NORWOOD —  Watching — or more to the point, listening — to Algonkuin Theatre Company’s ragtag production of “Hamlet” in Norwood’s Cleveland Park, on a bright and breezy Sunday afternoon, was much like the reception one tries in vain to get on a borderline out-of-range radio station.

There were times when William De Pari’s sound system boomed with crackling intensity and moments when the sparse audience had to strain to hear what was being said by the cast. The wind often stirred through the speakers like Hamlet’s restless and addled soul, and although one can make allowances for the understandable perils of outdoor theater, it’s not so easy to dismiss the sometimes shabby display of acting on the grassy stage.

By the time director Marty BlackEagle-Carl’s intriguingly imagined production moves to Whitinsville this upcoming weekend, it is fervently hoped that Marty Lynch’s distressingly undernourished and tentative portrayal of Hamlet’s treacherous Uncle Claudius will transform into a much more intense and assured display of villainy.

With rare exceptions — when Claudius demands where Polonius is and later anticipates Hamlet’s death — Lynch wanders back and forth on stage muttering his lines with very little conviction or passion.

He’s hardly a worthy foe for Wendy Lippe’s vengeful, tormented, playful and delightfully unhinged interpretation of Hamlet.

Yes, you read that correctly. Hamlet is a woman, and hardly a melancholy Dane, but an entertainingly spiteful vixen with a decidedly alternative lifestyle sensibility.

As long as Lippe is front and center — spewing Shakespeare’s wondrous prose with maniacal relish, and pawing Horatio (Caroline Rodriguez), Rosencrantz (Kelly Reid) and Guildenstern (Amy Lee Connell) with sexual insinuation — you’re more than willing to accept BlackEagle-Carl’s wild conception of the play.

Lippe’s feline ferocity energizes the production with the breath of authenticity. You can feel her anger and pain between her bouts of whimsy and cruelty, and although other members of the cast turn in credible performances, she overpowers them with her dynamic commitment to the role.

Sound problems may have hampered Lauren Shear’s Ophelia, but Shear still seemed to lack a fragile poignancy that would have made the “Get thee to a nunnery!” scene more effective. Faring better are the sly and perky efforts of Rodriguez, Reid and Connell as Hamlet’s gal pal trio.

That can’t be said for Charlene Winslow’s frumpy, matronly and bland take on Hamlet’s mother Gertrude, a role crying out for more visible ardor.

Chris Ebacher handles the part of the ghost of Hamlet’s father with suitable foreboding, Matthew Curtis plays well off Lippe as the gravedigger, and Anthony Medeiros breathes some life into Ophelia’s father Polonius.

Because of last-minute casting problems, BlackEagle-Carl had to step into the role of Hamlet’s fateful foil, Laertes, reading from the text at times, but doing it with vigor.

Despite its glaring weaknesses, and its seemingly interminable three-and-a-half-hour running time, prompting half the audience to leave at intermission, keep in mind two things: the free admission and Wendy Lippe’s invigorating Hamlet.