MONMOUTH — The Theater at Monmouth has shown itself to be capable of the highest level of accomplishment, which is to take a revered classic and make it new, alive, and accessible without being stuck in tradition or resorting to gimmickry. If “words be made of breath and breath of life,” Monmouth has breathed life into the glorious language of Shakespeare.

“Hamlet” is one of the great tragedies. It is the story of a prince, driven by “the poison of deep grief” to seek revenge on his uncle, who has stolen his father’s life, wife and throne.

David Harbour, as Hamlet, deserves the highest respect for having brought to life a tortured young man playing at madness. The dangers are great here. This is a part with perhaps the greatest number of recognized and quoted or misquoted lines in all of Shakespeare. Often actors allow the madness scheme to carry them to bombast and excess.

Harbour has shown himself masterful at moving from madness to the internal-dialogue moments in which the psychology of his hurt, anger, loss and intention is revealed. He has pulled back into quiet intensity and drawn the audience in with him. His madness seems real to those not privy, as the audience is, to his internal drive.

Too many of Hamlet’s speeches are too well-known, and the risk of playing Laurence Olivier or Kenneth Branagh playing Hamlet is great. Harbour never falls for the easy parody. All the moments are his, private and personal. Hamlet is his and he is no one else’s Hamlet. He never rushes his moment and blessedly allows time for the words, lines and thoughts to be savored, understood and processed.

Robert Walsh, as the King, is excellent. He initially conveys the smarmy quality of a game show host and from there fills the role until you understand a woman, a widow, a queen falling for this shyster. He beautifully modulates his lines so we can understand and like him until his calumny and character are revealed. Here is no cardboard villain, but a real man caught in his own web of ambition and spiraling crimes. Walsh manages to make this perpetrator of great evil someone with whom we can, at moments, sympathize.

Ophelia, played by Joan Jubett, is a study in contrast. Through most of the play she is a portrait in beauty and misery, torn between love and filial duty. Her exit before the intermission is so powerful that with a backward look of despair she exits the stage with the audience in tow. She is grace. She is beauty. We understand the love of Hamlet for this woman.

Unfortunately, Ophelia goes mad, and Jubett goes off the deep end. Her mad Ophelia looks like a child run amok in mother’s makeup, complete with clown spots and foot stigmata. Her madness is convincing, but her lines are lost.

James Bodge, as Polonius, admirably fills the role of the fool. Polonius is a bumbler, but making him a mumbler only loses many good laugh lines. Perhaps if more people took Polonius as a whole, they would stop using “To thine own self be true” as a graduation standard. This, too, is foolishness, for someone who is, first and foremost, true to himself is true to no one, in the spirit of self-serving, used-car salesmen and ambulance-chasing lawyers everywhere.

The role of the queen in the hands of Chloe Leamon is regal and haughty, and occasionally her lines are lost.

The Laertes of Ryan McCarthy needs speech and articulation training. His performance is adequate, but his speech is too heavily accented, mumbling and distracting.

The minor roles often drop their lines into the well of noise.

The costumes of Jane Snider are late 19th century American. Do not be put off. They prove the play is stronger than the need for the generally misguided desire to place this Danish royalty in Elizabethan English garb. The only costumes that were jarring were the ghost as General Burnside and the beige union caps of the soldiers. Perhaps generic uniforms might have served better than all-too-recognizable specifics. When moustaches are used, moderate sizes matching the hair color is helpful. A blond man with a LARGE black moustache does tend to take center stage.

The background sound occasionally overwhelmed. The French national anthem is correct to the concept and period, yet too recognizable, a distracting anachronism to the traditional concept most people carry in their minds.

Charles Weinstein has directed a show of which he can be proud. His deft and subtle hand is obvious everywhere. He has molded a “Hamlet” that is fresh, new and vital. The play begs questions of filial responsibility and personal choices. He has held and controlled performances that allow us to be touched, not overwhelmed. Alas, he must also accept responsibility for a first scene that simply blows apart into noise and screeching. A director must control the small things as well as the larger moments.

Robert Walsh has staged his fight scenes well. They are simple and spare without the flourishes that often make such scenes look foolish.

All criticism put forward here is minor. This is a play that succeeds where more notorious names have failed.

If you have students near you who have never seen “Hamlet,” take the time to take them. Monmouth is closer than you think and well worth the trip. The building itself is a treat. Grab a Folger edition at the local bookstore for a quick read and then see this rendition. This is “Hamlet,” a young man, real and in pain.

“Hamlet” is running in repertory through Aug. 30 with “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” “The Miser,” “Shadowlands” and “Aladdin.” For tickets and information, call 933-9999.