The chant echoed out over 42nd Street: "One more show! One more show! One more show!"

In an intimate theater, bursting with energy, a hundred curious faces strained to find a clear view of the stage. Video cameras were being set up to capture the historic climax, while the diligent D.J. blasted a techno cover of The Doors' "People Are Strange" to signal the actors it is five minutes to curtain.

On a late August evening, the 24th performance of Hamlet, the grand finale of the Hamlet-a-thon was about to begin. Produced by the Pineapple Project, a local, not-for-profit theater company, the Hamlet-a-thon was an

"To be or not to be..." One actor tries to answer the question 24 times in 24 hours.

ambitious endeavor that set out to offer a 45-minute adaptation of Shakespeare's most famous play, every hour on the hour for 24 hours straight. The event served as a theatrical experiment, a publicity stunt, and a benefit to raise money for their company.

Amidst the chanting crowd that night, there were those who had their doubts ("Can they still talk?") while other audience members amicably compared notes from previous performances—"Well, I was here for the 8 p.m. show, but I hear that it wasn't nearly as good as the 2 a.m. show." A select few boasted of their commitment: "This is my fifth show!"

For weeks, friends, family, and especially the cast and crew have been waiting for this exact moment. The song ends and a tense hush falls over the crowd; the lights go to half, and then out. We hear a curtain being drawn. In a cool blue light, we see a minimal set of blocks and steps against three walls of natural wood cubbyholes. A lone figure emerges from the shadows: Hamlet. He walks downstage and rests against a wall of cubbyholes. As he does so, all three walls glow to life from within. He breathes and then, with a confidence that only comes from repetition, lets loose one of Shakespeare's great "O's"—and we are under way...

I had the honor of playing Hamlet in this unique experiment. Consequently, not only was I awake for the 24 hours—I was grappling with one of the most demanding roles in all of dramatic literature for a majority of the time. The toll that it took on me physically and mentally is beyond description, except to say that I attempted to sleep for 24 hours when it was over.

As the leader of our rugged cast, I felt an extra responsibility to check in regularly with my fellow actors. Throughout the run, I took a few polls. At 1:51 a.m., after our sixth show, spirits were high and giddiness was setting in. Our Queen confessed, "I think the show's finally getting decent." She felt that the cast had found a good working rhythm. Meanwhile, our Horatio—enjoying a brief massage from our volunteer chiropractic masseuse (one of our only perks)—had no comment.

At 9:58 a.m., I checked in with the cast again. The Queen now had a piece of advice: "Surrender is the key. If you give in to the tiredness, then you're not tired anymore." The King, on the other hand, when asked to describe his feelings about the Hamlet-a-thon after 14 shows, replied: "Anger, bitterness...and regret."

By show number 21, things were back on the upswing, with the end in sight. Our cast—made up of young New York actors, most of whom had not worked together before—had become quite a tightly knit family. (A dehydrated, slap-happy family, but a family nonetheless.)

Now, what was the artistic motivation to undertake such an experiment? Director Tony Mayes says that he got the idea from a Polish acting troupe who use the act of repetition to boil a play down to its very core, to find the essence of a story and its relationships.

Were we successful? One audience member who had seen the show twice noted, "The difference between the midnight show and the last show [at 7 p.m. on Saturday] was that the actors' thoughts were much clearer the second time around. I understood the story more. They were also more relaxed and having fun, which allowed me to have fun!"

So, are marathon performance periods the new system for finding truth in drama? Probably not—but for these brave souls, on this ausipicious day, it worked!