Hamlet's Cabana Boys on Ice
He didn't have the artistic talent God gave a chicken, but that didn't stop him from attempting to make that overpass a work of art. Actually, it was two policemen with flashlights, nightsticks, and very threatening voices.
His overnight visit to the Mandrake County Jail did wonders for his creativity. After serving his community service and paying his fine, renowned New York street artist Alexander Rainfire Harrington embarked on his next project.
His friends alternately called him crazy and offered to help. But he was lucky, Elara Downs offered to finance this project. Elara believed in him, at least as a tax write-off. He promptly called a press conference, and waited patiently for the few reporters to stop trading rumors and notice his presence. When they finally settled down, he cleared his throat to begin his prepared speech. After carefully tapping his notecards together in his most pretentious way, he tossed them behind his head and looked out the crowd.
"I'm going to make a movie."
***
The Mandrake County Chamber of Commerce immediately erected a sign stating that they were the inspiration for Harrington's latest project, "Hamlet on Ice." The county newspaper sent a reporter to interview their newest celebrity, and to apologize for throwing him in jail.
"You should have come to the press conference my friend, you missed a great deal of fun." Harrington leaned back in a ratty old recliner with a wineglass of Corona.
Joe simply smiled and nodded, making vague apologies. Apparently Harrington had declared that for this project he was to make a film describing human trial and the struggle for sanity and what better way to do so than through the eyes of Shakespeare's most tragic figure, the Prince of Denmark himself. After that he proceeded to describe the rest of his plans through a detailed game of charades which lasted roughly three hours. As far as anyone could discern, he wanted to place the production on ice because it would invoke "pathos" through memories of childhood. He also informed the world that he felt like being called Bob from now on.
Joe pulled out the pad of paper he specifically bought to make himself feel more like a reporter and began to scribble notes. "So, have you chosen the crew yet?"
"Oh, you simply must see this!" Harrington jumped to his feet and ran to an adjoining room, returning with a bulky camcorder. "I bought this used, it has such a history. The perfect piece of equipment to film with." He started moving around Joe, zooming in and out while recording the reporter's reactions. "I want the crew to be fluid, changing when the mood suits. I've chosen a nice group of NYU graduates who will be my crew. I, of course, will direct."
"And the casting?" Joe dodged as the camera zoomed towards his face.
"Serendipity my friend."
Joe stood. He had an unintelligible quote and a story; it was more than he'd expected. He nodded and showed himself to the door as Harrington became distracted by tracking a dust bunny.
***
"Bob" sat silently as his newly appointed casting director weeded out the college acting students and NYU dropouts. They searched in vain for their Hamlet for three whole days before giving up and hoping fate would see fit to throw the perfect actor at them. A few days after that, John Clevinger fell through their skylight.
Clevinger was an actor who passed his time washing windows since being fired from his third waiter position in as many months. As he crashed through the windowpanes during the fifth audition for Hamlet's father, Bob was struck not only with flying glass, but how perfectly this young man conformed to his vision of the Dane. The obese window washer agreed quickly, even before the ambulance arrived.
The part of Ophelia required an intense figure skating routine, so Bob dragged Clevinger to the local ice rink in costume to find his wife. There were a few issues with finding skates in the proper sizes, but soon they began their search. Their search ended quickly when John proceeded to fall flat on his hip, adding to the bruises he sustained in his descent from the roof of Bob's apartment. Bob sighed as John dropped out of the shot, and lowered the camera. "John, can you skate at all?"
"Don't know, never tried." John slipped again as he tried to stand, landing directly in the path of a random chair. The girl in the chair flew past him, landing on her elbows. Bob shook his head and turned to the nearest person to express artistic exasperation, but before he had the chance he was smacked in the face with inspiration.
"Hamlet does not need to skate!" he began shouting, startling the poor girl next to him, "Hamlet is a fallen man, but one of importance..."
John just shrugged at the girl next to him and held out his hand in apology, "Sorry about that, I'm John, he's Alexan..."
"Bob."
"He's Bob. We're making a movie. And you are?"
The girl just looked at him, at her friend, and at the raving man next to her. She grabbed her friend from the ice and skated as quickly as she could to the exit. Bob stopped mid-rant, and ran after her screaming, "Stop, Ophelia, please." Oddly enough, she did stop briefly enough for Bob to catch her. As it happens, Sylvia Turner had a small obsession with Ophelia and had spent her life with the dream of playing the role. Serendipity my friend.
***
"I do believe I may play the muti-faceted figure of Gildenstern."
"Multi-faceted?" Sylvie raised an eyebrow and continued to flip through the rough outline he had prepared before the screentest.
"I want to bring the humility and humanity to the role that so many ignore, show the world how underestimated he is." Bob turned to Elara, who was attending the screentest, "You, my friend, are Rosencrantz."
With that, the casting was complete.
***
"Horatio who?" Bob whipped off his sunglasses in a thoroughly agitated manner.
"Hamlet's right hand man? His sidekick, best bud, shoulder to cry on?" Sylvie rolled her eyes. "Have you READ Hamlet?"
"Don't question my vision!" Bob shouted and marched off; leaving the crew to continue in their attempts to put set decorations on an ice rink. Bob marched up to a young man who was carrying equipment, "You, gaffer! You are Horatio!" Go get a costume from Megan." He continued to leave the rink, mumbling about how he fell asleep reading the Cliffs Notes and shouldn't be bothered by trivial things.
The newly appointed Horatio, who name happened to be Tony Roberts, carried his boxes to the dolly-grip-for-a-day and took off for wardrobe. Bob returned a few hours later, a bright yellow and black volume in hand.
***
The first day of shooting was mildly successful. Bob finally rounded out the rest of the cast with people pulled in from the sidewalk and the Wendy's across the street. The costume department went on strike momentarily before they realized that they would not be responsible for providing ice skates in proper sizes. The cinematographer wanted to work the sound equipment for the day and after a crash course in how not to hold a boom mike, some sound actually was recorded. However, it was the sound of John crashing into the ice yet again.
***
Bob lay awake in bed, staring at his ceiling in despair. His vision was not transferring to celluloid properly. Something was missing, and he simply could not place it. With a melodramatic sigh, he threw his arm across his face and nearly screamed with anger at the futility of the endeavor. Something was missing; he was not portraying the tragedy of human existence properly.
He fell into the stereotypical fitful sleep, a sleep full of dreams involving dead bards and pinball machines. He woke with a start, finding himself on the floor of his apartment. He jumped to his feet, proclaiming victory while throwing on whatever clothing he could find in his excitement.
***
"As Aristotle said, Eureka." Bob flexed his fingers as he looked at the crew he had assembled to share his newest insight.
"Wasn't that Euripides?" Elara looked at her nails, quite ready to get back to her busy job of watching.
"Could have been Pythagoras for all I know. That isn't my point you see, my point is that I had a dream, Shakespeare himself appeared from my subconscious and spoke to me."
"Got bored spinning in his grave?" Elara grinned as she watched jaws drop around the room. She felt safe in the knowledge that she provided far too much money to keep her mouth shut.
"Exactly." Bob ignored her comment as he continued. "I have discovered the best way to correctly portray the deep-seated conflict within Hamlet's soul." He pointed at John, "You, my dearest Hamlet, are gay."
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