Hamlet review

These mannerisms become muted in the second half, which lends the production an inconsistent feel. But fortunately, it otherwise stabilises here, as Carroll’s Gertrude and Jared Harris’ Claudius – whose loyalty to the meter seems almost to belong in a different staging – become stronger presences. 

Es Devlin’s set is a mist-shrouded deck – enlivened by Adam Cork’s rumbling, creaking, dripping soundscape – that tilts on an axis and overlooks an increasingly choppy sea. Crew members toil with ropes, while a digital backdrop of rolling waves from video designer Akhila Krishnan creates the nausea-inducing sensation that this vessel is always in motion. If it brings motion sickness right into the auditorium, it’s still a visual and technological feast – the lifelike rippling waters could almost be a precursor for the RSC’s upcoming venture into video games. 

There’s an unnerving darkness to this production, which imagines the entire story playing out over the course of one claustrophobic night. The stage is flanked by a pair of glaring red digital clocks, counting down the hours to disaster. When it strikes, and bodies start sliding off the upturned deck, Thallon appears to defy gravity, rising from the arms of Kel Matsena’s Horatio to deliver his closing speech standing, arms spread wide. Like much else here, it’s a spectacle that needs to be seen to be believed, in a production that too often feels overwhelmed by visuals and concept.