Hamlet with Giles Terera at Chichester’s Minerva Theatre – review

It seems mildly baffling that, in its 60-year history, this is the first time that Hamlet has been staged at Chichester. Just this year alone, we have had Rupert Goold’s production at the RSC set on a ship, whilst we await the National’s latest rendition to open just later this month. It is a play that is nothing if not adaptable – in Manchester (and also at Stratford) this year, there was the Radiohead version of the Danish play, whilst three years ago, Ian McKellen revisited the piece as a ballet at the Edinburgh Festival at the age of just 82!

For Justin Audibert’s production at Chichester’s Minerva Theatre, there is little in the way of experimentation as he presents a narratively clear and perfectly functional staging. It’s set on a split-level wooden stage containing an odd little raised room at the back that acts as the Queen’s bedroom and subsequent murder scene of poor old Polonius, as well as a variety of other unnecessarily restrictive spaces. A confusing concoction of styles by designer Lily Arnold sees 21^st-century furniture used by a cast clad in what often appears to be almost Georgian-style dress.

Audibert directs robustly and with a steady, if not very dynamic hand. At three hours and 30 minutes, it is a bit of a slog with pacing that rarely moves out of first gear. Even some of the more high-octane moments of murder, ghostly apparitions and sword fights fail to ignite too much excitement.

In the titular role, Giles Terera is a gentle Prince Hamlet. It’s a thoughtful and unfussy performance that, much like the rest of the production, gets the job done. There is never really any great sense of madness or hysteria from Terera, but he speaks the verse well and his soliloquys are all delivered with a clipped clarity.

Sara Powell’s elegantly braided Gertrude is nicely poised as she begins to understand the damage that has been inflicted. It is she who crowns Ariyon Bakare’s scheming Claudius in the opening scene. Bakare lacks the manipulating menace of the murderous king and, at times, loses some clarity of speech.

Eve Ponsonby flails energetically as her Ophelia descends into madness. The loss of her father and the love of her Prince are never really developed, and a clear suggestion of a miscarriage feels as though it has come from left field. Keir Charles’ Polonius is more snivelling subject than wise councillor, but Charles manages to play for laughs and makes good work of desperately trying to marry off his daughter.

A gentle but brooding underscore by Jonathan Girling gives the atmospherics of Ryan Day’s dark lighting design a nice timbre. All of the “big” moments are there, and Terera in particular appears not to be daunted by their appearance each time and remains in calm control. It’s a robust although fairly inert production that allows one to hear and follow the language and the story with ease, but without ever really being moved, and there is the rub. The emotional connection is absent, a fundamental problem in a story that is otherwise so full of cheats, liars and murderers.