If Shakespeare lived today…

As he did every morning, Will Shakespeare started his day by checking his e-mails. For once, there was a bit of good news: The Globe’s commissioning producer had finally acknowledged receipt of his play and offered his comments:

Dear Will (if I may),

Sorry it has taken us so long to reply, but you know how things are: one bloody thing on top of another, and before you know it you’re scampering about like a blue-arsed fly. But our artistic director, Dick Burbage, and I have now gone over your Hamlet with a fine-toothed comb, if you follow my meaning.

So here’s the good news: Burb and I agree that, at base, the play has oodles of potential. There’s a discernible story, the characters are strong, and the writing has bags of style, if you follow my meaning.

But Burb thinks and I agree that quite a bit of work is still needed before we can accept it for production. Hope you don’t mind a few friendly suggestions of a little tweak here and there.

The Oedipal relationship between Hamlet and Gertrude was clear enough to Burb and me, but I’m not sure the punters will get it. Hamlet hates his uncle for topping his Dad and marrying his Mum, which, at base, is fair enough. But why doesn’t he hate his Mum too?

I mean, it takes two to marry, doesn’t it? And she must have known her brother-in-law had topped her hubby, but Hamlet still doesn’t seem to mind. I get it: Claudius did what Hamlet himself always wanted to do, top his Dad and shag his Mum. Now Hamlet is jealous of his uncle and hates him for topping his Dad, but he still wants to shag his Mum, if you follow my meaning.

As that old Jewish woman once said, “Oedipus, schmedipus, as long as he loves his Mum”. But punters may not get your subtle message, if you follow my meaning. Perhaps you should make it more evident, like Hamlet French-kissing his Mum or maybe grabbing her tit when she isn’t looking, I don’t know, you’re the writer. But do it that way, and the punters will lap it up.

Then there’s Hamlet and Ophelia. Punters will need to know whether he shagged her or not, not just guess he did. No one likes to see gratuitous sex on stage – more than today’s punters, that is. You don’t have to go as far as what we call full-pen in the biz, but some skin is a must these days, if you follow my meaning.

At base, you’re already halfway there with that scene when Hamlet says to Ophelia, “Lady, shall I lie in your lap?” And she’s like, “No, my lord!” And he’s like, “I mean my head upon your lap.” And she’s like, “Ay, my lord.”

At base, the scene is already rocking. Just take their kit off, turn his head a certain way, if you follow my meaning, and Bob Dudley’s your uncle. Punters will lap it up, no pun intended, no dry seat in the audience.

Hamlet is spot on when he says: “I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.” So Hamlet is more virile than Laertes, who must have also shagged his sis. That’s good, but how did Hamlet love Ophelia? In what positions? Don’t leave that to the punters’ imagination; they’ve got none.

Now, you know and I know and Burb knows that Hamlet is AC/DC. Again though, the punters may not get it. You need to grab them by the scruff of the neck and shove their snouts right in it, if you follow my meaning.

At base, you already set the scene up when Hamlet plays with that skull and reminisces about Yorick. Obviously, Yorick was a paedo who used to inappropriately touch Hamlet, and then one thing led to another.

As you make the prince put it, “He hath borne me on his back a thousand times,” nudge-nudge, and “Here hung those lips that I have kissed,” wink-wink. But you could also massage the line – there’s the rub, as you yourself say? Make sure the punters know what you mean, say: “Alas poor Yorick, I blew him, Horatio.” And you can rhyme ‘Horatio’ with the act itself, if you follow my meaning. But I don’t need to tell you, you’re the writer.

Then there’s a problem with Polonius, who is clearly a piss-take on the PM. We lawyered your MS, and the legal eagles agree: run it this way, and we’ll get a lawsuit from hell. You know how the PM is – he’ll sue his own grandmother for overboiling his egg. To be on the safe side, make Polonius a nice, cuddly fellow, and no spying on anybody. There’s no need for Hamlet to top him either.

Burb and I both like it when Polonius says, “brevity is the soul of wit”, and the PM will like it too. But we have a problem with that “neither a borrower nor a lender be”. Do you know how many banks are among our sponsors? Lending and borrowing is how they make their dosh, some of which they give us.

The line is easy to fix, at base. Replace “neither… nor” with “both… and”, and Bob Devereaux’s your uncle. If Polonius wears a T-shirt with the NatWest logo, and those of all our other sponsors, so much the better.

There’s also another problem that Burb spotted: the play isn’t diverse enough. Of course, we could always fix that by having a black actor (or actress) play Hamlet, but there would always be some prat out there, screaming ‘cultural appropriation’. We might do that anyway, but the text needs to change too.

Look at Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, for example. I know and Burb knows they are supposed to be Danish or something, but the names sound Jewish, if you follow my meaning. We don’t want those Palestianists picketing the opening night, do we? Why don’t you just call those chaps Ahmed and Ibrahim or something? You decide, you’re the writer.

These are the major issues. The rest is just the odd line here or there, but we can always fix that. For example, you can’t say “Frailty, thy name is woman”. We don’t want the MeToo types to picket the opening night, do we? Why not say, “Equal opportunity, thy name is woman”? I know you can make it scan, you’re the writer.

And what’s that about “There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will.”? At base, Bible-thumpers will love this line, but they can’t afford our ticket prices, if you follow my meaning.

Those who can buy them won’t, if you carry on about someone else shaping their ends. So no divinity please, and no sin either (“Be all my sins remembered”). There’s no such thing, Burb and I agree. “Be all my deeds remembered” is so much safer.

At base, a rattling good yarn, Will. Keep up the good work, stroke the text for a while longer, and it may climax into a big hit. Get back to me when you’re ready, and I promise we’ll get back to you in a jiffy.

Will finished reading the e-mail and smiled. His work was cut out for him, but at least there was a chance his play would see the light of day. At base.