Grade: B+

Verdict: A moody and compelling update of Shakespeare's classic.

Details: Starring Ethan Hawke, Kyle MacLachlan, Diane Venora and Bill Murray. Rated R for some violence. 1 hour, 51 minutes.

Rate it: Write your own review

Review: Ophelia goes nuts at the Guggenheim Museum. Horatio smokes Marlboros. And Hamlet's got a gun.

In its bare outline, a modern-day, Manhattan-based version of Shakespeare's tragedy sounds like the bad thesis project of a New York University film student. True enough, Michael Almereyda's update of "Hamlet" flirts with the ludicrous in every reel. But it's ultimately a compelling and streamlined vision that lives surprisingly well in the city's hard-edged, chilly streets and penthouses.

No, Manhattan isn't Denmark. "Denmark" here is a corporation, and the castle of Elsinor a luxe hotel. Prince Hamlet (Ethan Hawke) has become the brooding twentysomething son of the company's CEO (Sam Shepard), newly dead at the story's start. His widow Gertrude (Diane Venora) has now remarried her husband's brother Claudius (Kyle MacLachlan), who takes over the family business in a ceremony that was originally set in court, but now is a press conference.

When the ghost of Hamlet's dad first appears, it's on a video surveillance monitor. That's more than a technological trick. Cameras, camcorders and computers proliferate in the halls of Denmark; the movie makes an implicit connection between Hamlet's famed procrastination and our own e-mail age. This is a world of voyeurs. It's not just Hamlet who seems mired in passivity, but all of Manhattan, and by extension, those of us in the audience. Like Hamlet, we like to watch. (Underscoring the point, the movie ends with a talking head on TV, wrapping up the action.)

The famous play-within-a-play by which Hamlet pricks Claudius's guilty conscience is now a video montage. That means there aren't any traveling players in this version, we only glimpse the gravedigger, and Yorick's skull is seen in the hands of another actor on a video screen. Almereyda strips the script to a bare minimum, making this "Hamlet" both an interpretation of the text but also a meditation on its influence on our culture. (In one witty moment, Hamlet takes refuge under the marquis of the Broadway theater that houses "The Lion King," reminding us that the Disney show swiped its animated Oedipal conflict from Shakespeare.)

Like Laurence Olivier's 1948 version, the movie turns Hamlet's monologues (the ones that survive the textual pruning) into voiceovers, the murmur of the man's mind. That's one of the few weaknesses here; the decision turns the speeches into something like a soundtrack to the action. Yes, letting Hawke speak them aloud would have seemed unnatural at first. But without this direct connection to the viewer, the actor never has the chance to get us actively involved in his dilemma. He's just a mope.

The vengeful anger of Laertes (Liev Schreiber) comes as a bracing burst of energy, opposed to Hawke's slacker pout. (Of course, the play intentionally sets up this opposition between a son who rushes to avenge his father's death, and another who procrastinates.) Schreiber is good, though he seems to be affecting a semi-British accent that none of the others use.

Good work also comes from Bill Murray as Laerte's busybody father, Polonius. Julia Stiles as the fragile Ophelia continues to be one of the more fascinating actresses in her age group, tapping considerable emotional resources for her difficult mad scene. And MacLachlan draws on his smiley-seedy "Showgirls" persona to make Claudius a believably slick cad.

But the strongest performance comes from Venora, a Shakespearean veteran who herself played the prince onstage. She and Almereyda come up with a nice, sharp interpretation of her motivations to drink her cup of poison that deepens the character and her bond with her son.

Theater lovers are always spouting off about the modern relevancy of Shakespeare's plays. This "Hamlet" is the rare adaptation that gives more than lip service, but brings contemporary urgency to a dusty, overfamiliar tragedy.

— Steve Murray, Cox News Service