The numerous second level students attending Second Age’s production of Hamlet collectively laugh at the apparition of the dead King (David Heap). Side-lit from behind a frosty screen, his hand beckoning in appeal, the recently deceased monarch's sudden appearance is a cause for comedy among the target audience. Other approaches similarly provoke giggles, in particular the Ghost’s electronically reverberating voice and Gertrude’s (Jane Brennan) shrieks of horror. This evening at least, deaths are a constant source of amusement, especially those of Claudius (Frank McCusker) and his new wife, as they transpire in calculated phases of collapse at the end. It’s hard to know if this response occurs because the production takes aspects of its theatricality too seriously, accidentally mocking itself in the process, or not seriously enough.

Director Spillane-Hinks gives her Ghost a lot of freedom. We meet him first as a partially-illuminated phantom, then as a stage-hand who shifts the set, then as an ostensibly flesh and blood figure who sits down to chat to his son, before taking up a lead role in the 'Mouse Trap'. One of the effects of familiarising the play’s key spectre in this way is that the production sacrifices an important uncanny edge.

Certainly, a good deal of attention is devoted to raising the Prince's (Conor Madden) charm. Unlike the actor’s deeply reflexive take on the role in Pan Pan’s The Rehearsal, this incarnation is rather boyish and buoyant. On a couple of occasions, Madden's Hamlet hunches down at the front of the stage, like a pop star facing his fans. “O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt,” he confides to the nearest rows, eventually standing up to address the auditorium. Used sparingly, it's a successful strategy that captures our attention.

Hamlet’s allure coincides with other efforts to locate the action in the present. The costumes are as contemporary as you might expect to find in a Danish court, with everyone dressing down except for the King and Queen. Fortinbras (Mark Fitzgerald) and his army turn up in camouflage, grasping machine guns. Speaking in a strong Dublin accent, the gravedigger (Darragh Kelly) wears a reflective vest, and protects his plot with barriers, as if servicing a drain. Just before his court production takes place, Hamlet skips across the stage in his black canvas shoes, whistling “Don’t worry, be happy…”

Many of the actors turn out strong performances, some doubling-up on roles. Madden, in particular, does a fine job of dusting off the Prince's cobwebs, and Peter Daly’s Horatio is fittingly solid, earnestly clarifying for the audience as well as his friend. However, with the Ghost-made-man, the production struggles to access the darker shades of the text, dispelling the foreboding tension necessary to keep us with the enduring plot. When Hamlet wrestles Ophelia (Anna Shiels McNamee) to the ground by tightly wrapping his leg around her body, and his arm across her neck, the bold physical statements tap into a murky sexual undertone in their relationship. More often than not, however, Ophelia seems casually bored rather than abused or distraught, which deprives her death of certain significance. “Drown'd, O where?” Laertes (Aonghus Óg McNally) replies to the news, quickly casting his eye around the court to comic effect.

The sides of Alyson Cummins’ set fold to an apex, containing the court within, while creating an outer space for the rest of the action to take place. While this is a clever way of managing scene changes, when closed up the structure tends to awkwardly dominate the space. Washed-out portraits decorate the inside walls of the palace, and characters enter and exit through a perimeter of columns.

This production succeeds in making Hamlet look current, but finding what’s really interesting in the play, and conveying it through a consistent vision, is the greater challenge. Gertrude may ask her son for “more matter, less art” but this production might well benefit from a slight reversal of terms.

Fintan Walsh