no but that rogue and peasant slave soliloquy fucks me UP because here you have hamlet absolutely tortured by the fact that an actor can can show sadness but only seem sad whereas he, hamlet, is sad and can’t show it. he loathes himself for it - and the worst part is he’s fully aware that he’s bound up in “words, words, words,” he’s fully aware of his own inaction, but he’s still totally incapable of rectifying it, because his mind is stuck on an obsessive repetitive groove of grief and rage and grief so strong it can’t express itself as anything other than hurled speeches and blank fucking melancholy. hamlet performs a false personality, an antic disposition, so thoroughly that nobody - not the audience, not the other characters, not even, most likely, hamlet himself - knows where the truth begins and ends. no wonder he talks to the audience, analysing himself almost as if he’s addicted to the sound of his own voice. really, i think, he’s just begging us to make sense of him, because he can’t do it himself.