In Grand Theft Hamlet, high art collides with low expectations, resulting in something like a renewed faith in humanity.
The documentary consists entirely of footage from inside the open-world video game Grand Theft Auto Online, in which players roam through a hyper-violent variation on Los Angeles, maiming, murdering, and car-jacking their way to criminal dominance. During the 2021 pandemic, two out-of-work actors in the United Kingdom—Sam Crane and Mark Oosterveen—came up with the idea to put on a version of Shakespeare’s Hamlet within the game, holding auditions with other players, leading rehearsals, and ultimately staging a complete performance. (Crane’s partner, filmmaker Pinny Grylls, joined them in-game; her avatar “recorded” much of the footage.)
After initial recruiting efforts fail miserably—“If I could just request that you refrain from killing each other,” a pair of early observers are politely asked, to no avail—Crane and Oosterveen manage to gather a ramshackle group of in-game acquaintances for the project. They initially justify the undertaking with a quip (“People are violent in Shakespeare”), but soon they—and we—come to realize that something more substantial is underway, as their endeavor newly illuminates the enduring, universal appeal of Shakespeare’s plays. (In some ways, Grand Theft Hamlet reminded me of 2024’s Sing Sing, where the Bard proved to be a beautiful fit for a prison.)
As actors, Crane (who eventually plays Hamlet) and Oosterveen use their voices to bring real conviction to the line readings. And there is attention given to the way gameplay—positioning your avatar, employing emotes—can also be part of the performance. Beyond these elements, though, a strange and wonderful alchemy occurs in Grand Theft Hamlet’s less strategized moments. One of these comes when Jen Cohn, a voice actor who was similarly bored during lockdown, delivers a speech by the ghost of Hamlet’s father while in the guise of her avatar, who sports a hot-pink baseball jacket, thigh-high nylons, and heels. “I am thy father’s spirit,” she spits out in a fried voice over her gaming mic. “Adieu. Adieu. Adieu.” There’s a discombobulated, between-worlds sadness to the scene, one unlike any production of Hamlet I’ve ever witnessed.
Similarly, Crane and Oosterveen visit various locales within the game, looking for the right setting to rehearse Hamlet’s famous consideration of whether or not life is worth living:“To be, or not to be . . .” Eventually they stumble into a dive bar, where a brawl breaks out. As Crane continues the soliloquy between punches, Grylls’ in-game camera pans along the drawn-out faces of the joint’s NPCs (non-player characters)—all drunken, destitute denizens who stare back with the gaunt desperation of Hamlet’s words.
I should probably mention that Grand Theft Hamlet is also quite funny, from the absurd indignities of the game itself (so many rehearsals end in spasms of morbidly comic violence) to the keep-calm-and-carry-on rapport of Crane and Oosterveen. Then there are amusingly chaotic figures like ParTeb, a player whose avatar is a green, gangly alien partial to weird dance moves off in a corner. Unsteady with his English, ParTeb doesn’t take a part in the play, but instead supplies security—at one point from a fighter jet—for the troupe’s rehearsals.
ParTeb becomes one of the most beloved figures, despite his out-of-placeness even in this deranged scenario. And that’s the sort of unexpected grace Grand Theft Hamlet offers. When ParTeb awkwardly arrives for auditions, Crane and Oosterveen tell him he can recite any text that comes to mind. Unexpectedly and a bit unsteadily, he launches into a beautiful prayer from the Quran. It stops the rehearsal—perhaps even Grand Theft Auto Online itself—in its tracks. Even here in this ugly virtual environment, something lovely is possible, as long as you make the space for it.
(2/21/2025)
