In Ibelin and Grand Theft Hamlet, video game worlds engage filmmakers with virtual cameras.

NEW YORK – Film production often deals with changes in weather, the threat of crews working overtime, or the loss of daylight. Less common are concerns about plaster slipping off the roof of an airship.

But that was one of the features of the making of “Grand Theft Hamlet,” a documentary about a pair of British actors, Sam Crane and Mark Oosterveen, who, while inactive due to the pandemic, decided to stage “Hamlet” in the brutal virtual world of “Grand Theft Auto.” When Shakespeare wrote about “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” he may not have imagined the threat posed by a python straying into a bar or Hamlet struggling with the question of whether he should “be” on the helipad. Yet Grand Theft Auto might be a surprisingly appropriate setting for a play in which almost everyone dies.

“The first time Sam played a bit of Shakespeare in the space, he said, ‘I imagine what it was like in Shakespeare’s time at the Globe, when people would throw apples at you if you were rubbish,’ says Pinny Grylls. who wrote and directed the film with her husband Crane. “No one is really watching you, but every now and then they look around and listen to poetry.”

“Grand Theft Hamlet,” which Mooby will release in theaters in January, opens with Crane and Osterveen’s avatars running from the police and throwing themselves into an outdoor amphitheater. One says loudly: “I wonder if you could put something here?”

They’re not the only ones who have immersed themselves in virtual spaces and wondered if it could be a rich landscape for film. In “The Wonderful Life of Ibelin,” which debuted Friday on Netflix, director Benjamin Rea dives into “World of Warcraft” to tell both the life and virtual story of Mats Steen, a Norwegian gamer who died of Duchenne muscular dystrophy at the age of . 25.

Streaming on Metrograph at Home, Knitted Island takes place almost entirely within the survival RPG DayZ. The filmmakers would show up with PRESS badges on their avatars’ chests and ask for interviews with players with high kill counts. “Don’t shoot!” – one shouts during one approach. “I’m a documentarian!”

All three documentaries delve into the realm of video games with curiosity about what might be found inside. For them, the surreal life inside these virtual spaces and the opportunities for real human interaction are as worthy as anywhere else.

“Filmmakers want to make films about the world we live in. And more and more people are living in virtual gaming spaces online,” says Grylls. “As filmmakers, we just hold a mirror up to the world and say, ‘Look what’s happening here.’

As the gaming industry has become the dominant medium of entertainment (by some estimates, it eclipses film, television and music combined), the lines between films and video games have become increasingly blurred. This applies not only to big box office films like The Super Mario Bros. Movie, but also to smaller films known as machinima (a portmanteau of the words “machine” and “movie”) that use game engines to create their own narratives.

But The Wonderful Life of Ibelin, Hamlet the Great Thief and Knitted Island are the first of their kind artistic forays into bridging the gap between virtual cinema and cinema.

“This is just the beginning,” says Grylls. “We are right at the bottom of this path. It’s nice to think that we are part of this evolution of cinema.”

Reconstruction of the life of Mats Steen

When Rea first read Steen’s story, he was extremely moved. When Steen died in 2014, his parents, Robert and Trude, felt like their son had missed out on much of his life. As Duchenne muscular dystrophy, a rare and incurable disease, progressed, Steen’s life became increasingly limited to playing video games in a wheelchair in the basement.

But after Steen’s parents posted news of their son’s death on his blog, they were stunned by the response. Messages poured in praising Steen, known to most as the mighty Ibelin Redmoore from World of Warcraft. Rea rewinds his film to begin again, retelling Steen’s story, using thousands of pages of archival text to bring Ibelin/Steen’s colorful life to life in the play. In the game, Steen, as Ibelin, experienced his first kiss.

“I thought: Is it possible to translate this huge archive and reconstruct real events with real dialogue and real characters, but invite everyone?” says Ree. “He actually came of age within the game. And I was so curious: what was it like? He experienced friendship, love, everything I can relate to in my life growing up.”

Rea knew that in order to make a film about Steen’s life, he needed to illustrate it using World of Warcraft. Although Rea was not a gamer himself, he sought out gamers who posted fan videos on YouTube. Rasmus Tukia, a 28-year-old self-taught 3D animator, led two other animators in rendering the game’s environments using the same models used in the game’s videos.

“They were all YouTubers and this was their first job,” says Rhee. “We’re doing something completely new here. If it works, it’s a big credit to these YouTubers.”

Rea’s goal wasn’t to imitate the game exactly – that might seem awkward or too harsh. So for three years, without permission from the game’s creator, Blizzard Entertainment, they animated the Steen/Ibelin events in World of Warcraft, but with a slightly more cinematic flair. Along the way, they showed drafts to Steen’s online friends for feedback.

“When I showed them the film after three and a half years of working on it, after the screening they said, ‘This is how we remember Ibelin,’” Rea says. “Then they said: “But you made one mistake. Ibelin liked women in more leather clothes.”

It was only after the film—a small, independent Norwegian project before Netflix acquired it—was close to completion that Rea approached Blizzard. He went to their California offices to show it to executives.

“I was so nervous. I haven’t slept for several days. We didn’t have a plan B. I had to take a few extra doses of asthma medication to help me breathe before the meeting,” says Rhee. “We showed them the film, and immediately after watching it they cried. The boss turned around and said, “This movie is fantastic. You will get your license.”

Shakespeare with a cargo plane in Grand Theft Hamlet

Crane, a veteran stage and film actor, originally conceived what would become “Grand Theft Hamlet” more as a joke, a way to keep himself busy while theaters were closed during the pandemic. However, when he posted the video, people reacted enthusiastically, as did the game’s creator, Rockstar Games.

“They told us about how they designed the game to be a sandbox, a creative space,” Crane says.

But little is known about the making of “Grand Theft Hamlet,” which won best documentary at SXSW in March. To begin with, almost every audition or rehearsal in the game ended in bloodshed. Usually someone would show up with a gun and chaos would ensue.

The filmmakers had several touchstones, such as Joe Hunting’s 2022 documentary We Met in Virtual Reality and the work of artist Jackie Connolly, who used Grand Theft Auto to create the nightmarish existential short film Descent into Hell. But little has been said about how to set the film entirely within the game world.

“We kind of worked through every aspect—playing a play within this world, learning how to capture images in this world, and then how we could edit all that footage,” Crane says. “We learned as we went along.”

It also meant freedom. At some point, they realized that they could, in fact, do Shakespeare “on a billion-dollar budget.” This is the first Hamlet to feature a Back to the Future car or a cargo plane. Meanwhile, Grylls, an experienced director, experimented with camera placement.

“I realized, OK, let’s try to make things a little calmer and more cinematic,” she says. “When I discovered that the game had a camera phone, I was able to take close-ups and long shots. and a kind of cinematic language.”

The game is not over

As Grand Theft Hamlet played at various film festivals, Crane and Grylls found themselves in the surprising position of being made famous by a film they filmed largely in their bedroom on a PlayStation. Much like their foray into the virtual world, something made in physical isolation has found an ever-growing community.

Rea, who spoke from a festival stop in San Francisco, traveled with Ibelin along with Strine’s parents. Life that once seemed quiet and lonely has spread throughout the world.

“They watched the film at every showing,” he says. “In a way, for them, the film is part of their healing, but also part of their grieving process. They’ve seen it over 150 times.”