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Laurence Olivier has been almost universally acknowledged as the supreme interprreter of Shakespeare on films, and his three Shakespeare films remain the best ones ever made. Kenneth Branagh was more technically accomplished in his Shakespeare films, but still Olivier remains the supreme cinematic Shakespeare interpreter: Branagh could never equal that dramatic pitch, and the Olivier Hamlet version remains the best one, although truncated (the characters of Rosencrantz and Guldenstern and Fortinbras missing) and even some of Hamlet's own monologues being sorted out. But the scenery in its Spartan concentration to one single set in a primitive made up medieval castle by the sea, very far from the real sumptuous Kronborg castle at Elsinore, and the constant camera glidings with very efficient staging of the ghost scenes makes this Hamlet cinematic staging supreme. Also the other acting parts are practically ideal: Basil Sydney as the corrupt king, Jean Simmons as Ophelia (the best ever), Eileen Heertie as the Queen, and even Peter Cushing as Osric, they all contribute to make this performance paramount; and to this comes a great score by William Walton. This Shakespeare performance by Laurence Olivier has never been equalled.

There is always something sinister about Martin Ritt's films, this is an early example but very typical of his style and character. He has a manner of dissecting his characters and leaving them naked, not to the bone but to the soul and leaving nothing left of them when he is finished. His films are generally critical of the American society without irony or satire but just by baring naked facts. This film begins in the perfect idyll of a typical American suburb of villas in a nice environment, all the residents being rather well off, a new couple moves in (Jeffrey Hunter and Patricia Owens) and are immediately invited for a barbecue by their neighbours and making friends with them, so it couldn't start off any better, but those closest neighbours have their problems. Cameron Mitchell, married to Joanne Woodward, is frustrated about never getting promotion and drinks and turns nasty, and Tony Randall, married to Sheree North, constantly derails unable to keep up his responsibilities occasionally freaking out in drinking. So there is plenty of grounds for difficult crises, which are unavoidable. There are many other problematic elements as well in this typical social criticism by Martin Ritt, and the film is expertly written and directed - its realism appears quite authentic. The actors make marvellous performances, maybe Tony Randall most of all and Cameron Mitchell as a disillusioned war hero, while actually only Jeffrey Hunter and Patricia Owens make it to the end unscathed after all.

Can you handle her at all? That is the question here. Outstanding acting and excellent performances can not help the fact that the play in character is depressive. I saw the remake version of 2011 and left the cinema with a deep sense of hollowness bordering on disgust. This earlier version of 1955 is so much better under the expert direction of Anatole Litvak, but even that does not help the play. The four protagonists were among the best actors of the day, Vivien Leigh as the neurotic wife who can't control herself and introduces the film by a suicide attempt, her husband is a very faithful old gentleman and judge with high standing in society played by the veteran Emlyn Williams, her second husband is Kenneth more, much younger and very lively and probably the best acting performance here, while the most interesting role is that of the doctor played by the Londoner Eric Portman, the one person who understands Vivien Leigh, sees her through, saves her life and tries to correct her; but we are left hanging without knowing if he succeeds, but at least we are left hoping. It's a sordid play threatening to drag every spectator down into Vivien Leigh's dark blue sea.