Critics reviews

In Hamnet, their [Buckley, Mescal, Zhao] powers combined make for a drama that is more than a sentimental tearjerker poised for Oscar accolades; it is an earthy and poetic raw tale of love and loss.

Hamnet is at its best when exploring primal emotions, following the example of Agnes, with her elemental connection to the earth.

“Hamnet” isn’t outright trauma porn; more of a trauma dump. Zhao heaps so much shock and distress onto the viewer that they have no choice but to seek the same catharsis as Agnes... In “Hamlet,” there is tragedy, yes, but there is also comedy, action, betrayal and a sense of the divine. The absence of those elements here makes “Hamnet” simply derivative; a loose thread, grabbed swiftly and pulled hard in the hopes that the audience will be undone.

Hamnet is gorgeous to look at, but in a fussed-over way. It’s nice to see Vermeer-style light hitting a rough woolen tunic just so, but really, where does it get us?

Maybe it's harsh to blame a costume drama for following costume-drama conventions, but these conventions are jarring in a film directed by Zhao... it tugs the heartstrings and targets the tear ducts with absolute ruthlessness.

Buckley and Mescal, both looking achingly young, beautifully convey the gasping, swimmy passion of first love, and the frustrations when happily-ever-after doesn’t quite work out that way... The last moments of “Hamnet” are transcendent, and perhaps the most moving thing I’ve seen on screen this year.

Hamnet is a somber watch, much more nakedly sentimental and weepy than Zhao’s other films... Buckley shoulders intense on-screen distress without losing grasp of her character’s humanity, and Mescal lets his wan charm melt into something more haunted... For all its powerful elements, though, Hamnet rings a bit hollow at its core.

“Hamnet” actually works best as a sensory experience, before its major plot points fall into place... Zhao establishes a heightened forest setting where anything seems possible. It’s lush and richly textured, unsettling and enveloping at once.

Mescal gives a performance worthy of opening night at the Globe Theatre, the words of Shakespeare’s play find renewed resonance for a generation.

The parts of the film that feel beautifully full to overflowing are undercut, occasionally, by feelings of just a little too much, a shot or directorial choice that’s just a tad too precious.

[I]t is a sensitive adaptation full of beautifully judged performances that nonetheless fails to maintain the essential appeal of its own source material: the quietly feminist retelling of one of the most retold lives in history from the perspective of a woman who was central to that life, while figuring almost nowhere in the record of it.

As a meditative study on what’s often left outside the frame, the film is a literal revelation. It’s also a beautifully crafted punch to the gut.