“There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.”
Hamlet, Act V, Scene II
It is time to let go of everything we think we know about Hamlet.
In Teatro La Plaza’s Peruvian production, the company does not appeal to the audience’s pity, nor does it make political pleas or hide behind an ideal of perfect equality.
Instead, it holds up a mirror. The actors stand before us without disguises, inviting everyone to embrace their own differences with pride.
We all, at times, feel inadequate under the weight of ideals like productivity, beauty, and perfection.
Shakespeare’s Danish prince—alienated, uncertain, and out of step with his world—has endured for four centuries because he reveals what we share: our common fragility and our struggle to belong.
The true innovation of this staging lies here:
The performers bring their own life stories to the stage and, through them, redefine a Hamlet pushed to the margins of society.
Their Hamlet is not just a man in despair, but one who questions, resists, searches for his own voice, and refuses to surrender his existence.
Directed by Chela De Ferrari, founder and artistic director of Teatro La Plaza, the production continues her practice of creating space for ordinary people to tell their truths on stage.
One of the most striking examples is Jaime Cruz, who worked for years as a theater usher before stepping into the spotlight. Today, when he delivers Hamlet’s most famous lines, he does so with pure, disarming sincerity—a symbol of transformation.
De Ferrari had previously staged Chekhov’s The Seagull with visually impaired actors.
Since its 2022 premiere, this Hamlet has toured Peru, Spain, France, Belgium, the UK, and China, with its British debut at the Edinburgh International Festival in 2024.
Now it arrives in Turkey for the first time: a version that is not simply “different,” but genuine, powerful, and deeply original.
A Hamlet That Begins with Birth
The performance opens not with a curtain, but with a birth:
real footage of childbirth projected in extreme close-up onto the screen behind the stage.
The scene is deliberately raw and immediate. As the play unfolds, we realize that this shocking beginning is the key to what follows—a meditation on life, death, and the fragile yet relentless will to live.
Who Are These Hamlets?
Next, the actors step forward one by one and introduce themselves.
Some mention their tics, others their forgetfulness, others their unusual gestures.
“These aren’t problems,” one says. “They’re my normal.”
This moment serves both as an introduction and a declaration of intent.
From here on, the play no longer belongs to Shakespeare’s characters, but to these people and their lived realities.
Imperfection becomes not an obstacle, but the very form of beauty on stage.
Dreaming of a Dream
“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray you, love, remember.
And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.
Fennel for you, and columbines for me; they call them ‘Sunday mercy herbs.’”
Hamlet, Act IV, Scene V
Three Ophelias sit side by side.
One dreams of earning her own money and taking her parents out to dinner.
One dreams of raising a child in love.
One dreams of great romance.
Their desires are simple, ordinary—and painfully out of reach.
The scene works on two levels:
We know Ophelia will never live to see these dreams fulfilled,
and we are also aware of how difficult it remains for people with Down syndrome to pursue similar dreams in real life.
That is why the scene moves us not through sentimentality but through politics.
“I’m dreaming of a dream,” say the Ophelias.
In that short line, everything condenses—
even the simplest longings of life, as if
having one extra chromosome meant these things could never be yours.
The Death of a Dream
When we reach Ophelia’s death scene, the play’s pulse beats like a fragile but defiant heart standing against the myth of perfection.
“The death of all dreams,” says the actor.
The box that once held Hamlet’s gifts becomes an execution platform; the shadow beneath her feet turns into a grave.
A white dress descends from above—Ophelia wears it like a shroud.
Horatio’s skull appears, no longer a prop but a presence—Death, God, or perhaps Hamlet himself.
Here, suicide is not surrender but a kind of protection from the world,
a sacred act of self-defense.
To Be or Not to Be — Together
When it is time for the soliloquy, Jaime Cruz tries to imitate Laurence Olivier’s Hamlet, projected behind him on screen.
He copies every gesture.
Another actor steps in:
“Don’t imitate him. Say it your way.”
The balance shifts.
On the projection, Olivier disappears.
Instead, we see Hamlets from across the world—different faces, languages, voices—all asking the same question, each from their own story.
Hamlet is no longer a single man but a shared experience, a collective echo.
Then, via video link, Ian McKellen appears on the screen, joining the conversation from afar.
Jaime holds a microphone and asks:
“Have you ever forgotten your lines?”
“Ever needed the bathroom on stage?”
“Is it hard to play Hamlet?”
“When will you come to Peru?”
It’s a moment of perfect equality:
a legendary Hamlet and a Peruvian Hamlet with Down syndrome meeting on common ground.
McKellen smiles: “It was hard for me too.”
In ‘Jaimlet’s’ version of the soliloquy, we hear demands for visibility, dignity, autonomy—
the right of those long labeled “other” to define themselves.
The tragedy is no longer Hamlet’s madness or decay,
but the social isolation and political labeling of those denied full participation in public life—
and their resistance, joy, and collective strength.
Form and Thought
De Ferrari’s language of the stage merges theatre’s oldest and newest forms:
the magic of light and shadow,
the immediacy of live cameras and projections.
It’s not a purely visual choice but an intellectual one:
theatre here is not something to be recorded—it records itself.
The image is not an instrument of dramaturgy but its partner in thought.
The audience watches, and is watched; both witness and subject.
The set evokes a rehearsal room—simple, flexible, open to improvisation.
Transitions flow through dance, video calls, short sketches, music, and behind-the-scenes discoveries.
Sometimes the audience is invited on stage, sometimes they join in the joyous final dance.
What emerges is theatre as an act of presence—
a celebration of individuality and the courage to express oneself.
Epilogue
Hamlet is no longer the story of one man.
It belongs to eight actors, eight lives, eight ways of being.
Teatro La Plaza brings Shakespeare to a new stage—
one of visibility, plurality, and the right to exist—
and leaves us with the reminder:
“We know what we are, but know not what we may be.”
Production Credits – Teatro La Plaza
Written and Directed by: Chela De Ferrari
Assistant Directors & Dramaturgy Consultants: Claudia Tangoa, Jonathan Oliveros, Luis Alberto León
Dramaturgy: Barbara Métais-Chastanier
Choreography: Mirella Carbone
Voice Training: Alessandra Rodríguez
Visual Design: Lucho Soldevilla
Lighting Design: Jesús Reyes
Producer: Siu Jing Apau
Cast: Octavio Bernaza, Jaime Cruz,
Lucas Demarchi, Manuel García,
Diana Gutierrez, Cristina León Barandiarán,
Ximena Rodríguez, Álvaro Toledo
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