criticism instead ”? Eliot maintained that “ these minds often find in Hamlet a vicarious existence for their own artistic realisation .” All of these possibilities point toward a preoccupation with posterity : the desire to be remembered .
When Sir Richard Eyre first directed Hamlet for the Royal Court in 1980 , he and his lead actor Jonathan Pryce , who had recently lost his own father , came up with the concept that Hamlet be “ possessed ” by the ghost of old Hamlet . Pryce ’ s performance saw him “ channelling ” the voice of the Ghost . When I met with Richard Eyre , he told me that this was a way of dealing with the problem he felt the play had for a contemporary audience — who simply didn ’ t believe that ghosts were real .
The skull that played Yorick opposite Jonathan Pryce was , on the other hand , all too real . It was signed by the cast and entered as a raffle prize at the end of the production . It later found its way to the V & A museum , having been left in a cardboard box on the doorstep of the Theatre Museum as a gift by an anonymous donor . It is a skull that has played many parts : as a living body , as human remains , as a theatrical property , as a raffle prize , and finally , as a museum artefact .
The image of an actor addressing a skull is as synonymous with the idea of the theatre as the words “ To be or not to be ”. And the empty space cradled by a skull is the perfect metaphor for the theatre — as a headspace , a playroom , an imaginarium . Shakespeare prefigures this image early in the play , when Hamlet conflates the actual Globe Theatre with his own head as he promises “ while memory holds a seat in this distracted globe ” that he will strive to honour the Ghost ’ s request to “ Remember me ”.
Of course , a real skull was once also a self , and used as a prop it marks a slippage between subject and object , making selfhood an uncertainty , casting knowledge into doubt . And on stage , as a palpable symbol of the larger “ empty space ” in which it appears , it makes present the inevitable future absence of the live theatrical event itself , which is forever irretrievable . And it makes me think that every theatre review is really a kind of obituary .
Alas , poor Yorick ! I knew him , Horatio … Here hung those lips I have kissed I know not how oft — Where be your gibes now ? Your gambols ? Your songs ? Your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar ? Not one now to mock your own grinning ? Quite chapfallen ? — Hamlet , Act V scene I
The skull does not answer . And its refusal to speak is as loud and clear as a bell tolling . It is a cameo that may upstage even the most convincing Hamlet . The effect of lip-syncing parallels Yorick ’ s skull by also making an absence present : it makes present the idea of the person whose voice we hear , while at the same time presenting the fact that they are not there .
With all this heady stuff in mind , when thinking about whose voices I could include in my human Hamlet mix-tape , I was excited by the possibility of the wheels within wheels I might turn by “ reviving ” Jonathan Pryce ’ s performance . I was also drawn to Richard Eyre ’ s 1989 production at the National Theatre , which starred Daniel Day Lewis in the leading role . Theatre gossip holds that one night on stage Day Lewis thought he saw the ghost of his actual father ( the poet Cecil Day Lewis ), and was so shaken he couldn ’ t continue with the performance . Digging into the National Theatre archive , I came upon the Stage Management report for 5 September 1989 , which confirms that Day Lewis did not return to the stage after the Ghost scene , but sheds no light on the reason why : “ On the Ghost ’ s exit in Act 1 Sc . 5 Mr . Day Lewis left the stage and told me that he could not continue the performance . An announcement was made and the audience invited to take an extra interval ”...
Daniel Day Lewis ’ s sudden and mysterious departure subsequently overshadowed a lesser known story , but one that turned out to be of even greater interest to me . In the midst of the many press cuttings in the Nation Theatre archive relating to the 1989 production , and the drama around Day Lewis quitting it , I came across a stunning review by then chief critic of the Sunday Times , John Peter . But this standout review did not celebrate Day Lewis ’ s performance , and instead showered praise on the “ masterful ” performance of the actor who went on to replace him . I searched for a recording of this performance , but no recording exists . And it was here that my idea changed course . I stopped searching for recordings of Hamlet to embody , and instead began making recordings of conversations with people whose memories — of the play , and the part , and especially of that lost performance — I felt compelled to preserve . From these edited conversations , I teamed up with my long-term collaborator and director , Jan van den Bosch , and together we composed this ode to the presence of absence on the haunted stage .
— DICKIE BEAU