Summary 
Minimalist staging by a veteran English director features a memorably realized Prince who is fiercely intelligent, commanding in presence, and seething with anger. Spare moments of interactive drama, with the best scenes the set-piece soliloquies. A moving conclusion, but for the most part the elegant production lacks tragic resonance and feels overly austere and stylized.
Design
Directed by Terry Hands. Designed by Mark Bailey. Lights by Terry Hands. Sound by James Savage. Compositions by Colin Towns. Fights by Robin McFarquhar.
Cast
Timothy Edward Kane (Horatio), Roderick Peeples (Marcellus/Gravedigger), Bruce Young (Claudius/Ghost), Barbara Robertson (Gertrude), Andrew Ahrens (Laertes), Mike Nussbaum (Polonius), Lindsay Gould (Ophelia), Ben Carlson (Hamlet), Matt Schwader (Rosencrantz), Ben Viccellio (Guildenstern).
Analysis
Chicago Shakespeare Theater presents a minimalist Hamlet - made especially spartan by contrast to the Goodman Theatre's gargantuan sex-and-drugs-and-rock-'n'-roll version of King Lear, running concurrently nearby - to launch its twentieth anniversary season. Helmed by guest director Terry Hands, artistic director emeritus of Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford, England, the production at its best is elegant and studious, at its worst cold and dry. Hands' staging is decidedly stark - an empty stage of polished and reflective black, a mirror-like upstage wall, and some tiny twinkling lights like stars in the sky - and while the focused and tasteful presentation boasts some powerful moments, the overall effect is akin to a highly polished staged reading, professional but sterile, with little human chemistry developed between the performers. The opening sequence on the castle rampart rolls with stage fog and moon-like white lighting (designed by Hands himself), the panicked watch exclaiming and shouting, pointing at and reacting to nothing, an unshown ghost the audience cannot see.
Ben Carlson's Hamlet - tall and stately, mature and sophisticated - is a forceful presence and someone whom Claudius should truly fear. Carlson seethes with restrained anger, his brow furrowed and his eyes glaring, and he speaks with keen intelligence and precisely controlled diction. This is an intellectual Hamlet, smart and fiery, more bitter and resentful - at his lack of advancement as well as at his fate - than wounded or even emotional. His actions and delayed actions seem to result from introspective intellectual reasoning - with "to be or not to be" a concept to be coldly analyzed rather than a tortured death wish - with the strongest emotions being a blend of self-loathing and fatalistic resignation. Carlson's Hamlet delivers his lines with power - wonderful to listen to and fascinating to watch - but within something of a vacuum: the soliloquies resonate and are memorably delivered, the Prince at his deepest and most moved when alone and unencumbered. Hands, with Carlson's Hamlet at the center, provides superb line readings but not consistently moving drama, and Hamlet's interaction with other characters is less forcefully realized: he and Ophelia lack affectionate chemistry, so their banter regarding remembrances lacks weight; the scenes with Gertrude seem hastened and play as perfunctory, quick statements of disgust and disappointment rather than a heart-to-heart mother-to-son confessional; and his betrayal by Rosencrantz and Guildenstern seems logical and matter-of-fact, with the two school mates callow, vacuous and self-serving in comparison to the sophisticated Carlson's maturity and towering intellect.
A monochromatic color scheme for the costumes - all characters in shades of black and white like playing pieces on the chessboard of a stage - suits the bleak conception of the production. At the beginning, the court mingle in shades of white and cream brocade and velvet for the marriage celebration of Claudius and Gertrude, pointedly contrasted by Carlson's Hamlet, skulking amongst them in his long black overcoat. Only the Players provide a splash of color, their arrival appropriately igniting Hamlet emotionally, their attire all bold and splashy crimson. In a similar, equally subtle color symbology, Carlson's Hamlet makes his return from England as the Dane, wearing off-white clothing much like the court in the opening scene, but he arrives upon the funeral march for Ophelia, and he again contrasts with the court of Claudius and Gertrude, now all attired in mourning black, with dark veils, hats and umbrellas.
Hamlet's confrontation with the ghost of his father is dramatically staged with rolls of brightly lit stage fog obscuring the commanding presence of the ghost that appears to tower more than a dozen feet off the stage. The ghost, a horrifying specter and a dominating force emerging amid a blur of changing shadows, of course marvels Carlson's Hamlet, but this Hamlet is an intimidator himself, and he seems far from intimidated by any person, any ghost, or any emotion. The ghost scenes, then, play with an uncomfortable sense of unnecessary theatrics, especially discomfiting due to the otherwise minimalist presentation by Hands. Bruce A. Young portrays the ghost and doubles as a regally mannered Claudius, presenting the brothers as booming-voiced warriors with dominating demeanor. Young's Claudius seems infatuated with his new bride, and Gertrude in turn - with her flaming red hair, sensual delivery, and series of off-the-shoulder gowns - seems infatuated with her new husband. The intimacy between Claudius and Gertrude remains consistent throughout, and the sense of Gertrude's intertwined life with him implies a complicit role in the murder of the elder Hamlet. Indeed, Hamlet's almost fierce coldness toward his mother is portrayed as an icy condemnation of her involvement in a coup d'état, as opposed to the flippant ignoring of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, simply guilty by their association to Claudius.
Supporting characters are solid and consistently played, with Polonius a standout. Chicago stage veteran Mike Nussbaum imbues the doddering Polonius with a hugely sympathetic manner. Nussbaum's Polonius is not a foolish old man spouting obvious platitudes or babbling comic relief, but an aging father concerned for his children and his King. When he fails to remember all the instructions and advice he wishes to relate to the departing Laertes, he trembles and shows a bone-chilling fear of his own age and mental lapses - perhaps at the onset of Alzheimer's - that resonates. Both Ophelia and Laertes show compassion and concern, and the unintended stabbing of Polonius by Hamlet comes as even more tragic and sad - as well as a turning point to damnation - due to Nussbaum's subtle and effective performance.
Hands provides a potently dramatic conclusion to the production with an effective sword fighting sequence. Carson's Hamlet duels with speed and precision - the Prince's fencing seeming to match his intellect - and Carlson's sudden burst of emotion after three hours of cold intellectual analysis - "what a wounded name...shall I leave behind me!" - packs a great deal of honestly realized power. In the light of this moving conclusion and Carlson's profoundly intelligent and angry Hamlet, one wishes the production had offered more interaction and chemistry and less reliance on quickness of pacing and stylized minimalism.