For a man whose complete works number more than 880,000 words, William Shakespeare was of notoriously few words when it came to his private life. Theories abound, conspiracy and otherwise, about his "real" identity, sexuality, and ideological beliefs. Particularly vexing to historians is his relationship with Anne Hathaway — sometimes called Agnes in the limited primary sources that make reference to her. Shakespeare, who penned some of the most romantic and beautiful sonnets and characters into existences, had seemingly nothing direct to say about the woman he married when he was just 18, who became his wife of over three decades and the mother of all his children. Cue curiosity.

Herself one of countless contemporary fans picking up on that curiosity, Northern Irish author Maggie O'Farrell wrote Hamnet in 2020 as a historical fiction novel positing a complex relationship between William and Anne derailed by the real-life death of their only son, Hamnet. After it made the rounds in book clubs nationwide, the film rights were snapped up, Nomadland (2020) director Chloé Zhao was attached to direct, and the search began to find the right duo for the emotionally charged leading roles.

Zhao found just the couple: in the finished product, Irish phenoms Paul Mescal and Jessie Buckley weave together a powerful, believable, and yearning pair that's as steamy as the English marshland and as heart-wrenching as some of the Bard's own work. So although the Hamlet backstory isn't really believable, and much of the Shakespeare-specific plot setup doesn't stand up to scrutiny, Hamnet is still beautifully evocative as a period-piece romance. 

The film opens on young-adult William (Mescal) being smitten by neighborhood kook Agnes (Buckley); rumors have it she's the "daughter of a forest witch," and her relationship with a hawk and knowledge of herbal medicine command widespread skepticism. William is taken, though, and the two fall fast for each other against their families' protests. When Agnes gets pregnant, they quickly arrange a wedding, and soon enjoy early years of wedded bliss with their growing family including eldest daughter Susanna (Bodhi Rae Breathnach) and younger twins Hamnet (Jacobi Jupe) and Judith (Olivia Lynes). Flashes of worry appear, such as when Agnes' premonition of a future with only two children by her bedside seems to prophesize doom, or when tensions bubble as William grows restless in their small town of Stratford-Upon-Avon. But William is becoming more successful writing and acting in plays in London, and Agnes is capable of running the idyllic family. All that changes when the plague swoops through their neighborhood, Hamnet falls sick, and Agnes is forced to face her worst fears alongside William's budding genius in penning a new play.

Nearly everything in Hamnet rides on the chemistry between its central two lovers, and Mescal and Buckley sell it entirely despite the baggage of both their characters. Shakespeare is Shakespeare, of course, but Mescal's rendition is humble without being cloying, and confident in his abilities while not an exaggerated genius. Agnes, too, is presented as a precocious woodland eccentric that, in hands less capable than Buckley's, could have come off as annoying, manic, or unrealistic. And when the two are together their electricity zaps, from William telling the story of Orpheus and Eurydice to a rapt Agnes, to a passionate sex scene among trays of crabapples, to a tender moment by the fireplace where Agnes has a burden removed. Electric, too, are moments where they clash or fight; even though it's painful to watch the two come to terms with their son's death in different ways, it's apparent that they are trying, gradually, to meet in the middle. Throughout, Zhao is careful to avoid overstepping the bounds of historical fiction, and their relationship still follows 16th century normed gender expectations, but the love the two feel for each other in good times and bad is equally palpable nonetheless. (Even a recent speech at the Critics' Choice Awards, in which Buckley thanked Mescal by saying, "I could drink you like water," nodded to the real-life bonds that no doubt flame the ones felt on screen.)

A rising tide lifts all boats, too, and the performances from Mescal and Buckley bring out the best in those around them. The young actors are in rare form, with Breathnach's oldest-child responsibility invoked strongly during hardship and Lynes' fragility as the meeker of the twins central to the story's tragedy. Jupe is cherubic as Hamnet, and the expectations of an only son (such as how to deal with an implied abusive family member, or the lengths required of boys to support female relatives) weigh squarely on his tiny shoulders. Smaller adult roles, such as William's mother (Emily Watson) and Agnes' brother (Joe Alwyn), safeguard their loved ones and are also played skillfully, and even in the climactic Globe rendition of Hamlet, the film aces its Hamlet-qua-Hamnet argument by casting another talented Jupe brother, Noah, in the titular role.

Frankly, it isn't until we see William in his element at that Globe Theatre debut — no coincidence the first time he's identified by full name — that Hamnet really feels like more than just Shakespeare fan-fiction. Nicole Stafford's makeup work (that for most of the film is just used to make people look naturalistically grimy) stuns with period-appropriate blonde dye and caked-clay foundation, while production designer Fiona Crombie takes the beautiful greens and browns of Agnes' forest home, as well as its ominously recurring cave, and parallels them in William's stage for Danish purgatory. Similarly, Łukasz Żal's cinematography (a standout component of 2023's The Zone of Interest) uses natural light and cinematic angles throughout to elevate dirty English streets and yards, yet the aerial shot of the standing crowd at the Globe is the most memorable of the film. 

All that said, the bulk of Hamnet is glowing. But the few times that it pushes itself beyond simply being an excellent historical drama, however, its seams strain to show. Most glaringly, the central conceit that Hamlet was written singularly out of grief as a eulogy to Shakespeare's lost son is tenuous at best; Zhao and O'Farrell handpick the few parts of the Bard's play that neatly apply to their devices, dropping the nuance and trauma (such as revenge towards Claudius or the villainy of Gertrude) that make the Danish prince so truly timeless. Those cuts gloss over the original conflicts and, more importantly, do its playwright a disservice. In that vein, we see William scribble away and fleetingly train his actors, but otherwise there's little in the way connecting his artistic greatness to his romantic partnership or fatherhood; instead, much is assumed to be read between the lines. And at home, despite her perfectly sybil vision into the future and faerie talent for healing maladies, Agnes' spiritual superpowers ultimately give way to mainstream wifely hysteria, somewhat squandering a potential mystical-realist turn.

These shortcomings will be felt deeply by only the biggest Shakespeare originalists. Indeed, focusing exclusively on Zhao and O'Farrell's choice to tell this story through the vehicle of William and Agnes would do a potential viewer a disservice; great period-piece romance is rare enough as it is, Shakespeare or not.