Upon being taken to my seat, it was impossible not to sense the air of excitement radiating across the chapel. The audience sat in a traverse configuration, not unlike a regular chapel service, and yet all seemed aware that what we were about to watch would utterly transcend our expectations of this space. The lights dimmed, candles cast elusive shadows, we waited in anticipation.

In our interview prior to the show, Evie du Bois and Iris Tadie convinced me that Hamlet is a story about our relationship with religion. Evie’s reading of Psalm 51 subsequently led to her reimagining Hamlet as a mediation on faith and religious hierarchy. The chapel space proved intrinsic to facilitating this interpretation. Certain lines took on a noticeably new significance; every call to God felt charged with an actual call for absolution, whilst Laertes’ “I dare damnation” felt like an act of impious temerity.

Moreover, King’s Chapel allowed for a complete disintegration of the spatial limits usually imposed by the stage. The ghost scenes were a particularly striking example of this; at times, David Jorgenson loomed over us from the pew, at others he lingered in the shadows at the opposite end of the chamber. While some of his lines were slightly lost due to the reverberation created by such a lofty space, this was the most effective version of the ghost that I have seen performed. In the chapel he became a palpable, harrowing supernatural entity, and arguably the thundering acoustics contributed to rather than diminished the fear that Hamlet, and we, should be experiencing in this scene.

“We all became spectators within the action, united under the chapel roof as religious subjects”

I found myself immersed in both the chapel and the performance, to the extent that the boundaries between them fell away. Rich Mandal and Finn Kjaergaard should be commended for the excellence of their conducting; the punctuation of the choir at significant moments in the play interlaced danger and death with beauty. I loved how the chapel was not manipulated in any way to make it more like a theatre – instead, the space shaped the play. Hamlet’s “majestical roof fretted with golden fire” was King’s chapel roof, and, to my amazement, I found myself subconsciously following Hamlet’s gaze upwards. The tapestry at the end of the chamber was used with symbolic precision. When Hamlet and Claudius looked at it, it became a symbol of a higher power, exacerbating an emotional turmoil fuelled by inner desires antithetical to the moral demands of religious doctrine. Elsewhere, doctrine was preserved: Polonius’ death was hidden behind the altar, perhaps as death is too blasphemous to be enacted openly within a sacred space.

The Murder of Gonzago scene made me realise that the exquisite intelligence of this production was located in how the chapel space had an equalising effect. With the cast turning inwards to watch the players, the staging evolved from traverse to thrust. At this moment, we all became spectators within the action, united under the chapel roof as religious subjects. Our role as the audience had been challenged: we were invited to see and treat the characters as Hamlet had been forced to in alignment with their position in the religious hierarchy, and consider for ourselves how we feel about these limits.

Such a captivating effect would not have been possible without the outstanding performances observed. Harry Lloyd Yorke is a force of nature. His Hamlet was seething and serpentine, his monologues delivered with furious conviction, making unashamed eye-contact with the audience as though we were the confidantes of his impious catharsis. He disturbed me in the most intense, interesting way possible. His violence and dialogue played into a blasphemous antithesis between the promises we make to God and our individual determination.

“If it were possible to commend every actor individually in detail, then certainly I would”

Emotional trajectory seems to have been a significant focus, of which there were several compelling examples. Ophelia (Annie Rainbow) graced the chapel space in earlier scenes with confidence and lightness, which warped into heart-wrenching, hysterical deliriousness following her father’s death. Claudius (Nick Danby) also enacted a powerful emotional outburst, unbridled from the constraints of a severe preacher into a God-fearing man derailed and betrayed by his faith. From The Murder of Gonzago scene onwards, Danby truly flourished with a compelling level of emotional expression and I was greatly convinced by his character.

The supporting cast contributed consistently strong performances: Polonius, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (Will Barber, Ben Birch, Edward Badege respectively) offered moments of comic relief, speaking in nasal or self-indulgent tones. Sophia O’Callaghan’s Gertrude was haughty, Archie Giblin’s Laertes was confident yet caring. I would also like to praise Mia Badby, Fareedah Ibrahim-Garva and Aisling Martin, all of whom multi-roled wonderfully; every character was distinguishable from one another and interesting to watch.

If it were possible to commend every actor individually in detail, then certainly I would. I feel that this production was not just a successful reimagination of one of Shakespeare’s most venerated works, but also an exciting redefinition of the creative potential to be unlocked in sacred spaces. I truly hope that this power-house of a production is the onset of a glorious future of ‘Shakespeare in King’s Chapel’, for in my eyes it deserves to be nothing less.

By kind permission of the Provost and Scholars of King’s College, Cambridge