Hamnet Review

Chloé Zhao’s adaptation of Maggie O’Farrell’s acclaimed novel arrives in cinemas as a meditation on grief, artistic creation, and the private sorrows that shape public masterpieces. Hamnet imagines the family life of William Shakespeare, focusing particularly on his wife Agnes (more commonly known as Anne Hathaway) and the devastating death of their son Hamnet at age eleven—a loss that O’Farrell and Zhao suggest birthed one of literature’s greatest tragedies. The result is filmmaking of uncommon emotional intensity that challenges viewers to endure the full weight of parental bereavement in exchange for profound cathartic release.

Reimagining Shakespeare’s Domestic Life

The film departs from traditional Shakespearean biopics by centering Agnes rather than the playwright himself. Jessie Buckley delivers a performance of remarkable ferocity and fragility as a woman possessing what the narrative terms “gifts”—intuitive connections to nature, healing knowledge, and prophetic dreams inherited from her mother. These elements earn her suspicion from Stratford’s conventional society, particularly Shakespeare’s mother Mary, played with brittle disapproval by Emily Watson.

Paul Mescal’s William Shakespeare emerges as ambitious dreamer rather than established genius—a young man resenting his father’s glove-making business while nursing poetic aspirations. Their courtship, conducted against Mary’s wishes, establishes romantic chemistry grounded in mutual recognition of outsider status. Zhao films their early relationship with sensual immediacy, capturing passion without sentimentality.

The narrative structure follows dual timelines: the family’s life before Hamnet’s death and the aftermath as grief consumes both parents differently. Shakespeare increasingly absents himself to London’s theaters while Agnes remains anchored to Stratford, their separation reflecting incompatible mourning styles rather than marital dissolution.

The Agony of Loss

Zhao stages Hamnet’s death with devastating restraint. The boy’s illness develops rapidly, striking both twins—Judith and Hamnet—though only one succumbs. Agnes’s desperate attempts at healing through herbal knowledge and folk wisdom prove insufficient against the plague’s indifferent cruelty. The filmmaking here refuses comfortable distance, immersing viewers in parental helplessness.

What follows constitutes cinema’s most unflinching portrayal of grief in recent memory. Buckley and Mescal abandon vanity in sequences of raw anguish—screaming, weeping, physical collapse—that could easily tip into exploitation but instead achieve documentary-like authenticity. Zhao holds on these moments longer than comfortable, forcing acknowledgment that genuine mourning exceeds tidy cinematic boundaries.

The director’s approach draws from her documentary background, treating performances with observational patience rather than manipulative cutting. Cinematographer Łukasz Żal’s camera captures faces in raking natural light that emphasizes every tremor of pain. Max Richter’s score swells beneath without overwhelming, providing emotional resonance that complements rather than dictates response.

Art as Transformation

The film’s boldest conceit suggests Hamlet emerged directly from Hamnet’s death—that Shakespeare transformed personal tragedy into universal art. O’Farrell’s screenplay constructs parallels between the play’s father-son ghost dynamics and the playwright’s own survivor guilt. When Agnes eventually attends a London performance, her realization that the entire world will weep for her son through Hamlet provides the film’s most shattering moment.

This meta-textual layer risks collapsing under its own audacity. Treating Shakespeare’s creative process as direct transcription from lived experience oversimplifies artistic genius while potentially exploiting genuine historical tragedy. Yet Zhao and O’Farrell navigate these dangers through sincerity that never feels cheap. The film acknowledges its speculative nature while arguing passionately for the emotional truth it discovers.

The central performances sell this high-wire act through sheer commitment. Buckley has never been better—her Agnes evolves from forest wanderer to devastated mother to woman discovering unexpected agency through grief. Mescal matches her beat for beat, his Shakespeare gradually recognizing that art offers the only available response to unbearable loss.

Visual Poetry and Period Immersion

Zhao continues demonstrating mastery of location shooting and natural environments. The Stratford countryside becomes almost a third protagonist—forests where Agnes communes with hawks, fields where children play, the claustrophobic interiors where grief concentrates. The director’s documented preference for actual landscapes over studio constructions pays dividends in authenticity.

Period details feel lived-in rather than displayed. Costumes suggest practical clothing rather than exhibition pieces. Set design emphasizes functional spaces over decorative grandeur. This grounded approach prevents the heritage-film prettiness that often distances viewers from historical subjects.

The lighting deserves particular mention—Żal works predominantly with natural sources, creating chiaroscuro effects that mirror the narrative’s darkness-into-light structure. Scenes of greatest despair unfold in shadow while moments of tentative peace break through in golden hour illumination.

Critical Reception and Award Prospects

Hamnet premiered to largely enthusiastic critical response, with particular praise directed toward Buckley’s central performance. Several critics have already suggested Oscar consideration is warranted, placing the film firmly in awards season conversation. The combination of literary subject matter, prestigious director, and acclaimed performances positions Hamnet as a serious contender.

However, some reviewers have questioned whether the film’s emotional intensity crosses into exploitation. The extended sequences of parental grief at a child’s death raise legitimate concerns about audience endurance and ethical representation. These criticisms acknowledge the film’s power while questioning its deployment.

Comparisons to other Shakespeare-adjacent works naturally emerge. Unlike Shakespeare in Love’s playful romantic comedy or the direct adaptations of the plays themselves, Hamnet occupies unique territory—speculative biography treating the playwright’s personal life with tragic seriousness rather than comedic invention.

Final Verdict

Hamnet demands emotional investment that many viewers may find taxing. It is not entertainment in conventional senses but rather an experience—a demanding journey through darkness toward fragile redemption. Those willing to submit to its rhythms discover profound rewards: performances of rare honesty, visual beauty serving emotional truth, and meditation on how art transforms suffering into meaning.

Zhao has established herself as one of contemporary cinema’s most distinctive voices through films like Nomadland and The Rider. Hamnet confirms her range extends beyond contemporary American subjects to historical periods and literary adaptations. The through-line remains her commitment to human dignity and emotional authenticity—qualities abundantly present here.

For audiences prepared to engage seriously with grief’s realities, Hamnet offers one of the year’s most substantial cinematic experiences. Buckley and Mescal have created something that will resonate long after credits roll—a testament to love’s endurance through loss, and art’s capacity to honor what time takes away.

What are your favorite films about grief and healing? Share your recommendations in the comments below.