.. son –
HAMLET: (aside)A little more than kin, and less that kind!

-------

The King read incredibly slowly, but the other actors ignored that out of politeness and no small measure of boredom. The reaction to Sean’s impassioned reading was very different, however. It could have been down to the pressure that Sean was under, the rollercoaster of emotions that he had already ridden in the last week or so causing some strange affliction in his tone. Maybe it was the novelty of the material, Sean’s expert delivery bringing some nuance to life that even he hadn’t anticipated. Maybe it was the extraordinary tension that had been in the room from the beginning. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was caused by Sean’s own Shakespearean tragic flaw; that given his moderate level of talent, he was taking himself just a mite too seriously.

Whatever the cause, great hilarity ensued. Hugo ended up rolling on his back waving his legs in the air, fighting for breath. Even Betty, Sean’s own mother, laughed so much she fell off her chair. Sean looked disconsolately on. He would still play the Dane. He had to.

“PLEASE stop!” Sean wailed.

He was perilously close to weeping. The laughing, curiously, stopped, although the Miller gentlemen were finding it incredibly hard to keep a straight face. Amongst his own family, the looks were no longer of derision, but once again of pity. Sean didn’t want to be laughed at. But being pitied was somehow worse - he didn’t want to be pitied either. Fortunately for Sean, his dad was the next to speak, and the dreadfully slow reading somehow brought order to proceedings.

-------

KING: How.. is.. it.. that.. the.. clouds.. still.. hang.. on.. you?
HAMLET: Not so, my lord. I am too much in the sun.

-------

As Sean spoke, a barely suppressed snigger emerged from somewhere offstage, Stanley Miller seeming the most likely culprit. The sniggering was almost immediately followed by a heavy thud, a yelp, and then no small measure of gentle moaning noises.

“Go on, Sean, dear!” said Betty, nodding encouragingly.

-------

QUEEN: Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not forever with thy veiled lids
Seek for thy noble father in the dust.
Thou knowst ‘tis common. All that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.
HAMLET: Ay, madam, it is common.
QUEEN: If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee?
HAMLET: ‘Seems’, madam? Nay it is. I know not ‘seems’

-------

“Surly little git isn’t he!”

David Miller was receiving evil daggers from his wife for his trouble. Well, he was interrupting her scene.

“He’s lost his dad” she said, “you’d expect him to be devastated”

She looked pointedly towards Stanley who made a point of fixing the his gaze firmly upon his shoes.

“You’d be upset if your old man pegged it, wouldn’t you son?”
“I’d get over it” Stanley replied, at length

David Miller turned to face his son with fists clenched and face reddening. Stanley took the hint, and took off with a surprising turn of pace, considering his usual lethargy. David turned to face his wife, huffing.

“Can you believe he said that, luv?”
“Come now dear, you ARE a bit of a bastard.”

With David Miller rendered speechless, the show could continue. In spite of everything, by the end of the scene Sean was re-finding his enthusiasm, conveniently milking the positives for all they were worth in the very most deluded part of his mind. The main positives being that there had been almost no physical violence, and most of the actors hadn’t walked out. Yet. With renewed vigour, Sean marshalled his cast for the next scene, with the most difficult part, in his mind, behind them.

“OK,” said Sean “for the next scene we’ll need Ophelia and Laertes….. Laertes? Ah.”

Laertes, or Stanley as he was more commonly known, was still long gone for fear of his father’s boot. As Sean’s face became locked in a mask of minor misery, he caught sight of Danny’s friend looking enquiringly in his general direction, hands on hips.

“Would you like me to, boss?” he enquired
“Oh, that would be great, erm…..”
“MICK” the rest of the cast interjected, in unison.
“OK, thanks Mick. And Ophelia?” Sean continued
“Bring it on” said Claire.

Now, Claire was a girl of many talents. Her stare could wither a plant at 30 paces, or make a vicious lion turn and flee. Her cooking could be used in order to coat spacecraft in order to protect them on atmospheric re-entry. Her voice could cut glass, and occasionally took on the tone of fingernails scraping down it. Her heart was warm and her loyalty fierce. She was witty and independent and ferocious and Sean loved a great many of her qualities. So he was looking forward to seeing her act.

-------

Hamlet: Act I, scene (iii), verses 1-9

Laertes – Mick Poultice
Ophelia – Claire Oliveson

LAERTES:My necessities are embarked. Farewell.
And, sister, as the winds give benefit
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep
But let me hear from you.
OPHELIA:Do you doubt that?
LAERTES:For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
Hold it in a fashion and a toy in blood,
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,
The perfume and suppliance of a minute,
No more.
OPHELIA:No more but so?
LAERTES:Think it no more.

-------

Sean put his head in his hands. ‘God, she’s terrible’ he thought, very much to himself. Everyone was terrible of course. Sean, even though he had not quite acknowledged it, was himself a pretty terrible actor. Claire took things to another level though. In two short sentences, devoid of any feeling or rhythm, she had drained all the hope and optimism from him.

“It’s what I’ve been saying all along, eh luv?” David Miller interrupted
“Eh?” said his wife.
“Eh?” said Sean, snapped out of his latest reverie.
“Only after one thing. Can’t be trusted.” David said, rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet.
“David, we get to your bit in a minute, is that OK?” Sean pointed out, trying to retain order. “Oh, I know what’s coming. Verse 127 to 129. Polonius says ‘Do not believe his vows. For they are brokers, Not of that dye which their investments show, But mere implorators of unholy suits’. I’m ready.”
“David, you’ve remembered your part already?” Sean was incredulous.
“Well, not all of it, just the good bits. I told you, though, didn’t I luv?” David continued, gesturing towards his daughter.
“I told you that boy was up to no good, only after one thing” he was getting rather agitated now. “But Dad, we got married….” Claire implored
“Yeah, but still. Slacker!” David Miller jabbed a finger in Sean’s general direction. “Look I really think we should try to focus on the script” Sean said, panicking.

He was beginning to think he could have done himself a few more favours with the casting. In fact he was starting to think that none of this had been a good idea, after all. Betty Oliveson’s handbag swung violently through the air.

“Aaagh” said David, as Betty struck him about the head and knocked him to the ground. “waaaagh” he cried as she continued to flail about his prone person.
“you nasty, nasty man” Betty said between swings “How dare you say that about my Seany! Take that!”
“STOP IT” Claire screamed, tears springing forth. She looked very beautiful to Sean, right then, no matter how bad she was at reading. He walked over and kissed her softly on the lips, ignoring the debacle unfolding around him. The fighting almost immediately stopped, although Betty got in one more lick for good measure before ceasing her assault. David mercifully kept his mouth shut in a rare moment of sensitivity. Claire was his princess, and he didn’t want her to cry. As Sean stood with his arm around his wife, he fretted about things getting out of control. He needed unity. He had to get this play on, somehow, but he preferred to do it without anyone being seriously hurt in the process.

“Listen, everyone. We’re about to read through probably the most pivotal scene in the play. If we get nothing else right on the night, we have to get this right. Please can’t we all just…. Get along? Enjoy ourselves, even?” The sombre, reluctant grunting and nodding didn’t inspire confidence. But still, Sean had no choice.

“OK, bring on the ghost…. Dad?”
“Oh, sorry son, right you want me to?”
“read the part, Dad.”
“Ah good, the ghost eh?” Roger cleared his throat self-consciously.

-------

Hamlet: Act I, scene (v), verses 22-42

King – Roger Oliveson
Hamlet – Sean Oliveson

GHOST: List, list, O, list!
If thou didst ever thy dear father love –
HAMLET: Oh God!
GHOST: Revenge his most foul and unnatural murder
HAMLET: Murder?
GHOST: Murder most foul, as in the best it is,
But this most foul, strange and unnatural.
HAMLET: Haste me to know’t, that I, with wings as swift
As meditation or the thoughts of love,
May sweep to revenge.
GHOST: I find thee apt
And duller shouldst thou be that the fat weed
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear.
‘Tis given out that, sleeping in my Orchard,
A serpant stung me. So the whole ear of Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abused. But know, thou noble youth,
That the serpent that did sting thy father’s life
Now wears his crown.
HAMLET: O my prophetic soul!
My uncle?
GHOST: Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,

-------

As the words were spoken, Shirley Miller looked straight at Roger, mouthing the word ‘beast’ as he said it. Roger, quite thrown from his stride, stuttered appreciably which was obvious to everybody in spite of his usual glacial reading speed.

“Ahem. *cough* *cough*… sorry, got a little something in my throat there.”
Shirley smiled and looked down at her feet. David, aware of her sense of humour, eyed his wife suspiciously.

“Is it alright if I chip off now?” asked Hugo
“erm….” Sean needed Hugo for moral support as much as anything, and was reluctant to be left alone with his family.
“I just have to push the broom around for a bit longer, you see, and it is getting rather late…”
“OK, suppose so..”
“I’m back in again in tomorrow though Sean, no problems. I’m getting into this Horace character. Fancy a beer later?”
“Oh, I will I think, yes!” Claire looked spiky daggers at Sean as he spoke.
“Although actually, now I think of it…&rdquo I’m a bit busy tonight…”

Hugo smiled and waved as he left the room. Sean didn’t have the heart to correct his pal on his character’s name. Hugo’s short-term memory was the least of his problems. That all said, the scene had gone rather well so far. Sean’s Dad seemed to be speeding up, marginally, and read OK once he knew it was his turn. Sean felt he did alright, too – although there were a few heavy eyelids among the cast and maybe even a little snore here and there, it was much better than hysterics.

“OK,” announced Sean “we’ll need Marcellus for this next bit, and Horatio ……oh… ” He looked over at Mick once again, who nodded his head wearily. Mick was reading a lot of parts this evening.

-------

Hamlet: Act I, scene (v), verses 156-180

Horatio – Mick Poultice Marcellus – Danny Oliveson

HAMLET: Come hither, gentlemen,
And lay your hands again upon my sword

-------

All of Danny, Mick and Stanley began sniggering at this line, the innuendo being too much for their teenage brains. Sean tutted, but couldn’t resist having a little grin to himself, whilst trying not to let anyone see. He continued.

-------

HAMLET:Never speak of this that you have heard.
GHOST:Swear by his sword
(beneath)
HAMLET:Well said, old mole! Canst work I’th’earth so fast?
A worthy pioneer! Once more remove, good friends.
HORATIO:O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!
HAMLET:And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
But come.
Here as before, never, so help you mercy,
How strange or odd some’er I bear myself –
As I perchance hereafter shall think meet
To put an antic disposition on –
That you, at such times seeing me, never shall,
With arms encumbered thus, or this head-shake,
Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,
As ‘Well, well, we know’, or ‘We could, an if we would’,
Or ‘if we list to speak, or ‘There be, an if they might’,
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note
That you know aught of me – this so swear,
So grace and mercy at your most need help you.

-------

“You know what?” Sean pondered, come the end of the scene. “I was speaking the words, but truly and honestly I’m not sure what exactly Hamlet was on about there.”

He looked up expecting enlightenment, but was faced only by a sea of confused, weary and near broken cast members. One set of eyes flickered as they rolled under their hoodied brow.

“Are you serious, guv?” Mick asked
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, it’s kind of obvious right? Hamlet plans on pretending to be bonkers in order to throw everyone off guard and ultimately unmask his dastardly uncle as a murderer and claim his rightful place on the Danish throne, thus avenging his father’s death.”
“Right.” said Sean, looking again at his script. “Where does it say that, exactly?”
“Erm, ‘To put an antic disposition on’? Pretty explicit, that.” Mick looked at Sean.
“Right.” said Sean.
“The part should suit you down to the ground, guv’nor”
“Cheeky sod” Sean chided.

Betty suddenly spoke up from no-where.
“You have been acting very strangely lately, Seany. Is anything the matter?”
“Mum, you were actually paying attention?”
“Of course I was, you mother’s not an idiot you know.” Betty looked up her son with a perception she rarely showed – that which only a mother possesses. Sean found it wildly disconcerting. Often he wondered what game she was playing.

“There’s nothing wrong!” he insisted. “Nothing at all. Everything’s fine at work. Claire and I are very much in love.”

Betty nodded back at him, her expression barely changing. Sean had to look away.
“We’d better at least get started on Act II”, he forced himself to say.

Claire’s sister, Sophie, had watched proceedings very carefully and very quietly. Much of her silence had been due to her almost continual attempts to stop herself from laughing, in spite of the obvious trauma that Sean in particular was clearly suffering. She had never in all her life seen anything both dreadful and entertaining at the same time in the way the first act had been. But then, she hadn’t seen the second act yet.

“OK,” said Sean, trying to assert himself. “One more scene, then that’s it for tonight.”
The cast cheered, raucously. They really did all want to go home quite badly now.

-------

Hamlet: Act II, scene (i), verses 74-86

Polonius – David Miller
Ophelia – Claire Oliveson

POLONIUS:How now Ophelia, what’s the matter?
OPHELIA:O my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted!
POLONIUS:With what, I’th’name of God?
HAMLET:In the name of GOD!

-------

“Sean, darling, you’re not in this scene” Claire said, a hint of warning in her tone
“Sorry, it’s just that…”
Claire looked at him expectantly.
“The way you read is no… erm…. nice!”
Sean screwed up his eyes, expecting to be struck bodily. But Claire believed what he said because she wanted to. For Sean’s part, every time Claire spoke, the awfulness of her acting took him freshly by surprise, reminding him anew of how hopeless everything was.
“Sorry dear,” he said. “carry on!”

-------

OPHELIA:My lord, as I was sewing in my closed,
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced,
No hat upon his head, his stockings fouled,
Ungartered, and down-gyved to his ankle,
Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other,
And with a look so piteous in purport
As if he had been loosed out of hell
To speak of horrors – he comes before me.
POLONIUS:Mad for thy love?
OPHELIA:But truly I do fear it.

-------

Sean resisted the physical urge to be sick at his wife’s reading, whilst wondering if ever the centuries old text had been so brutally misrepresented. In his mind he was looking for escape routes other than putting on the play. There was no laughter at Claire’s performances as there had been at his own, merely a stunned silence. Everyone was looking down at their feet, waiting for it all to be over.

“That Hamlet sounds a bit like you in the mornings in the past week, son!” Roger remarked. The subject had been changed, and not necessarily for the better. Claire walked over to him and held him by the shoulder.
“Sean, you really have been acting strangely – looking over your shoulder, coming home early, hiding in the communal storage area…. is there something wrong at work?”
“There’s something wrong in his head. Ha ha!” David Miller added, looking anxiously towards Betty as he did so.
“I’m fine,” Sean said, unconvincingly, smiling thinly. “I’m not feigning madness, ha ha.” “We all know you’re not faking it, lad!” David replied, having moved a safe distance from the handbag.
The net was closing around Sean. He found himself in a position where he might actually have to tell his family the truth. He knew that it was a risky proposition at the best of times, but there were strong reasons he felt it might be prudent. One reason was that he doubted the cast would see the process through if they didn’t have a very good reason for being there, and that included Claire. Right now they simply didn’t appreciate the seriousness of the situation. Another reason was that Sean was also going to have to justify his increasingly erratic behaviour. It was either that or start behaving normally, which just wasn’t possible for him under the circumstances. The final reason was Claire. He was going to have to tell her how terrible she was at some point if the play was going to be at all successful – maybe even replace her. He really wanted her to understand why, because if she didn’t… well if the baying mob didn’t have his ass, Claire certainly would.

He waved his arms around in order to gather the players together once more. Nobody, even if they wanted to, had the strength left to resist.

“Look, Sean,” David began “I’m sure everyone reckons this has been a great laugh and all, but I don’t think….”
“David, hold that thought for five minutes” Sean interjected, urgently. “I need to tell you all something.”
The room fell silent. This didn’t come as a surprise to anyone – there was a definite feeling that something was going on.
“I haven’t been entirely honest with you all….” Sean began.
He paused a second to let slide the mumbles of ‘well of course’ and ‘should have known’ “the truth is,” he continued, “this is more than a bonding exercise, although as a bonding exercise it’s worked really well I think…”
Sean paused again, this time to allow mutterings of ‘yeah right’ and ‘is he on crack?’ to subside. “OK.” Sean composed himself. “The truth is we are doing this to save my ass, and more importantly, most probably society as a whole. The Robot Players…..”
Hands went to heads. Although not particularly good at reading Shakespeare, everyone could read between the lines.
“Sean…” Betty’s voice sounded shocked and scorned with a trifle of sympathy thrown in, the way only a middle aged woman’s voice can.
“I fried them, mum. They won’t work at all for 6 weeks. And unless we can deliver a performance my ass will belong to that big angry mob from this morning.”
“But surely that nice Mr Maloney?”
“..will be first in line with the pointy sticks, mum.” Sean prised some dirt from his left thumbnail, before looking up, more animated.
“Anyway, that’s why we have to do this right, that’s why you all have to come back tomorrow and that’s why you all have to try and learn these parts by Sunday.”
Sean’s cast resembled a goldfish convention.
“Right, I’m out of here!” David exclaimed, and turned to leave the room. One by one the other cast members disappeared, until only Sean and Claire were left.
“Sean, I..”
“Don’t worry, darling.” Sean said “you go home, and I’ll finish up here. I should have told the truth to start with. I don’t even deserve an ass.”
“Don’t be too late” Claire said, tenderly, as she left the room. She’s taken the revelation surprisingly well.

Sean was left alone with his thoughts. He hoped what he said would help, that his family would feel guilty if they didn’t continue to help him. He also felt real tears, tears of self-pity. He felt remorse, love, hatred. A curious mix of feelings for his family, and potential saviours.

Sean wanted to lose himself, to hide from his wife and family and contemplate his failure. He wanted to lie in a darkened room and close his eyes and make it all go away. He couldn’t though. The ship, although gigantic, enveloped him in a claustrophobic smother. He couldn’t lose himself; he couldn’t run away. All he could do, in the end, was go on. He longed for a world of infinite possibility. Instead the only infinite possibilities seemed to involve humiliation, pain, and his ass. Was it wrong to dream? Well, no. That wasn’t, he reflected, where he went wrong. He had gone wrong by carelessly destroying all the robots, lying about it all week, then coercing his fractious extended family into replacing them through a combination of further lies and outright manipulation. This in spite of the fact that most of them struggled to read the headlines in the newspaper, let alone a finely nuanced masterpiece such as Hamlet. Even then, should his scheme prove successful, it would only buy him another week or so before the mob hung him from the theatre balcony by his underpants, and pelted him with rotten fruit. Or something.

Whatever the rights and wrongs, he concluded, he had dared to dream. Until the rehearsals. He doubted they would come back. It wasn’t the laughter or the derision, or even the pity. It was the disappointment. Somehow, for some reason, they had all expected more from him. Well they were wrong. Still, Sean thought, no point in being negative. Perhaps things would look better in the once he’d had a lovely relaxing night out with his chosen life partner.