Initially, I was quite encouraged by the shorter duration of this tale of the Prince of Denmark, but as it unfolded I began to realise that it was usually nearer the four hour mark because there is so much detail to the plot that actually matters - and that this overly condenses much of the nuanced characterisation out of the proceedings. To be fair to Mel Gibson, he actually turns in an half decent performance at the heart of this tale of duplicity and murder. His "Hamlet" is convinced that his uncle "Claudius" (Alan Bates) has done away with his father, the king, and then married his mother "Gertrude" (Glenn Close) to legitimise his claim to the throne. Egged on by the apparition of his late dad (Paul Schofield) he becomes obsessed with seeking revenge and as that red-eyed monster takes over more of his personality, he finds himself losing not only his friends but aspects of his sanity too. That latter issue isn't just confined to "Hamlet" as his potential bride "Ophelia" (Helena Bonham Carter) also starts to lose her psychological way when encouraged by her own father "Polonious" (Ian Holm) to give the prince a bit more of a wide berth. Franco Zeffirelli has assembled quite a formidable supporting cast but try as they do, the characters of "Laertes" (Nathaniel Parker) and "Guildenstern" (Sean Murray) and "Rosencrantz" (Michael Maloney) - so crucial to offering us a degree of diversion from the intensity of the story, are all just a bit too undercooked. As to Glenn Close - well I didn't love her in this. She errs a little too much on the side of the melodramatic with her overly theatrical interpretation of a role whose complicity in the crimes of her new husband ought to be much more of a mystery than she chooses to present to us here. Now I don't think many would object to the abridging of some of Shakespeare's fondness for verbosity, and on that front the curtailing of the dialogue generally works quite well and as we draw towards the conclusion of this tragic play I began to feel that this was something more of an introductory exposition of this drama, and that perhaps it's best purpose could be to encourage us to tackle Olivier's masterclass (1948) or perhaps, now, the subsequent adaptation by Kenneth Branagh (1996) which restore more of the meat to the bones than we witness here. The production design actually reminded me somewhat of the "Lion in Winter" from 1968 and as with that, it does much of the heavy lifting that a stage presentation has to make more effort with. Is that good thing? Hmmm - I don't know; there is something more penetrating about the echoing effects of a performance against a backdrop of flats and painted scenes. Anyway, Gibson acquits himself adequately, as do Bates, Holm, Schofield and Trevor Peacock as the sparingly used but pivotal gravedigger and it's well worth a watch if you leave your purist skull out of the room.