A few weeks ago, I found myself alone in the Branford College TV room asking myself the immortal question: What do I watch? My answer quickly emerged in the ornately stylized title cards of Joel Coen’s star-studded The Tragedy of Macbeth, which was released late January on Apple TV+ for streaming. It’s a thrilling watch, with unique imagery that keeps you on the edge of your seat. Even yet, its powerful cinematography feels like a facade hiding inept directing and shallow meaning.
Denzel Washington’s Oscar-nominated Macbeth is calmly authoritative, and Frances McDormand’s Lady Macbeth has a measured ferocity. The two are powerhouse performances on their own, but they mesh awkwardly. When side by side with Washington, McDormand lacks the urgency and command to convincingly play the shrewd Lady Macbeth. Far from forming the backbone of the film, each interaction between the actors only holds them back as their differing interpretations clash. Lady Macbeth’s “Out, damned spot” monologue feels like it belongs as a character study in an acting class rather than part of a cohesive film. There’s no consistent overarching directorial vision.
Herein lies the first problem with Coen’s film. His laser focus on bringing Shakespeare’s lofty iambic pentameter down to an approachable conversational tone instead sees the actors delivering their lines with robotic coldness rather than robust complexity. Particularly egregiously, Corey Hawkins’ Macduff struggles to project any real grief after hearing his entire family and estate have been murdered. He musters a strained tension that is completely inappropriate for the situation. The one exception here is Kathryn Hunter’s wildly fresh take on the Weird Sisters. Playing all three at once, we see her twisting into impossible contortionist pretzels, then delivering her lines in a breathy rasp. It’s a delicious performance that hits you hard, despite only being in two scenes.
While the performances leave much to be desired, what persists in the mind long after the credits end are the striking visual images that Coen conjures in the austere film. Most of this is thanks to Bruno Delbonnel’s beautifully restrained cinematography. We get shots hyper-focused on characters’ faces, sometimes almost uncomfortably extended. For instance, Lady Macbeth reads her husband’s letter in a single three-minute shot. Throughout, there’s no unnecessary cutting, focus-racking, or otherwise jarring choices. The images of this film are a masterclass in effective minimalism. If anything, Macbeth’s visual personality is more like an Ingmar Bergman creation than anything else from the twenty-first century. It’s ancient, like something out of a memory or dream.
Nowhere is the nightmarishly dreamlike quality of Coen’s Macbeth more apparent than in the set. Full of abstract shadows and winding staircases leading to nowhere, this Macbeth is untethered from reality. Angular silhouettes and maze-like corridors evoke an unsettling timelessness, while harsh contrasts recall German Expressionist motifs of darkness and light. Ultimately, the unfamiliar landscape of the film underscores the sense of unease created by the film as a whole, which itself speaks to something darker and more sinister.
In the end, though, Coen’s obsession with stunning tableaux isn’t enough. Indeed, the set of Macbeth acts as its own character that screams far louder than any other actor (Oscar-nominated or otherwise). It threatens to diminish the complexities of Shakespeare’s original text by reducing it to a simple story with pretty pictures.
The Tragedy of Macbeth is, at its core, a story about extreme ambition. Yet Coen’s interpretation, almost paradoxically, is unambitious. It’s a sanitized version of the play that uses its plot as a canvas for its undeniable visual mastery, but not much else. Straightforward and accessible, it’s a great first step for many into the world of Shakespeare adaptations, but it’s hardly a tale of sound and fury.
A few weeks ago, I found myself alone in the Branford College TV room asking myself the immortal question: What do I watch? My answer quickly emerged in the ornately stylized title cards of Joel Coen’s star-studded The Tragedy of Macbeth, which was released late January on Apple TV+ for streaming. It’s a thrilling watch, with unique imagery that keeps you on the edge of your seat. Even yet, its powerful cinematography feels like a facade hiding inept directing and shallow meaning.
Denzel Washington’s Oscar-nominated Macbeth is calmly authoritative, and Frances McDormand’s Lady Macbeth has a measured ferocity. The two are powerhouse performances on their own, but they mesh awkwardly. When side by side with Washington, McDormand lacks the urgency and command to convincingly play the shrewd Lady Macbeth. Far from forming the backbone of the film, each interaction between the actors only holds them back as their differing interpretations clash. Lady Macbeth’s “Out, damned spot” monologue feels like it belongs as a character study in an acting class rather than part of a cohesive film. There’s no consistent overarching directorial vision.
Herein lies the first problem with Coen’s film. His laser focus on bringing Shakespeare’s lofty iambic pentameter down to an approachable conversational tone instead sees the actors delivering their lines with robotic coldness rather than robust complexity. Particularly egregiously, Corey Hawkins’ Macduff struggles to project any real grief after hearing his entire family and estate have been murdered. He musters a strained tension that is completely inappropriate for the situation. The one exception here is Kathryn Hunter’s wildly fresh take on the Weird Sisters. Playing all three at once, we see her twisting into impossible contortionist pretzels, then delivering her lines in a breathy rasp. It’s a delicious performance that hits you hard, despite only being in two scenes.
While the performances leave much to be desired, what persists in the mind long after the credits end are the striking visual images that Coen conjures in the austere film. Most of this is thanks to Bruno Delbonnel’s beautifully restrained cinematography. We get shots hyper-focused on characters’ faces, sometimes almost uncomfortably extended. For instance, Lady Macbeth reads her husband’s letter in a single three-minute shot. Throughout, there’s no unnecessary cutting, focus-racking, or otherwise jarring choices. The images of this film are a masterclass in effective minimalism. If anything, Macbeth’s visual personality is more like an Ingmar Bergman creation than anything else from the twenty-first century. It’s ancient, like something out of a memory or dream.
Nowhere is the nightmarishly dreamlike quality of Coen’s Macbeth more apparent than in the set. Full of abstract shadows and winding staircases leading to nowhere, this Macbeth is untethered from reality. Angular silhouettes and maze-like corridors evoke an unsettling timelessness, while harsh contrasts recall German Expressionist motifs of darkness and light. Ultimately, the unfamiliar landscape of the film underscores the sense of unease created by the film as a whole, which itself speaks to something darker and more sinister.
In the end, though, Coen’s obsession with stunning tableaux isn’t enough. Indeed, the set of Macbeth acts as its own character that screams far louder than any other actor (Oscar-nominated or otherwise). It threatens to diminish the complexities of Shakespeare’s original text by reducing it to a simple story with pretty pictures.
The Tragedy of Macbeth is, at its core, a story about extreme ambition. Yet Coen’s interpretation, almost paradoxically, is unambitious. It’s a sanitized version of the play that uses its plot as a canvas for its undeniable visual mastery, but not much else. Straightforward and accessible, it’s a great first step for many into the world of Shakespeare adaptations, but it’s hardly a tale of sound and fury.
