‘Hamnet’ review: Paul Mescal and Jessie Buckley burn in William Shakespeare tragedy

Before Hamlet, there was Hamnet. He was the young son of William Shakespeare who died in his youth, inspiring the playwright to spin the timeless tragedy of a doomed Danish prince. Hamnet explores that true story through a mystical and matriarchal lens of Maggie O’Farrell’s heralded novel of the same name, adapted by the Academy Award–winning director of Nomadland, Chloé Zhao, and her Academy-nominated actors, Paul Mescal (Aftersun) and Jessie Buckley (The Lost Daughter). 

This period drama seems primed to be a contender this award season. But Oscar buzz tends to mold the expectations of dramas — especially those even loosely biographical — into one box: star-stuffed theatrics festooned with tears, a soaring emotional score, and pretty scenes of pain, perfect for an award ceremony sizzle reel. To expect such a thing from Zhao, Mescal, and Buckley would be to ignore what’s brought them acclaim to begin with. 

This trio has separately won praise for their nuanced expressions of joy and pain, from Buckley’s star-making as an aspiring singer in Wild Rose to Zhao’s bittersweet character drama Nomadland to Mescal’s heart-wrenching turn as a lost love in All of Us Strangers. In Hamnet, their powers combined make for a drama that is more than a sentimental tearjerker poised for Oscar accolades; it is an earthy and poetic raw tale of love and loss. 

Hamnet focuses on the story of Shakespeare’s witchy wife, Agnes. 

Rather than an earnest recreation of the real-life marriage of William Shakespeare and Anne “Agnes” Hathaway, Hamnet follows O’Farrell’s interpretation, which imagines Agnes (Buckley) as a woman in touch with the woods and prone to premonitions of the future. 

In the film, Agnes scoffs at gossip that she is a witch. But her woodsy appeal — which includes wearing brash red robes and having a pet hawk — attracts the passionate and bookish son of a local glove-maker. Playing Will and Agnes from their youth into adulthood, Mescal and Buckley easily capture the lusty impulsiveness of young love. Their arms entangle with a violent intensity as they claw private moments from the mundane routines demanded of their families. 

Unlike in his yet-to-be-written comedies, marriage is not a happily-ever-after for the pair — as tragedy will follow. Still, marriage is a newfound freedom as they redefine what their married life looks like. For the Shakespeares, that means Will going off to London to write plays and express his soul in tales of star-crossed lovers and fortune-telling witches. For Agnes, that means raising their three children: Susanna and twins Judith and Hamnet. But a vision of her own deathbed makes Agnes certain that one of her children will die before her. 

Jacobi Jupe is a rare find as Hamnet. 

Whether you know the history of Shakespeare’s home life, are a fan of O’Farrell’s novel, or can just read the room, it’s clear early on that Agnes is off with her expectation that the child to die will be her youngest, Judith. This gives an enhanced tension to every moment that she experiences with her bright, adventurous, and caring boy, Hamnet, because we know their time together is short, and she has no clue. 

Such a setup would be ripe for agony regardless. But young Jacobi Jupe is stupendous as the 11-year-old Hamnet. Under Zhao’s direction, he avoids the pitfalls all too common to child actors in family dramas. He is neither precocious nor ethereal. He galumphs about with his sisters, chuckling in play, swapping clothes for a child-like prank in which the twins trade identities. Before his mother, he dreams of being on the stage, where he gets to sword fight to the cheers of an audience. Jupe frolics with a mix of clumsiness and earnestness that reads simply as authenticity. So when the plague hits the Shakespeare home, and Judith specifically, it’s natural that this sweet boy would curl into his twin sister’s cot to comfort her.

When Hamnet speaks in a whisper of an ominous “him” that’s watching the twins, things get eerie — suggesting he has the same gift for premonition as his mum. But even here, Jupe avoids cliché, in this case that of the haunted house child, wide-eyed in terror. Instead, he is a boy who is scared, but accustomed to playing the hero, and so soldiers on to help his sister with one more switcheroo. And because he feels so real, the pain of his end will take your breath away. 

Jessie Buckley and Paul Mescal are riveting in Hamnet. 

In early scenes of courting, they sizzle, each utilizing their well-reputed onscreen intensity. As the Shakespeare marriage gets complicated by distance and grief, they become explosions, destined to collide. But beautiful work is done in scenes without each other. Buckley, who is unquestionably the lead in the film, harnesses the focus seen in Wild Rose and the ferality of Men for a distinct portrait of grief. 

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Her rage and resentment are both irrational and understandable. While she is in the home where her boy was lost, her husband is off in London. She can’t see that he doesn’t escape the loss of Hamnet, but is, in fact, consumed by it. Hamlet begins to take shape as Will’s means of making sense of his own guilt and mourning. 

The “to be or not to be” speech becomes Mescal’s greatest challenge to date. Not only because it’s the iconic speech by which the greats are judged, but also because he’s not playing Hamlet within it, but the man who wrote that speech to make sense of his own helplessness in the face of mortality. It’s a layered and profound moment of pain and pondering, unfurling a labyrinth of dark feelings and darker thoughts. And yet, it’s not even Mescal’s best scene. 

That comes before Will knows Hamnet is dead. Rushing home because he’s heard his little Judith is at death’s door, Will barrels into the family home to see the girl alive and well. They hug, and he bursts with smiles and relief. But then he sees the little form covered in a white sheet, posed before the fire. 

“Where is he?” Will says, and in that simple question, Mescal channels a mix of dread, hope, and fear that could bring down the Globe theatre. It’s not booming. That’s not Zhao’s way. It’s delivered strong but raw, quavering. It is what pain sounds like when stripped of Hollywood shine. It’s too human for an Oscar reel. It’s too heartbreaking. 

And all of this leads to a climax that takes Agnes and Will’s pain to the stage, that of the Globe, to be specific. There Hamnet becomes Hamlet, in a prolonged and nerve-shredding sequence that is fueled by the couple’s loss and their divide. No matter how many times you’ve seen Hamlet, this section hits different because it becomes about the pain that inspired the Dane. 

Props to Noah Jupe, who plays the onstage Hamlet, simultaneously channeling an actor striving to impress an audience and the dreamy wish of a mourning mother all at once. In a shrewd move from Zhao, she cast the older brother to play Hamlet to the younger’s Hamnet, and the vague familial appearance makes this climax all the more haunting. Noah offers a pitch-perfect echo of his brother Jacobi’s performance with flourishes of maturity and theater-worthy showmanship.

Still, I have one qualm with Hamnet. 

While I can see Zhao’s vision and admire her restraint, I must confess I wished for a bit more cinema. I’m not asking for the emoting common in biopics aiming for Oscar glory — which this film is not strictly, on either point. Instead, I wish Zhao had embraced the visual storytelling of Agnes’ premonitions as she did with the earthiness of Will’s environment. 

As Agnes’ visions are not just key to the plot but also to the core to her motivations, I wish Zhao had let us see them with her. Hamnet is rooted in Agnes’ perspective, yet the screenplay by Zhao and novelist O’Farrell only has dialogue describing these visions of a deathbed with two guests, a landscape of trees, and a dark, infinite cave. By not using this visual medium to show us what Agnes sees, the filmmakers keep Agnes a bit at a distance. 

By contrast, Will’s view of things gets a visual component through the climactic production of Hamlet. So, in a way, we are given more access to his inner world than Agnes’. And while the film is moving, I sometimes felt like I was watching Agnes’ experience instead of feeling it with her — like I was on the outside looking in. Where with Mescal’s Will, the play is the thing…that shows the heartache of the scribe. 

Still, Hamnet is a bold rebellion, and I respect that. Not only does Zhao reject the temptations of glossy Hollywood biopics, but also the regal romance or cerebral theatricality of a barrage of Oscar-adored Shakespeare adaptations, from a handful of intense Hamlets to The Tragedy of Macbeth to the winsome Shakespeare in Love. Her Shakespeare and company are more feral, bringing this historic tragedy fresh blood and true grit. 

For these big swings, Hamnet could be an unconventional but strong Oscar contender. But whether you’re invested in awards season or just seeking a powerful drama from actors at the top of their form, be sure to bring tissues. Hamnet could leave you tear-soaked and in tatters. 

Hamnet was reviewed out of its premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival. The film will open in theaters Dec.12.