Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead is riddled with curious curiosities. The wordplay, incessant; the dramatic irony, thick; the leftover sense, threadbare.

Standing above all is Stoppard’s relentless manipulation of Hamlet’s theme of fate versus free will and the search for meaning. At times, the brothers1 are acted upon by the forces of the play, at the rarer others, they attempt to act upon the play. In the desolation of the former the brothers sulk in “to be or not to be”; in the illusion of the latter, they try to snatch the narrative from the hands of God. Their passivity seems to be portrayed as stark contrast to Hamlet’s active resistance against what the plot alludes to be his fate, to exact vengeance. But Stoppard is pointing at something far darker.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are set as minor characters, doomed to narrative irrelevance, regardless of their perceived emotions to the contrary. Stoppard, merely pointing this out, leads us to see how utterly misguided we were to base our analysis of fate from only Hamlet’s perspective. To Stoppard, neither Hamlet nor the brother’s search for meaning has a direct answer in the affirmative as fiction is entirely at the mercy of its author. However, Hamlet, as the protagonist, is allowed an arc where he gradually understands and reconciles with his fate and role, from which he derives meaning; minor characters do not have this liberty, as they are bound by the narrative to fulfill the plot written for the protagonist. This has disturbing implications – in the cosmic narrative, we seem to be the minor characters; has our life no meaning? Through absurdity and satire Stoppard’s postmodern exploration of the nature of theater, he introduces through the eye of the neglected the character-versus-narrative conflict in the search of meaning, opposing the main-supporting-minor character hierarchy of traditional storytelling and reaffirming the meaning of the individual.

ACT 1

Stoppard uses Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to depict the inherent passivity of minor characters. Being thrust onto the limelight we witness firsthand how they are constantly pushed around, both by the canon plot of Hamlet (“canon”) like the brothers being called to the Denmark court, as well as the extracanon plot that we don’t see in Hamlet like their interactions with the Players. This separation is motivated by the notable complete compliance of Stoppard’s play to Shakespeare’s: in the canon scenes, such as, famously, “take you me for a sponge, my lord?” (Stoppard 83, Shakespeare 4.2.14)

Canon exemplifies the brothers’ passivity in the face of the preordained Hamlet narrative: they speak little, are ordered against their wishes, and cannot act even to their orders if it were to contradict canon. In the face of Claudius and Gertrude, they submit themselves entirely to the receiving end of any information (“We both obey and here give up ourselves in the full bent to lay our service freely at your feet”, Stoppard 27) as opposed to the two-sided conversation that even supporting characters like Polonius can enjoy in front of the king, depicted immediately after. As canon fades to extracanon, Rosencrantz immediately states, “I want to go home” (29) and then later “we don’t own anything to anyone.” (31) Later, when they are tasked with retrieving Hamlet after his murder of Polonius (81) they have to pretend to make an effort to catch Hamlet when the scene becomes pertinent to canon. This is further confirmed in page 83, when the scene becomes fully canon, and the brothers become comically pathetic. Interestingly, canon doesn’t actually force them to be pathetic in this scene; Shakespeare implies with Hamlet’s line “Bring me to him. (Hide fox, and all after!)” (4.2.30-31) that Hamlet is voluntarily bringing himself with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, but is continuing to play mind games. Stoppard, by taking interpretational liberties, brings the canon perception of the active, cunninng Hamlet to extracanon, leads us into the influence of canon over extracanon.

Extracanon extends the fruits of being functionally incapable of character development to a domain with more freedom, and almost entirely consists of interactions between the brothers and the Players. Under this freedom, they are no longer barred from developing truer colors, yet they are still bound by the shadow of canon and the fourth wall. It is through this extracanon that they are permitted to express themselves, of course without contradicting canon or worse referring to canon directly. In extracanon the characteristics of the brothers split, into a passive Rosencrantz and an active Guildenstern. This separation particularly manifests in front of the Player. Rosencrantz seems more accepting of whatever transpires without reading very deeply, like when he goes “Well, that’s a step in the right direction” (78) when being foretold of their death. Guildenstern however leverages the freedom of the extracanon to the full extent, attempting to grab hold of the narrative. He rigs a bet against the Player, first using the two-headed coin, and then more blatantly with the proposal – “Year of your birth. Double it. Even numbers I win, odd numbers I lose.” (22)

This momentary instant of control reveal how important a hold of their fate is to the brothers. Guildenstern even tries to inspire Alfred, one of the Tragedians, with hope that “we could create a dramatic precedent here” (23) in reference to their acting. But neither brother’s approach is onducive to assuaging their existential dread as the extracanon cannot assign them a meaning in contradiction to canon. Again the active Guildenstern attracts interest – his instants of relevance to the plot do not actually advance his search for meaning, much like the denial Shakespeare portrays of Hamlet. Back In the scene where the brothers attempt to abduct Hamlet (81) Stoppard shows that Hamlet’s mind games are devious but only serve the illusion that he is controls the narrative. Those at the receiving end of his trickery, whether in extracanon like the brothers or in canon like Polonius, are hindered, but his arc as the tragic hero barrels forward nonetheless. However, after act 4, Hamlet eventually accepts his fate and finds within his meaning; Stoppard’s parallel here is the final piece of the puzzle.

ACT 2

The Player is Stoppard’s metatheatrical parody of the protagonist, literally actor leading a troupe of players. Of course, within neither Hamlet nor Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead is the Player an actual protagonist in the sense of being the center of mass. On the other hand the Player has an agency and narrative control that even the brothers (in a role of Stoppard’s protagonist) do not, completely understanding the universe Stoppard has penned and recognizing the scripted nature (“Decides? It is written.” 72) of their existence. As a minor character, he cannot undergo the development that can only be catalyzed by canon, but he is satisfied in his state of understanding. In this way, the Player is the counterpart to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in the reflection of Hamlet in Stoppard-lake.

The greatest narrative rift between the brothers and the Player occurs when the Player and his Tragedians act out The Murder of Gonzago, extended by Stoppard so that it is identical to Hamlet, in front of the brothers, delivering a very glaring hint to the brothers’ fate. The Player here acknowledges that “events must play themselves out to aesthetic, moral, and logical conclusion” (71) in a reference to how the canon nevertheless binds the way the currently extracanon scene can play out, a fact that the brothers cannot seem to accept especially with Rosencrantz’s later contemplation of entire rejection of canon – “I wish I was dead. I could jump over the side. That would put a spoke in their wheel.” (99) The Player is an icon of the inherent artificiality of theater, its entirely dictated nature, and the shackles of the narrative cast upon the minor characters, an acceptance that they have little role in a story crafted for the protagonists, and more importantly an understanding of their purpose, distinctively setting the Player aside.

Hamlet, for all of his characteristics from a persistent rebelliousness against his role in most of Hamlet to a gradual awakening to his true narrative purpose towards the end, is given the privilege of development and realization of his purpose by being the protagonist, depicted heavily towards Act 5. The greatest example is in the final scene, where Hamlet, almost channeling Shakespeare, declares “We defy augury. There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come” (5.2.234-36); he completely accepts fate as it unfolds in front of his eyes after his acknowledgement of his eventual mortality in the preceding scene. But Hamlet even says that “we defy augury” – that an understanding or even glimpse at fate is impossible, which is mighty rich coming from the guy that had his fate laid out in front of him by his own dead father; as the protagonist, Hamlet can suffer through a gradual awakening to the inevitability of fate because this is what the narrative is. He does not play out for the plot; the plot plays out for him. He can walk with arms outstretched to his fate and he is well unaware of what a mercy that is that he is bragging about this immediately following his offhand remark that he sent his two friends to a surprise execution.

Stoppard clearly hates this idea – or rather this whole setup – very much, so much as to give the Player complete narrative understanding, and very reasonably so: Hamlet’s fulfillment of meaning is one that all the other characters contribute towards but none of them enjoy. Stoppard separates both pre-Act-5 Hamlet and Act 5 Hamlet, into the brothers and the Player, respectively, and take them to the greatest extent of fulfillment that both canon and extracanon can permit, yet neither of them find meaning as their fate is not in their hands. For the Player, “we pledged our identities, secure in the convention of the trade, that someone would be watching, and then, gradually, no one was.” (55) Despite his complete knowledge of canon, his relevance is contingent on serving as the protagonist. He used to be the sole vehicle of canon, executing it exactly, to the goal that “where everyone marked for death dies.” (71) Now the binds of canon has tightened further, relegating the Player to only be a minor character; this deletes the Player’s audience, and with it, his identity. For Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, they automatically resign themselves to the forces at play. Most notably, “it would be presumptuous for us to interfere with the design of fate or even of kings” (102) when the brothers debate whether or not to follow through with sending Hamlet to his death is a complete parallel of Hamlet’s “we defy augury”, to the point of mockery; they are, at this point, the sole actors of a watershed in the plot, given the opportunity to massively modify the protagonist’s future trajectory, but suddenly choose not to – contrary to all previous expressions of desire to act upon the narrative. Because canon has it written that Hamlet can only play out with the brothers not acting.

Act 3: Cascade

Who else was forced by canon to make a sudden uncharacteristic change? Hamlet. It may seem obvious that everything pertaining to Hamlet is canon, but canon has Hamlet suddenly connect all the pieces to recognize his fate because it is the only way for Hamlet to discover and fulfill his purpose consistently with his previous existentialism. The narrative is very favoritist. This favoritism prevents everyone but Hamlet from understanding their fate and fulfilling the meaning of their existence.

Stoppard, in line with postmodern tradition, mocks the utter artificiality of theater in general. Hamlet is given the development he deserves, an awakening from his existential dread and a proud march towards his purpose. On the other hand, the brothers’ search for meaning is neglected and the Player’s identity is forgotten. It would seem that, with how canon does not allow minor characters to develop as their canon-bound role is only to serve the completion the protagonist’s arc, that only the protagonist can afford reconciliation with their meaning. Stoppard brings to light how Rosencrantz and Guildenstern have no past in canon, experience ridiculous impossibilities in extracanon, and altogether seem to be running on a Budget Universe Simulator. This is inconsistent with the human experience as the protagonist for any anthropic narrative changes with the narrator, and if a cosmic narrative exists we are definitely the minor characters. We cannot accept a perception of fate and meaning based on fiction. The forces that act upon our fate are not one-directional; the desire to react against these forces is inherent in our nature to be understand our fate, and the true tragedy of Hamlet is how Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is bound to the canon, despite their best efforts otherwise.

Everyone, minor characters, too, have a fate they hope to understand, have a meaning they hope to discover, have a purpose they hope to fulfill. To understand our fate is to change it, elevating us to the protagonist of our story. Our fate is only realized in our own hands. Stoppard, in a final declaration, renounces canon, and endows Rosencrantz and Guildenstern the acceptance of their fate before death that Shakespeare does not (5.2.52). It is at the last moment that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, as their marks are being erased from the canvas, that they finally break the chains of the narrative. Is it all too late? “We’ll know better next time.”