Joel Coen’s The Tragedy of Macbeth uses confusion as an asset.
If Shakespeare was resurrected in 2022, he would have to admit he had done pretty well by himself. His name is a genre in classrooms, bookstores, and theaters. He invented nearly 500 words that have been absorbed into the English language, and dozens of phrases that those unfamiliar with his work have likely heard. Adapted well, Shakespeare’s language is far more contemporary than it is archaic, if still challenging for its complexity. It is a credit to Joel Coen and his cast that for the attentive viewer, The Tragedy of Macbeth can make you forget the story is more than 400 years in the making.
Despite the trappings of a clear-cut morality play, Coen’s Macbeth frustrates straightforward readings of character motivations. Our confusion ought to be troubling. We see Macbeth betray the trust of his king, murder his friend, and nearly ruin his kingdom. These are the non-negotiable facts of the character. What does the film choose to make of them?
Denzel Washington, in the title role, could begin his performance as a meek, honorable man and end as a vain, furious tyrant, an arc where Macbeth’s eventual wickedness is taken for granted— dismissed out of hand as a truth so obvious it does not warrant highlighting.
Also available to Washington is the path Michael Fassbender chose in 2015. In that adaptation, we see a good man succumb to the influence of ambition. Throughout his swift ascent, he knows his actions to be immoral, yet he cannot resist the allure of power. When Macbeth dies, there is a tinge of regret in Fassbender’s eyes; we know we are watching a tragedy. Washington’s behavior confounds both sympathy and condemnation. Quiet and wavering deliveries punctuate his performance, marks of hesitation that recur regularly during Macbeth’s bloody reign. At odds with this verbal style is an increasingly steady physicality that indicates a growing resolve to defend what he has won.
From the “Tomorrow” soliloquy until his death, the conflict between Washington’s words and movement reaches its height. Macbeth’s fearsome reputation in battle is a crucial component of his questionable succession to the throne, yet not until his castle is besieged does Coen show us the king in battle. Washington fights with human intelligence and the brute strength of an animal. As Macbeth hacks and hews, Washington makes him speak quietly, mumbling lines and modulating tones. He is a man who can see the folly of his ways but who pursues his original aims without remorse. Neither Washington nor Coen seem bothered in withholding a more satisfying explanation of the character. It would simplify Macbeth too greatly.
The other four lead actors present similar incongruities. Lady Macbeth (Frances McDormand) provides the ruthless engine that powers the plot. She also claims the film’s most vulnerable expressions. Banquo (Bertie Carvel) appears both perceptive and helpless. Onscreen, Ross (Alex Hassell) prioritizes duty; offscreen he brings the meaning of duty into question. These are unsettling people, against whom the Witches (all played by Kathryn Hunter), who are one person yet more than one, feel right at home.
Shakespeare and the film's cast are aided by the firm hand of Joel Cohen. The director has curtailed the full text to suit his cinematic vision, and for most of the runtime these diminishments are not a cause for complaint. The Tragedy of Macbeth runs a lean 105 minutes; the film’s mantra seems to be “only the essential is essential.” The medieval castles boast a minimalist design. Surfaces are smooth, ornate decorations invisible. Castles are a collection of shapes, at any time of day a different pattern of lights and darks. The black-and-white cinematography prevents us from being distracted by other contrasts. All the while Shakespeare’s (and now Coen’s) characters move from sunlight to shadow, blurring the line between each extreme. Borders are further called into question by a white fog, threatening repeatedly to engulf the film, and often shielding scene transitions.
The film’s technical elements support the script and performances, but they can be lyrical in their own right. Unable to employ his signature wit as a screenwriter, Coen focuses our attention on his underappreciated directorial talent. Action sequences are rare and brief, yet Coen’s cutting infuses them with the excitement of a blockbuster, and the precision of a conversation.
Coen has made an expressionistic film and has reaped rich rewards from the effort. The Tragedy of Macbeth is more dream than historical drama. Like a good dream, only fragments of a wider world are present, yet what the dreamer sees has an acute reality. At times, this zero-fat filmmaking cannibalizes an otherwise impressive achievement. What might have been gained from a wider shot of Birnam Wood, a clearer indication of the political and social context, or a more gradual decline for Lady Macbeth? When the credits roll, Coen’s Macbeth feels almost unnecessarily small. But only after my first viewing. Like its source material, the film demands to be seen again.
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