Shakespeare’s Macbeth is the story of a crime that unravels, so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise that Joel Coen was interested in adapting the play for the screen, which he does with The Tragedy of Macbeth. What is surprising is that he’s done so without his brother Ethan, who has been his collaborator on all his previous features, including crime-gone-wrong stories like Blood Simple, Raising Arizona, The Man Who Wasn’t There, and others.
So what is a Coen brother movie like? Imagine a work of German expressionism as filtered through the stark spirituality of Ingmar Bergman or Carl Theodor Dreyer. Working in black and white with cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel, Coen shifts between two milieus, each framed by a boxy 4:3 aspect ratio: hazy, misty exteriors that suggest a metaphysical realm (this includes a stunning opening shot that initially appears to be looking up into the cloudy heavens until things coalesce to reveal that we are actually looking down on an earthly realm); and austere castle interiors defined by severe angles, sharp shadows, and bare rooms (the production designer is Stefan Dechant). There’s an overall sense of men trying to keep out a spectral presence they don’t understand. When Macbeth flirts with the prophecy of power pronounced by three witches at the play’s start—in another gasp-inducing shot, this time of a witch standing before a pool of water, while three figures are reflected on the surface—he’s sealed his doom.
As that witch, or “weird sister,” Kathryn Hunter delivers a dance performance more than anything else, contorting herself in disturbing ways and employing bird-like movements that make it easy to believe she morphs into one of the ravens who haunt the film. This raven motif is carried over into the costume design for the nobleman Ross (Alex Hassell), here envisioned as a co-conspirator of the witches. Hassell sports a sleek, form-fitting robe with long, draping sleeves that suggest wings. If a movie can win Best Costume Design for a single outfit, Mary Zophres deserves consideration.
As for the lead performances, Denzel Washington’s cavalier Macbeth disarms you at first, making it all the more alarming as he comes completely undone in the wake of committing treason and murder. Frances McDormand, meanwhile, curdles the impertinence and impatience she brings to so many of her characters with a layer of malevolence. Her familiar frowns here carry real malice; they have enough shading and expressiveness to almost make the dialogue superfluous. But since this is Shakespeare, it was probably a wise choice to keep it in.
(12/21/2021)
