I’m not a religious person. I put my faith in art over god and man. Through creative collaboration, we create something bigger than ourselves, and possibly eternal. In art, we become gods, creating worlds, heroes, and stories that give others hope, agony, and ecstasy.
In the dark of a theater, an audience is given a chance to feel seen while not being perceived. You don’t need a brave face here. You just need a beating heart. In this way, Elsinore is a religious experience.
The latest from Andrew Scott stars the critically revered Irish actor as Ian Charleson, the Scottish actor best remembered for Chariots of Fire. However, written by Stephen Beresford, this film focuses on the last play of Charleson’s life, when he starred as Hamlet in the National Theater production, while he was dying from AIDS (unbeknownst to the public).
As you might predict, the Shakespearean tragedy about death and regret proves a powerful parallel to the actor’s own story. But even as accolades stack up for Scott’s performance here, I don’t think you can be adequately prepared for what Elsinore truly has in store.
Elsinore is not about death, but how we choose to live.
Andrew Scott in “Elsinore.”
Credit: Anthony Dickenson / Focus Features
Set a 1989 London, Elsinore plays out at the height of the AIDS crisis. Men around the world are dying at astonishing numbers, while governments largely ignore their plight. The film picks up with Ian well aware of his status, leaning on loved ones who know, and in some cases are afflicted themselves.
At 40 years old, he’s aware that his time is short. So what will he do with it? Once the opportunity to play Hamlet on England’s prestigious stage is presented, he refuses to turn it down even as his doctor (Olivia Colman) tells him the rigors of such an endeavor will only hurt his longevity. To this, Ian proclaims he’d “rather die from Hamlet than AIDS.”
As dour as the setup sounds, Elsinore is defiantly streaked with joy and laughs. It’s a funny movie in the face of death, and rightly so. During a panel at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), Scott — who also produced Elsinore — explained that this humor was essential, because “the great thing about human beings is that we always look for the light.” So, it’s just honest to have humor even in these places dark and tragic. After all, Shakespeare did it himself. There is humor in Hamlet too.
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In Elsinore, some of the film’s comedy comes from the world of theater, where big personalities shine, including a stage door worker, who has the ruthless wit of Hamlet‘s gravedigger. Elsewhere, Billie Piper, who plays Ian’s best friend, gossipy casting agent Patsy Pollock, also brings light and levity alongside her on-screen daughter (Sadie Soverall). Through them, Elsinore gives the audience an understanding of Ian beyond his work, as a friend and an uncle, who bellows gleefully as he speaks of theater and love. Yet, this isn’t a glowing portrayal.
A subplot about his soured relationship with queer filmmaker Derek Jarman (David Dawson) explores resentment, possible regrets, and the pressure of being an openly queer figure in the world. Essentially, Derek challenges Ian to come out publicly about his sexuality and his diagnosis, calling him a coward if he doesn’t. This thread is frustratingly still of great relevance today, as LGBTQ people’s bodies are politicized for merely existing. To the credit of Elsinore director Simon Stone, the film’s arguments for privacy versus public openness are hotly argued without determining one as right or wrong. Instead, both how these men chose to live, and how they choose to die, is given the space and dignity to be on their own terms.
Andrew Scott is phenomenal in Elsinore.
Andrew Scott and Olivia Colman in “Elsinore.”
Credit: Anthony Dickenson / Focus Features
While critics out of Telluride Film Festival and TIFF have been mixed on the movie itself, Scott is being universally praised for his performance here. There’s no surprise in that. Not only is Scott one of the most mesmerizing actors working in film and theater today, but Elsinore also has a script that gives him plenty to sink his teeth into. Some may say this is a career-best performance for Scott. But such superlatives risk making reviews feel too easily outdated, as from Fleabag to Ripley, All of Us Strangers to Elsinore, Scott keeps delivering outstanding portrayals.
However, I won’t take for granted the tactility that Scott brings to Elsinore. Fear of AIDS at this time was so terrible and ignorant that many feared even touching a patient, a point illustrated by a skittish doctor who washes his hands twice after examining Ian’s body. Within this context, the holding of a hand, the clutch of a hug, the stroke of a face, carries a heavier, emotional weight. Scott clearly understands the significance. It is not just in how he touches others, but in how he responds to touch. The treasure of that connection rendered onscreen is so profound that you can practically feel it on your own fingertips.
Herein lies the magic of cinema, where what we see and hear becomes so visceral we can practically sense the warmth of an outstretched hand or the smooth chill of Yorick’s skull. And in this experience, we are invited, not only to understand Ian’s journey, but also to reflect on our own. None of us are getting out alive. So what do we choose to live for while we can?
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Not every moment in Elsinore is as eloquent as these subtle moments of pleasure and pain through touch. In the third act, Stone falters in his faith in the audience, leaning into clichéd montage depicting terminal illness through maudlin visuals. Stone might’ve trusted in the Bard, as Charleson did to define Ian’s exit. There was a version of this movie, perhaps, where we leave him on the stage, allowing his work to speak for him as he’d hoped. Instead, Stone gives us sickly gray scenes of the actor’s decay and thunderous body tremors. Then, he frustratingly fumbles the film’s final moment with a clumsy and confounding music cue.
There’s something ironic in this, because within Elsinore, Ian gripes that Chariots of Fire will be most remembered for its score, not his part in it. Yet in the final shot of Ian, Stone chooses to swell Stefan Gregory’s score to drown out all other sounds. Here is supposed to be a scene depicting a theater tradition that Ian spoke of with intense reverence, where the ensemble shows support for an actor by banging collectively on their respective dressing room windows. It’s meant to show you are seen, claimed, and loved. And yet, Stone won’t let us hear the banging, which might clatter like applause to the very heavens. It’s instead a soaring instrumental. In a movie so clearly in love with life and touch, it’s so frustrating that Elsinore‘s final moment misses the opportunity to drive that home with the incredible power of the sound of human hands. Because in the end, it is our striving to connect and find light in the dark that allows us to live through art, past death.
Elsinore was reviewed out if its Canadian premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival.
