in Jeff Parsons' own words, "This adaptation of Hamlet is, for the most part, performed to music. Only selected scenes are presented without some sort of accompaniment, and all scenes should utilize stylistic and expressionistic movement."

it seemed my music would permeate most of this theatrical presentation. the soundtrack Jeff envisioned started with a collection of passages from popular works by commercial recording artists. after reading revisions of his script, attending live readings, and absorbing the recordings Jeff assembled, the original musical style began to suggest itself. it was stark, brutal, beautiful, a little demented in places. i hope these samples stir your imagination.

— davidicus

Hamlet, the puppet

indecision and depression lead to loss of identity. he wears a blank mask throughout the play.

Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hew of Resolution
Is sicklied o're with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard their Currants turne away,
And loose the name of Action.

Claudius, the deceitful

killed his own brother to become king, then married his widow. willing to murder Hamlet to stay in power.

Oh my offence is ranke, it smells to heaven,
It hath the primal eldest curs upon't,
A Brothers murther.

Gertrude, the whore

Hamlet's mother may be a little clued out, but her cold disregard for the fate of her son and death of her husband should earn her a nice place in hell.

Must I remember: why she would hang on him,
As if encrease of Appetite had growne
by what it fed on; and yet within a month?

Ophelia, the innocent

Hamlet's lover also feels lost and depressed. she is mute, and communicates through dance.

And will he not come againe,
And will he not come againe:
No, no, he is dead, go to thy Death-bed,
He never will come againe.

the Ghost, the vengeful

symbolic of Hamlet's loss of control over his own life, and an ethereal urge for revenge from beyond the grave.

I am thy Fathers Spirit,
Doom'd for a certaine terme to walke the night;
And for the day confin'd to fast in Fiers,
Till the foule crimes done in my dayes of nature
Are burnt and purg'd away

Horatio, the logical

not a physical presence, but Hamlet's rational inner conscience.

There is nothing either good or bad,
but thinking makes it so.