Fuck Kenneth Branaugh.

Quick, somebody say SOMETHING nice about Branaugh's Hamlet other than "It's the full-text film version of record," which fuck that. I recently bought it on DVD, not having watched it since it were new; and I find it reprehensible.

The editing begs villainous reproach:
Of silent film and farce a rare pastiche
Befitting ferre a dream in which Ken Loach
Must MTV-ify le comte de Guiche;
And, while nobody's perfect, why Jack Lemmon?
He plays Marcellus as a very drab;
And Ken seems he'd as lief incite the Fremen
To own the spice, grâce à his gift of gab,
Which passeth understanding, rousts the dead,
And wrests, for welcome moments, our attention
From dungeons where his facial hair has led
It languish. And in God's name, need we mention
The score? the score? the score? the score? the score?
I'faith, to this house, Ken, thou'lt come no more.