Hamlet (2009) Shakespeare Full Fandub Film
Scott R. McKinley for Hamlet
"Who is Hamlet? Well, whoever is playing it at the time, I suppose." -David Tennant
The Prince of Denmark, the title character, and the protagonist. About thirty years old at the start of the play, Hamlet is the son of Queen Gertrude and the late King Hamlet, and the nephew of the present king, Claudius. Hamlet is melancholy, bitter, and cynical, full of hatred for his uncle’s scheming and disgust for his mother’s sexuality. A reflective and thoughtful young man who has studied at the University of Wittenberg, Hamlet is often indecisive and hesitant, but at other times prone to rash and impulsive acts.
"He has to be gentle, witty, sensitive beyond belief (to others), and then he has that dark side in him, which must frighten the audience... There's something diabolical in him. And, unless the actor has all those qualities, and is able to call on them, then he is not a complete Hamlet." -Christopher Plummer
Here are a few interviews with David Tennant discussing the film and his role in it:
- english
- male adult
- male young adult
- scottish
- irish
- british
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 heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. 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: there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all
O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt... Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd his canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! [HAMLET SOBS.] How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! Fie! 'Tis an unweeded garden, that grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature possess it merely.
What piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving, how express and admirable in action, how like an angel in apprehension, how like a god! The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
