Ophelia

Directed by: Claire McCarthy
Distributed by: Blue Finch Film Releasing

Written by Livvy O’Brien

55/100

Claire McCarthy’s “Ophelia” offers a bold reinterpretation of Shakespeare’s “Hamlet,” telling the classic tragedy through the eyes of its most enigmatic character. The film repositions Ophelia (Daisy Ridley) not as a passive victim but as an intelligent observer navigating the treacherous politics of Elsinore Castle. While this fresh perspective shows promise, the execution never quite delivers the emotional or thematic depth it deserves. 

The film moves at a fast pace, juggling court intrigue, star-crossed romance and backstabbing betrayals without letting the energy lag, which I appreciate. The problem is that in its hurry to hit all the major plot points, some of the emotional payoff are sacrificed. Hamlet (George MacKay) and Ophelia’s romance, for instance, feels underdeveloped. Their chemistry is sweet but not deeply passionate, making his later cruelty less gut-wrenching than it should be. It’s frustrating because the bones of something really compelling are there. Hamlet’s spiral into manipulation and Ophelia’s disillusionment could’ve been devastating if we’d sat with their relationship longer. If we’d seen more of the warmth between them before the rot set in. Curiously, the character who left the strongest impression on me was Horatio (Devon Terrell), despite his limited screen time. He is loyal without being servile, kind without being naive, and his presence provides a grounding force amid the court’s chaos.  

One of the most unexpectedly lovely things about Ophelia is how quiet it is. There’s something so refreshing about a castle where people don’t just bellow their soliloquies at the rafters. Where a whispered confession in a shadowy corridor carries more weight than any dramatic monologue. I loved how Ophelia and Gertrude (Naomi Watts) especially use softness as a kind of armor. Their lowered voices force everyone, including us, to lean in closer, turning private moments into something conspiratorial and tense.

​​The Pre-Raphaelites have always moved me deeply, especially their way of blending raw emotion with detail. Sir John Everett Millais’ “Ophelia” painting embodies this perfectly. The painting is a symphony of symbolism: the poppies tangled in her dress, the violets clinging to her fingertips, the way her body seems to dissolve into the water as if nature itself is reclaiming her. It’s haunting, beautiful and achingly tender. It involves everything I love about the movement distilled into a single image. So when the film approached this iconic moment, I couldn’t help but hope for an interpretation worthy of its source. After all, how could any adaptation ignore the weight of that image? This wasn’t just any scene, it was the scene. And yet, what we got was shockingly underwhelming. Instead of Millais’ lush, floral requiem, Ophelia floats in a murky pond with little more than a single water lily beside her. The colours are muted, the composition sparse and the moment passes so quickly it barely registers. All that rich symbolism—the flowers that whispered her story, the water that cradled her like a grave—is reduced to a fleeting afterthought. It’s not just a missed opportunity; it’s a baffling one. For a film that draws so heavily from both Shakespeare and Pre-Raphaelite aesthetics, how could they neglect the very thing that makes Ophelia’s death so powerful? And in a story about lost potential, that feels like the cruelest irony of all. 

Perhaps the film’s greatest flaw is that it tries to incorporate both Shakespeare’s text and Millais’ vision, without fully committing to either. Ophelia succeeds on its own terms as a feminist reimagining, offering agency to a character long denied it, and there’s value in that. My disappointment stems not from what the film is, but from what it might have been for someone who sees Ophelia’s tragedy through Pre-Raphaelite eyes. The painting’s absence is felt precisely because its presence would have deepened the film’s emotional resonance—but that’s my lens, not necessarily the film’s failing. For viewers less attached to those lush, symbolic layers, this adaptation stands as a competent, even compelling, take on a classic story. The film doesn’t owe me Millais’ Ophelia, but oh, how I wish it had wanted to.

“Ophelia” Trailer

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