Whatever else it is, Hamlet is a well-made play. The first scene engages our immediate and deep interest. The play then efficiently establishes the central conflict between the prince and Claudius and gives us in act 2 some very enjoyable cat-and-mouse, as strategies beget counter-strategies. After the richly exciting climax sustained through the latter half of act 3, we are given the kind of abatement we expect in Shakespearian fourth acts. Finally, the play sweeps us to the revenge catastrophe in the most splendidly thrilling ending that Shakespeare, or probably any other playwright, has ever given an audience. No wonder, then, that many commentators have over the years expressed admiration for Hamlet as a piece of dramatic craftsmanship, testifying eloquently to the play’s solider Aristotelian virtues. Still, it probably seems perverse to begin with an appreciation of Hamlet’s structural qualities. As we all know, the chief interest of the play is the protagonist, and although we have dutifully learned not to abstract the prince from the play, his fascination for us doesn’t really seem to depend essentially upon the play’s formal excellence. Moreover, this formal excellence itself has not been universally acknowledged: is the play in fact so well made? Johnson can show us our crooked way here, for after praising the play’s variety of incident, diversity of mood, and ‘continual succession’ of new and interesting characters, he feels compelled to qualify: ‘The conduct is perhaps not wholly secure against objections,’ he tells us.