Andrew Doyle’s thespian romp has an extravagant silliness that’s both camp and quite appealing. It’s not exactly clear why the title refers to Hamlet because the plot centres on an ill-judged production of Macbeth: The Remix, involving fright wigs, disco lights and hard house.
But Shamlet is also a ghost story of sorts, with batty producer Joan dragging her cast of no-hopers to a Stratford theatre, where the director attempts to break into Shakespeare’s grave.
Much of the action, however, centres on bitchy rehearsals, where the star, Isambard (Oliver Burton), engages in verbal battles with his fellow cast members and submits himself to Joan’s actorly ‘exercises’.
Everything is handled beautifully by the cast, not least Harry Dickman, whose Shakespeare is a likable old rogue. The English might have invented bardolatry, but Shamlet falls into an equally long and illustrious tradition of deflating pretension with some loud, comic raspberries.
ANNETTE RUBERY