Cushing was to play OSRIC in Laurence OLIVIER'S 'HAMLET' in the 1948 production.
NEW YORK TIMES REVIEW : BOSELY CROWTHER:
SEPTEMBER 30TH 1948
It may come as something of a rude shock to the theatre's
traditionalists to discover that the tragedies of Shakespeare can be
eloquently presented on the screen. So bound have these poetic dramas
long been to the culture of our stage that the very thought of their
transference may have staggered a few profound die-hards. But now the
matter is settled; the filmed "Hamlet" of Laurence Olivier gives
absolute proof that these classics are magnificiently suited to the
screen.
Indeed, this fine British-made picture, which opened at the Park Avenue
last night under the Theatre Guild's elegant aegis, is probably as vivid
and as clear an exposition of the doleful Dane's dilemma as modern-day
playgoers have seen. And just as Olivier's ingenious and spectacular
"Henry V" set out new visual limits for Shakespear's historical plays,
his "Hamlet" envisions new vistas in the great tragedies of the Bard.
It is not too brash or insensitive to say that these eloquent plays, in
their uncounted stage presentations, have been more often heard than
seen. The physical nature of the theatre, from the time of the Globe
until now, has compelled that the audiences of Shakespeare listen more
closely than they look. And, indeed, the physical distance of the
audience from the stage has denied it the privilege of partaking in some
of the most intimate moments of the plays.
But just as Olivier's great "Henry" took the play further away by taking
it out into the open—and thereby revealed it visually—his "Hamlet"
makes the play more evident by bringing it closer to you. The subtle
reactions of the characters, the movements of their faces and forms,
which can be so dramatically expressive and which are more or less
remote on the stage, are here made emotionally incisive by their normal
proximity. Coupled with beautiful acting and inspired interpretations
all the way, this visual closeness to the drama offers insights that are
brilliant and rare.
Further, a quietly-moving camera which wanders intently around the vast
and gloomy palace of Elsinore, now on the misty battlements, now in the
great council chamber, now in the bedroom of the Queen, always looking
and listening, from this and from that vantage point, gives the exciting
impression of a silent observer of great events, aware that big things
are impending and anxious not to miss any of them.
Actually, a lot of material which is in the conventional "Hamlet"
text is missing from the picture—a lot of lines and some minor
characters, notably those two fickle windbags, Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern. And it is natural that some fond Shakespearians are going
to be distressed at the suddenly discovered omission of this or that
memorable speech. But some highly judicious editing has not done damage
to the fullness of the drama nor to any of its most familiar scenes. In
fact, it has greatly speeded the unfolding of the plot and has given
much greater clarity to its noted complexities.
Hamlet is nobody's glass-man, and the dark and troubled workings of his mind are difficult, even for Freudians. But the openness with which he is played by Mr. Olivier in this picture makes him reasonably comprehensible. His is no cold and sexless Hamlet. He is a solid and virile young man, plainly tormented by the anguish and the horror of a double shock. However, in this elucidation, it is more his wretched dismay at the treachery of his mother than at the death of his father that sparks woe. And it is this disillusion in women that shapes his uncertain attitude toward the young and misguided Ophelia, a victim herself of a parent's deceit.
In the vibrant performance of Eileen Herlie as the Queen is this concept evidenced, too, for plainly she shows the strain and heartache of a ruptured attachment to her son. So genuine is her disturbance that the uncommon evidence she gives that she knows the final cup is poisoned before she drinks it makes for heightened poignancy. And the luminous performance of Jean Simmons as the truly fair Ophelia brings honest tears for a shattered romance which is usually a so-what affair.
No more than passing mention can be made at this point of the fine work done by Norman Wooland as Horatio and by Basil Sydney as the King, by Felix Aylmer as Polonius, Terence Morgan as Laertes and all the rest. Perfect articulation is only one thing for which they can be blessed. A word, too, of commendation for the intriguing musical score of William Walton and for the rich designing of Roger Furse must suffice. In the straight black-and-white photography which Mr. Olivier has wisely used—wisely, we say, because the study is largely in somber mood—the palace conceived for this "Hamlet" is a dark and haunted palace. It is the grim and majestic setting for an uncommonly galvanic film.
Hamlet is nobody's glass-man, and the dark and troubled workings of his mind are difficult, even for Freudians. But the openness with which he is played by Mr. Olivier in this picture makes him reasonably comprehensible. His is no cold and sexless Hamlet. He is a solid and virile young man, plainly tormented by the anguish and the horror of a double shock. However, in this elucidation, it is more his wretched dismay at the treachery of his mother than at the death of his father that sparks woe. And it is this disillusion in women that shapes his uncertain attitude toward the young and misguided Ophelia, a victim herself of a parent's deceit.
In the vibrant performance of Eileen Herlie as the Queen is this concept evidenced, too, for plainly she shows the strain and heartache of a ruptured attachment to her son. So genuine is her disturbance that the uncommon evidence she gives that she knows the final cup is poisoned before she drinks it makes for heightened poignancy. And the luminous performance of Jean Simmons as the truly fair Ophelia brings honest tears for a shattered romance which is usually a so-what affair.
No more than passing mention can be made at this point of the fine work done by Norman Wooland as Horatio and by Basil Sydney as the King, by Felix Aylmer as Polonius, Terence Morgan as Laertes and all the rest. Perfect articulation is only one thing for which they can be blessed. A word, too, of commendation for the intriguing musical score of William Walton and for the rich designing of Roger Furse must suffice. In the straight black-and-white photography which Mr. Olivier has wisely used—wisely, we say, because the study is largely in somber mood—the palace conceived for this "Hamlet" is a dark and haunted palace. It is the grim and majestic setting for an uncommonly galvanic film.
