'Hamnet' Review: Paul Mescal and Jessie Buckley Bring Love and Loss to Life in a Stunning Literary Adaptation
Chloé Zhao returns with Hamnet, a deeply affecting and visually resplendent drama inspired by Shakespeare’s life and Maggie O’Farrell’s celebrated novel, which Zhao co-wrote with the author herself. The film offers a fictionalized portrait of William Shakespeare and his wife Agnes, tracing their intense love, shared family life, and the devastating loss that reshapes everything they know.
Chloé Zhao’s Hamnet delivers a visually stunning and emotionally devastating adaptation of Maggie O’Farrell’s novel, led by powerful performances from Jessie Buckley and Paul Mescal.
Agata Grzybowska/Focus Features
Agnes, portrayed by Jessie Buckley, is introduced asleep at the foot of a massive tree, wrapped in vivid reds and purples, blending into the natural world around her. She appears almost like a living extension of the earth itself, positioned beside a dark hollow beneath the roots — an image that quietly suggests absence, danger, and inevitability. From the outset, Hamnet establishes its central tension between beauty and terror, abundance and loss.
These opposing forces define Zhao’s vision. Joy and grief are inseparable here, each feeding into the other. Where William Shakespeare famously transformed his anguish into Hamlet, Zhao channels those same emotional extremes into a film that is both heartbreaking and quietly restorative.
William, played by Paul Mescal, first notices Agnes while he is indoors, meant to be tutoring her brothers in Latin. Distracted by the sight of her returning from the woods, he follows her into a barn and asks her name. She teasingly withholds it, allowing a kiss before answering. Their connection is instant and overwhelming, rendering social expectations irrelevant.
Before long, the pair are meeting in secret, fully aware that neither family would approve of their relationship. Will’s mother, Mary, has heard unsettling stories about Agnes being the child of a forest witch. Agnes’ brother Bartholomew questions why she would commit herself to a “pasty-faced scholar.” Those objections fade when Agnes becomes pregnant, compelling the couple to marry and begin a family that will grow to include three children.
The film’s opening act is filled with warmth and wonder. Zhao’s reverence for nature, evident even in her previous large-scale work, is on full display. Cinematographer Lukasz Zal frames the forest in expansive shots that make Agnes and Will appear almost otherworldly, while sound designer Johnnie Burn captures the subtle rhythms of daily life. Max Richter’s delicate score gently elevates these moments without overpowering them.
Agnes is portrayed as instinctively tied to the natural world. When she goes into labor with her first child, she retreats alone into the woods to give birth. Only later, during her second pregnancy, is she persuaded to remain indoors, as Mary firmly reminds her of the relentless rain outside.
Yet the pull of society cannot be avoided. Agnes may be content to live among the hills, but Will’s ambitions demand more. Recognizing his frustration, she urges him to pursue his artistic future in London. As his career flourishes, however, she becomes increasingly rooted in Stratford-upon-Avon. When Will is home, their family life is filled with affection, particularly between him and their only son, Hamnet, who dreams of joining his father in the theater.
Tragedy strikes during one of Will’s absences, permanently breaking the family’s sense of peace. Agnes withdraws into her grief, unable to forgive that her husband was not there when she needed him most. Will, in contrast, returns to London quickly, burying himself in work while the loss remains painfully fresh.
Mescal delivers a restrained and moving performance as Shakespeare, choosing understatement where excess might be expected. This approach makes his emotional outbursts all the more powerful. Emily Watson is equally compelling as Mary, delivering a shattering monologue that encapsulates the film’s core truth: everything we are given can be taken away without warning.
Still, it is Buckley who leaves the deepest impression. She charts Agnes’ transformation from a free-spirited young woman to a devoted mother, and finally to someone hardened and fractured by grief. Her performance is anchored in raw emotion, most memorably in a moment of wordless anguish when her screams fade into silence.
Buckley’s ability to communicate entire emotional journeys through a single look is repeatedly showcased. Early on, she listens intently as Will recounts the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, another story defined by love and loss. Later, that same attentiveness becomes devastating as she begins to understand what Will has been creating in her absence.
At first, Agnes is horrified to learn that Will has named his latest tragedy after their son — a detail contextualized by the film’s opening note that “Hamlet” and “Hamnet” were considered the same name at the time. Gradually, she recognizes how he has reshaped his sorrow into art, transforming personal devastation into something that could resonate with countless others.
Zhao avoids depicting the specifics of Will’s creative process, touching on it only briefly. The choice feels deliberate and fitting. What begins as elemental imagery — forests, earth, and emptiness — ultimately becomes a meditation on how art can emerge from grief, carrying both its terror and its enduring beauty.
