Sirens and shotguns light up Shakespeare in the in-game experiment Grand Theft Hamlet

A pivotal moment in Hamlet revolves around an in-universe play, where a nested performance is part of a ploy to speak to a higher reality. Grand Theft Hamlet sees the power of this play-within-a-play and asks, “Why not a play-within-gameplay?” The result of two stage actor pals’ mid-pandemic cabin fever, the film documents Sam Crane and Mark Oosterveen’s attempt to stage a full-length production of Hamlet, performed entirely on the unpredictable virtual streets (and beaches, and skyscapes) of Grand Theft Auto Online. A making-of film fueled, like the Let’s Plays and livestreams it’s in conversation with, by the chaos of a plan gone wrong, Grand Theft Hamlet is equal parts charming and cheesy—both due to its experimental setting.

Crane and his filmmaker partner Pinny Grylls record all of Grand Theft Hamlet through avatars and voice chat, joining the company of other game-shot films like We Met In Virtual Reality and the roleplay reenactments in The Remarkable Life Of Ibelin. Like those films, the messy mise-en-scène of games—the UI, in-game ads, mission announcements, map, and Wanted Level—adds to and intrudes upon the narrative. And, like those films, Grand Theft Hamlet focuses on the very real connections and fulfilling emotional experiences that defy games’ scripted quests and inscrutable character models.

While this human depth is part of the film’s broader premise—“Aren’t Shakespeare and GTA a wacky combo?”—it’s not a surprise or revelation, since most members of the film’s audience maintain purely online parasocial and social relationships. Aside from how generally common that now is, what Luddite is taking a chance on a documentary filmed in GTA? But it’s still heartwarming and, yes, enjoyably absurd to watch its ambitious troupe band together, at times literally fighting to save their show using rifles, handguns, rocket launchers, fighter jets, and their own fists.

What is surprising, though, is how compelling it is to watch actors interpret one of the most famous dramas ever written through pixelated puppets in a surrogate performance space. Crane and Oosterveen have their own roles to play, but they also hold in-game auditions in a Los Santos amphitheater. These personal showcases—which feature everyone from pros like Jen Cohn (a GTA vet who voices Pharah in Overwatch) to nude aliens reciting the Quran—squeeze an omnipresent text through unwieldy virtual instruments. Combining their grainy voices with the limited movement and emotes provided by the game engine, the actors thrillingly strain against their self-imposed limits. Some even use GTA’s combat mechanics to their advantage, stabbing or aiming their pistols for added effect. Close-ups highlight the jabbering mouths of everyone’s ridiculous character models, funny because it just doesn’t work…but engaging because, wow, it kinda works.

Theater geeks will enjoy the hardship, but they’ll also revel in the places where the guardrails have been completely removed, like staging. This is a production in a world where the budget uses fake money, laws are there to be broken, and death isn’t permanent—Hamlet’s ghostly father flies in on a massive blimp, which the cast and spectators alike hop on top of as the play continues. Take that, Laurence Olivier!

Grand Theft Hamlet makes the most of machinima’s friction-filled pantomime, where scripted ideas collide with the mindless results of a game’s programming. And it’s all as accessible as ever thanks to writing that’s seeped into our cultural subconscious. Add in the element of danger that comes with being online—where the Hamlet crew occupies the same lobby as random gamers who simply want to hit them very hard with a car—and you’ve got magic.

Aside from the assorted players just looking to frag those around them, regardless of their commitment to the Bard, the project’s other main obstacles grow out of lockdown. Shot while the U.K. was in the middle of its third run of being stuck indoors, Grand Theft Hamlet’s increasingly invested team easily captures the anxious, cooped-up creativity of its players. But occasionally, the film pivots to more expansive asides that delve into the non-game goings-on of those involved. A second-act slowdown, for example, pads out the proceedings with the mopey psychology of its filmmakers, who get speeches of their own. It’s an appropriately Hamlet digression, but an inelegant one compared to the organic conflict all around it.

These check-ins and confrontations that bleed into the behind-the-scenes are more stagey and stiff than the Hamlet-focused moments, but if they’re not exactly compelling, they’re certainly relatable. When you can’t go anywhere, relationships chafe, careers stagnate, and it’s easy to dive headfirst into screen-centric escapism. For these theater professionals especially, the uncertain future of live performance only makes the looming threat of having to sign up for a coding boot camp all the more tangible. This production isn’t just a flight of fancy. It’s defiant. A lifeline. But this underlying truth never needed to be shoehorned into the confines of a three-act narrative. These fears and the pushback to those fears bubble up in the middle of play, as tones sharpen, frustrations mount, and the random violence of GTA begins to chip away at everyone’s sanity.

This mounting madness, though, is also the source of Grand Theft Hamlet’s fun. Seeing people try to bend the strict boundaries of even a relatively flexible sandbox game to their ends has a Herzogian flair, their quest admirable because of its futility. When thrown into crisis, it’s unsurprising that people try to rebuild what they’ve lost wherever they can. Grand Theft Hamlet warps this imperfect pursuit, this attempt to replicate normalcy, into a virtual world. When it lets loose, though, it discards this pursuit and embraces the bracingly abnormal potential of its setting. The team’s actual, award-winning production of Hamlet was streamed live on YouTube and Twitch, and the snippets shown in the final act are an oddball victory lap. But the moment a woman playing her nephew’s character—a shirtless himbo in cargo shorts and a top hat—sprints up to her audition, accidentally coldclocking an NPC along the way, is as funny as any Shakespeare.

Director: Pinny Grylls, Sam Crane
Writer: Pinny Grylls, Sam Crane
Starring: Sam Crane, Mark Oosterveen, Jen Cohn
Release Date: January 17, 2025