To be or not to be a pushy parent. That is the question, or one of them at least, that faces anyone who embarks on the epic project of having children—and when it comes to Shakespeare, I am nothing if not pushy. My son Nicholas had iambic pentameters thrust upon him from birth. I remember crooning Oh mistress mine over his cot. It helped to get him off to sleep.
It seems to have landed, too. Now ten, Nicholas is a fan of Macbeth (the graphic novel version). And when I propose a visit to Elsinore Castle—in tribute to the 75th anniversary of Laurence Olivier winning the Best Picture Oscar for his stately film adaptation of Hamlet—he is keen.
The castle by the modern town of Helsingor, on the windy northeastern corner of Denmark, is actually called Kronborg. But it’s as castle-like as anyone could wish. It has limestone walls, pointy turrets, and cannons galore. And it’s clearly the place Shakespeare had in mind when he wrote Hamlet.
The playwright, our guide Louise tells us, never visited the castle. But he knew actors who did. They went there to perform, like the actors who turn up in the play and perform the Murder of Gonzago at the Prince’s request, with the aim of smoking out his uncle Claudius, who has murdered his dad, married his mum, and stolen his crown.
Ample reason for revenge, you might think. But instead Hamlet mooches about delivering soliloquies about the meaning of life—and death. The iconic image is of the prince staring at a skull as he broods on his own mortality. Which is why Nicholas and I have brought a life-size replica of a skull as a prop. That raised an eyebrow or two at Stansted airport, I can tell you.
We whip it out and strike poses on the battlements, where the ghost appears in the opening scene. We explore the ornate chapel, where Hamlet almost kills his uncle. Ditto the great hall, where drums rolled and trumpets blasted whenever King Frederick II made a speech during drinking binges: another historically accurate detail in the play.
For anyone less devoted to the Bard, incidentally, there are other things to do at Helsingor. It’s a fine example of a Danish medieval town, with cobbled streets, a beautiful Carmelite Priory, and an excellent Maritime Museum. Or you can stroll along the sea front and gaze at Sweden, just a couple of miles away across the chilly Oresund Strait.
Back at the castle, Louise further reveals that the place inspired not one but two Shakespeare plays. In 1589, King James VI of Scotland came there to marry Anne of Denmark. Afterwards, the weather was so bad the couple was trapped in Denmark for months. James became convinced the storms were witchcraft. His obsession with the subject led him to write a book about it, Daemonologie. When he became King James I of England in 1603, Shakespeare honoured him by writing Macbeth: a Scottish play filled with storms and witches.
The Shakespeare-Elsinore connection continues with a 200-year-old tradition of performing his plays in the grounds of the castle. Olivier did it. Jude Law and Simon Russell Beale have done it. And if you want to see it, come to Elsinore in early August and see Hamlet performed in the most atmospheric situation imaginable.
We reach the castle as part of the Grand Day Trip laid on by a company called Hamlet Tours. This takes in another castle, a Viking ship museum and the lofty cathedral at Roskilde, which houses the body of king Harald Bluetooth. The wireless technology was named after the dentally challenged Viking. The Bluetooth symbol combines the runic symbols for his initials.
After so many castles and kings, Nicholas and I gladly collapse in the stylish comfort of the Hotel Alexandra in the centre of Copenhagen. Every de luxe room is dedicated to a mid-century Danish furniture designer—and the result is ineffably cool. Another benefit, from Nicholas’s point of view, is how close the hotel is to the fun park Tivoli Gardens.
The next day, this is his reward for the Shakespeare overdose: five hours of drop towers, rollercoasters, and video arcades. Not that Hamlet is forgotten. We develop our own patented technique for dealing with particularly terrifying rides. We close our eyes and shout soliloquies from Hamlet. No fun for our neighbours of course. But remember it’s the anniversary of that Oscar. I’m sure Olivier would have been delighted.
