Cover A look inside Chloé Zhao’s ‘Hamnet’ (Photo: Universal Pictures)
A look inside Chloé Zhao’s ‘Hamnet’ (Photo: Universal Pictures)
1 / 1
With cinematography that looks like a moving oil painting, ‘Hamnet’ demands the big screen. We review the new period drama from the Oscar-winning director of ‘Nomadland’
The hardest kind of pain is the one that does not shout. It does not break plates. It does not collapse walls. It lingers in the air, like a scent you cannot name but cannot ignore. You feel it in your bones.
In her fifth feature film, Chloé Zhao returns with something intimate. Hamnet, adapted from Maggie O’Farrell’s novel, is not a traditional period drama nor a straightforward literary adaptation, but a story of grief. It shows what remains after love has carved its mark into us.
Many viewers unfamiliar with the novel may even mistake it for a historical biopic. That is how immersive and grounded the writing feels. But this is not history as record; this is history as emotional memory.
More from Tatler: Movie review: ‘Sentimental Value’ is a film about making a film—and the ruin of a family
Above A look inside Chloé Zhao’s ‘Hamnet’ (Photo: Universal Pictures)
A look inside Chloé Zhao’s ‘Hamnet’ (Photo: Universal Pictures)
1 / 1
Set in 16th-century England, Hamnet follows Agnes and William Shakespeare as they deal with the loss of their son. Zhao, however, frames the story not as William’s tragedy, but as Agnes’s. She is the film’s centre—a healer, a woman rooted in nature, someone who understands plants and herbs more than she understands the complex structures of society. Often associated with “beneficial witchcraft,” Agnes carries wisdom with her.
From the opening sequence—a red egg nestled in forest roots, accompanied by Purcell’s haunting opera—Zhao signals that this will not be a conventional narrative.
See also: Movie review: an emotional odyssey with ‘Anora’—the 2025 Oscars Best Picture winner
Nature breathes alongside the characters, with the forest far from just a backdrop. The camera lingers like memory itself, it is patient, observant and unhurried. And the music (subtle but piercing) becomes another performer in the ensemble.
Above A look inside Chloé Zhao’s ‘Hamnet’ (Photo: Universal Pictures)
A look inside Chloé Zhao’s ‘Hamnet’ (Photo: Universal Pictures)
1 / 1
Above A look inside Chloé Zhao’s ‘Hamnet’ (Photo: Universal Pictures)
A look inside Chloé Zhao’s ‘Hamnet’ (Photo: Universal Pictures)
1 / 1
The pacing is undeniably slow. But it is deliberate. The silence allows us to understand the characters rather than merely process their dialogue. Literature enthusiasts will likely appreciate this rhythm, but casual viewers may initially find it challenging. That resistance is intentional. Zhao wants us not to consume the story quickly, but to savour and sit inside it.
As the film unfolds, something subtle happens: we begin as observers of Agnes, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, we inhabit her. Her grief becomes ours. And in time, William’s emotions—his frustration, his artistic hunger, his unspoken guilt—seep through as well. Paul Mescal brings a raw, almost restless vulnerability to William. His performance is stoic yet layered, particularly in the later moments when silence replaces argument.
Jacobi Jupe, as Hamnet, delivers a presence so natural and tender that his eventual absence was felt on the film. You feel the loss before the characters even articulate it.
Technically, Hamnet demands the big screen. Łukasz Żal’s cinematography turns the English countryside into a moving oil painting. Light filters through trees like memory filtering through time. The much-discussed ending sequence alone justifies a theatrical viewing.
See also: Movie review: You can’t lose with Quezon—unless you’re not on his side
Above A look inside Chloé Zhao’s ‘Hamnet’ (Photo: Universal Pictures)
A look inside Chloé Zhao’s ‘Hamnet’ (Photo: Universal Pictures)
1 / 1
Above A look inside Chloé Zhao’s ‘Hamnet’ (Photo: Universal Pictures)
A look inside Chloé Zhao’s ‘Hamnet’ (Photo: Universal Pictures)
1 / 1
At first glance, Hamnet may appear to be another classical literary adaptation set in an intimidating historical era. But beneath the period costumes and archaic language lies a story about grief—of a mother, a father, a sibling. It is about the weight of losing a child and the enduring ways people survive afterwards.
Zhao does not dramatise sorrow in this film. She lets it breathe.
And in that stillness, we feel everything.
NOW READ
11 things to remember from ‘America’s Next Top Model’ before the explosive Netflix documentary
Interview: Drag queen Minty Fresh on her ‘UK vs. the World’ journey
Topics
