_{Cover Image: Eddie Izzard in The Tragedy of Hamlet.}

The Tragedy of Hamlet

Eddie Izzard

Heath Ledger Theatre, State Theatre of WA

27-29 July, 2026

Eddie Izzard chose not to pursue classical theatre studies, instead developing his skills through street performance and stand-up comedy. It was a route, he says, similar to that taken by aspiring thespians in Shakespeare’s day as they prepared for the 16th-century stage.

No doubt this aspect of his career helped lead Izzard to take on, solo, 23 roles in Shakespeare’s Hamlet. What actor in his right mind, you might think, would even consider this, when the role of Hamlet alone is one of the heaviest – if most coveted – challenges in classical theatre?

Well, Izzard did, and the result was The Tragedy of Hamlet, adapted by Mark Izzard and directed by Selina Cadell. Given the stamina, volume of dialogue and concentration required, this could easily have become the tragedy of Eddie Izzard. Indeed, some critics saw it that way, with one describing it as an “exercise in vanity” – though grudgingly conceding that the comedic roles were well handled. Other critics have been more appreciative, amazed that he could memorise the myriad lines and play so many characters in Shakespeare’s longest play. It certainly is a tour de force, and Izzard gives a masterclass in it.

Judging by the applause, the excitement when Izzard first appeared, the laughter throughout and the standing ovation at the end, the opening-night audience could probably be divided into three groups: those who came mainly to see Izzard, those who came to hear again the hallowed words of Shakespeare, and those who came for a bit of both.

I should declare that, having listened day after day to a recording of Hamlet with the legendary John Gielgud in the title role as preparation for an exam, I feel I know it back to front. It is my favourite Shakespeare play, so I thought watching Izzard deliver almost every one of those familiar, diverse and still-pertinent speeches would be a challenge for me.

The stage is set as it will remain for more than two hours, visible as theatregoers enter the auditorium: a bare stage, a cone of light dividing the backdrop down the middle, and two large, floor-mounted spotlights at the front on either side. Around this space Izzard roams, playing 23 parts alone, accompanied only by two spotlit shadows that mimic his every move.

Izzard does not define the 23 characters through changes of clothing, which would of course be nearly impossible. He is dressed throughout in black leather trousers, black heeled boots and a tight-waisted dark jacket. His hair is tied in a short ponytail, which swings as he prances, as does his fringe. Nor does he alter the tone or depth of his voice for each character, relying instead on Shakespeare’s language for characterisation. That works if you know the text, but my companion did not, and at times she found it confusing. This did not stop her thoroughly enjoying the performance; she was one of the first on her feet applauding as it concluded.

Izzard recounts the story of this family and this country “tearing itself apart”, as he puts it, in the time-honoured art of storytelling. He is good at it. Through his hands, his stride and the collusion he so effectively draws from the audience, he creates an engaging ambience. He is particularly effective when making puppets of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern from his manicured hands, eliciting gales of laughter, and funnier still when the street-smart gravediggers respond to the upper-crust Hamlet’s questions.

Izzard was excellent brandishing his invisible rapier and dagger at his enemies, prancing around as he plotted with Horatio, and persuading the players to “catch the conscience of the King”. He was also effective and funny as the ponderous Polonius, but not strong enough, or angry enough, for much of the play, given the hand Hamlet has been dealt. Perhaps most effective was his portrayal of the usurper King Claudius. And why cut the end of Claudius’s prayer – the part where he says, “My words fly up, my thoughts remain below”?

It is true, as others have pointed out – probably because of the demands of a solo creation like this – that the emotional depth of Hamlet’s anguish, Ophelia’s mental decline and the pity of it all do not come across as they might in a conventional production. I missed that. Even so, why not introduce a modern audience with no prior knowledge of the play – often because Shakespeare is being cut from the curriculum – to an amazing and accessible storytelling version like this?