“The Mirror up to Nature”: Notes on Kozintsev’s Hamlet

Abstract

“The Mirror up to Nature”: Notes on Kozintsev’s Hamlet Barbara Hodgdon Grigori Kozintsev’s film of Hamlet re-invents Shakespeare’s play by expanding the limitations of its stage reality in order to show us a more complete world,l Although many dramatic moments and Shakespearean effects translate easily to the screen,2 Kozintsev’s interest in narrative breadth also re-dramatizes the play. The director’s aesthetic sense is such that what we see is a surface activity and structure and a treatment of objects and of natural reality which impose a peculiarly lyrical counter­ pointing upon the tough, interiorizing force of Shakespeare’s powerfully enigmatic drama. Further, the film includes and acknowledges a sensibility dependent upon the Russian novel of epic scope and significance, and, in selected sequences, upon the Russian school of film montage. But it is important to make a distinction here: the film does not conform to the char­ acteristics of Soviet Socialist Realism, either by propagandizing man’s struggle or harmony with the land or by removing focus from the individual in order to show or to dramatize his “col­ lective” importance. In an effort to define some of the effects and effectiveness of this Hamlet, I should like to look at Kozint­ sev’s treatment of reality, that is, how he sees and how he photo­ graphs objects and the natural world; at his use of spaces and rhythms; at his conception of Ophelia; and at his cinematic translation of the ritual and improvisational occasions3 of Shakespeare’s play. From its opening shots—the shadow of the castle tower against the sea, a slow pan over irregular stone surfaces, a burn­ ing torch—the film insists upon showing us firm views of both the natural and the man-made world. Elsinore’s castle is ex­ plicitly composed in space, its interiors ordered by deliberate 305 306 Comparative Drama pictorial beauties which the camera lingers over, establishing mise-en-scene in careful, near-elegiac detail. Exterior views show the tower with funeral flags thrust out the windows; gun emplacements; a drawbridge, a portcullis, a towered well re­ flecting an ever-decreasing patch of sky; courtyards full of chickens and the litter of everyday life, enclosed by high walls; flights of worn stone steps leading up and down; the romantic battlements where the Ghost appears and where Hamlet poses: all are objects or scenes whose presence and significance are heightened by the dramatic quality of the black and white photo­ graphy. The interior stone surfaces have a deadly polish to their mass, softened by splendid tapestries and frescoes and by the intricate carvings of balusters and richly surfaced paneling; a smiling bust of Claudius framed by two baroque lions domi­ nates a passageway; rooms, made strongly individual by their occupants’ possessions, are closed in by mullioned, shuttered windows; the court chamber, without its occupants, shows a spare table and ranked chairs, suggesting the emptiness of this government; small doors appear at frequent intervals, leading into mysterious darknesses or into sudden framings of outside light. These images particularize the dimensions of the beautiful but oppressive prison-world of Denmark; and Kozintsev’s inten­ tion—to suggest layers of medieval and Renaissance time over­ laid by the “affectation of gala halls, remodelled by order of the king”4—succeeds simply by offering the spectator such detailed information. In fact, the dominant point of view in the film is that of the spectator, who is, says Kozintsev, “to believe that he grasps everything.”5 This desire to make meaning easily available takes several courses, and each contributes a particular effect. One directorial choice is of over-riding importance: there is no arbitrary frag­ mentation or division of what we see within a sequence of shots in order to show different points of view from within the film. Consistently, Kozintsev shows up images that are uniformly understandable and that allow the spectator to see with Hamlet and the others, and, like Hamlet, to make his own choices about what he sees. Overall, the close-up view gives way to middle-distance shots; and this requires us to watch more closely. Although in some moments—notably the nunnery and...