Arguably no story has remained ingrained in our collective consciousness and popular entertainment for as long or as fiercely as Macbeth. William Shakespeare’s tale of greed and ambition has cemented its place in film history, casting its spell on audiences and drawing in a plethora of legendary directors who have tried their luck at translating it onto the silver screen. From Orson Welles and Roman Polanski to Akira Kurosawa, the very best of them have experimented with form, infusing their own blueprint into the play — the latter replacing medieval Scotland with feudal Japan altogether — while preserving the universal themes that makes it an ageless story in the first place. Though Macbeth’s lengthy canon of cinematic adaptations has imbued the play with new life in the past century, it has also threatened to overshadow any subsequent rendition that might arise, placing each of them under further scrutiny if not rendering them completely null.
Joel Coen is the latest high-profile auteur to venture into medieval Scotland to prove that there is still, in fact, something worthy to be said about the Thane of Glamis’ well-documented demise. At first glance, the veteran filmmaker — working without the aid of his brother Ethan for the first time in his career — appears to be an odd match for the job. Granted, his chameleonic body of work is irrefutable proof of his directorial versatility, but one that remains, for all its virtues, inherently rooted in American ethos. Long-time enthusiasts of the idiosyncratic characters and tongue-in-cheek humor that have become, undeservingly or not, Coen trademarks might greet The Tragedy of Macbeth with a shrug of indifference. After all, the film’s somber framework poses as the biggest outlier of his career — joining the likes of Mank and Roma as the latest of an emerging breed of prestige, monochrome passion projects funded by streaming platforms.
However, a closer look at the Coen Brothers’ catalog suggests that, despite the apparent tonal shift, Macbeth’s themes actually fall in line with the rest of the directors’ work. Hidden behind the visage of eccentric playfulness, even their most lighthearted entries have come with a heavy dose of historical revisionism, wry cynicism, and social critique, all of which similarly contribute to the everlasting allure of Shakespeare’s play. In that regard, The Tragedy of Macbeth’s scathing examination of greed, masculine disenchantment, and moral decay nicely echoes Blood Simple, Miller’s Crossing, and Fargo, among many other Coen staples. It’s also hard not to notice some parallels between the chronic guilt, delusions of grandeur, and misplaced ambition that ultimately seal the fate of the titular Scottish general and the spiritual ordeals tormenting Larry Gopnik (A Serious Man), Barton Fink (Barton Fink), and Llewyn Davis (Inside Llewyn Davis).
When it comes to one of the most chewed-over and dissected pieces of fiction in modern history — let alone adapted screenplays — one hardly needs an English degree to know the story by heart. Macbeth (Denzel Washington), a loyal lord to the Scottish King Duncan (Brendan Gleeson), stumbles upon a trio of witches (Kathryn Hunter) who plant in him the seed of greed in the form of an ominous prophecy guaranteeing the kingship for himself. Led astray by this newfound revelation and encouraged in no small part by his mischievous, power-hungry wife (Frances McDormand), he takes it upon himself to see his destiny fulfilled by slaying his former ruler and effectively usurping the throne. Far from granting him the self-respect and peace of mind he so badly coveted, Macbeth’s new regal status weighs heavily on his mind, plunging him into a downward spiral heightened by his growing paranoia.
Coen acknowledges the audience’s familiarity with the work by refusing to stray too far from the source material, opting instead to lift most of its iconic lines verbatim. This decision ultimately comes as a double-edged sword, making the film a devotedly faithful adaptation, if somewhat hindering its own artistic distinctiveness. One can only wonder if a screenwriter of Joel’s caliber would have fared better had he dared to tweak and play with the Bard’s verbose dialogue more freely. He has certainly earned the right to do so by this stage of his career. In any case, the director’s main preoccupation seems to lie elsewhere — presumably in devising the visual aesthetic that elevates the whole narrative.
The Tragedy of Macbeth lives between old and new; between stage production and feature film. It crosses the thin line that separates both worlds without fully embracing either, culminating in a fascinating hybrid on a technical level. Coen, more than accustomed to shooting in vast, open spaces for the last thirty years, pulls every trick up his sleeve to make the most out of the artificial soundstage where he conceived his latest film. The production sets are stripped down to their bare essentials, erecting a clean and minimalistic architecture that acquires a personality of its own. The elegant practicality of the film’s decor heightens the intimate, muted moments of the story, including many pivotal monologues, but slightly underplays the political stakes and nationwide fallout of Macbeth’s reign. The film’s most defining trait is most likely found in the clever use of monochrome lighting and high-contrast shadows that evokes the chamber dramas of Ingmar Bergman (Persona, Hour of the Wolf) in its aspect ratio, textured depth of field, and incisive close-ups. Washington and McDormand’s expressive faces are both captured with all their rough-hewn features, registering every subtle frown or stutter hinting at their inner turmoil.
But despite this conscious effort to conjure up an older brand of filmmaking — whether it’s by mirroring the Gothic imagery of Carl Dreyer or borrowing the hazy fogginess of Kurosawa’s rendition (Throne of Blood) — The Tragedy of Macbeth aptly manages to breathe new life into the play with a much-welcomed diverse cast that adheres to our present time. Denzel Washington’s towering presence as the titular role is commendable but hardly unexpected given his impeccable track record. Same applies to McDormand, who deftly captures her character’s weary desperation without coming off as pompous. The decision to age up the central matrimony by hiring two grizzled, hoary heavyweight actors proves to be a timely one, giving their eventual demise an added layer of poignancy compared to most on-screen iterations.
Though all of the cast’s performances merit praise — none more than Kathryn Hunter’s shapeshifting display as the Weird Sisters — there’s an unshakable feeling of wooden impersonality to some of their deliveries. Granted, summoning the gravitas and lyricism of Shakespeare’s words onto the screen is no easy task, but the actors’ rigid composure can occasionally register as mechanical and uninviting.
As an experiment in style, The Tragedy of Macbeth passes with flying colors. By virtue of its nature, it’s a film primed to be judged and remembered largely for its technical prowess rather than warrant any new interpretations or insightful discourse on its source material. Living up to Macbeth — let alone the monumental cinematic legacy preceding its name — is an accomplishment within the grasp of very few. The question remains whether or not Joel Coen’s will be regarded as the ultimate screen adaptation, but one can’t dispute the fact that it thoroughly stands on its own. As to where it exactly lands in the Coen-verse power rankings, only time will tell. As a surprising detour, it’s certainly a welcomed one. And if it ultimately proves to be Joel’s last rodeo, it’s a lofty encore worthy of his name and stature.
