The powerful words “remember me” are spoken several times throughout “Elsinore,” the AIDS drama starring an unforgettable Andrew Scott that’s playing in the Toronto International Film Festival.

They are, of course, the urgent request of the ghost of King Hamlet, the Shakespearean monarch who was murdered by his brother Claudius and, from the grave, orders his son to avenge his death.

“Hamlet” plays a central role in the beautifully acted “Elsinore,” if the title didn’t already give that away. But the command has a dual meeting in its setting of late-1980s England. Young men are dying and fear being forgotten. 

There is a frequent argument made, and one I certainly have, that the onset of the AIDS epidemic and generic coming-out stories inordinately dominate gay movies. That’s still as true as ever. Therefore, if you’re going to tell another one, it’s essential to find a unique way in order for a film to avoid cliche and have any poignancy.

That’s what director Simon Stone’s “Elsinore” managed to do with its choice of subject: Ian Charleson, the Scottish “Chariots of Fire” star and classical actor who died from causes related to AIDS at age 40 in 1990, just seven weeks after playing Hamlet onstage for 24 historic performances at London’s National Theatre.

Sick, weak and in agonizing pain, Charleson willed his failing body to rehearse and take on the titanic part — the most mentally and physically taxing in the entire Western theatrical canon — because that phrase rang out in his own head: “Remember me.” 

That’s a high-stakes personal struggle, as well as a complicated one. In his hard-fought battle for life and legacy, Ian is also trying to prove to himself that he needn’t fade away and disappear. Still, Charleson’s disease was not made publicly known until after he died. For better or worse, he didn’t want it to distract from his acting.

You can feel a palpable connection between Charleson and Andrew Scott, the marvelous actor playing him in a shattering performance with no false notes. The “All of Us Strangers” star has also been a Hamlet in the West End, and innately grasps Shakespeare’s words and knows their transformative power.

Scott, in many roles, is often strongwilled and so is Charleson. When director Richard Eyre casts him as Hamlet — replacing Daniel Day Lewis, who infamously walked off the stage and left the production — he begins seeing a doctor known for getting patients sometimes years more time. He’s resolved to go on with the show, no matter the consequences to his health.

Dr. Margaret Johnson (Olivia Colman, adding to her stern-but-kind resume), who’s in the business of keeping people alive, doesn’t like the idea. His body needs to rest, not swordfight. But seeing how much it means to Ian, she relents, saying, “If you’re going to play this part, there will be no more talk of death.”

Wittily replies Ian: “That might be tricky.”

Like with Hamlet, Scott has a lot of demons to conquer as Ian. There’s the physical aspect, as he becomes gaunt and frail, and the thunderous emotional storm of confronting a likely fatal diagnosis. But Ian also is wracked with guilt as he keeps his disease a secret for much of the movie, even from his cast, and rebuffs an actor friend who says it’s vital that he announces his status to the world.

He’d have to start with his family. A tough scene in the hospital with his mom and dad is when most viewers will lose it. Ian’s slightly underdeveloped friendship with an-early career actor named Nicholas (Joe Locke from “Heartstopper”) dying from AIDS is also affecting.

“Half the theaters in the West End must be empty,” Nicholas clinically observes. I choked up at that.

Scott handles all of this with hidden-camera naturalism, helped out by Stone, who, while embracing a simplicity of style, also doesn’t just plant a camera and let his lead park and bark, as is typical of British biopics. 

The director does go a little overboard with montages in the end — juxtaposing the glory of the stage with the grim realities of home and showing the difficulty for Ian of performing Hamlet while putting on a brave face. A bucket is kept offstage for him to vomit in, for example, and at night he endures sharp, stabbing pains. There’s just too much spliced in.

But those flourishes don’t take away from Scott’s miraculous turn and the enriching experience of remembering an actor who, at the lowest point in his life, made the bold and right decision for himself: To be.