Coen’s restrained interpretation of Macbeth challenges expectations

Few of Shakespeare’s plays are performed as frequently as Macbeth. On stage it is a reliable box-office draw for virtually any theatre company; as well, there have been several film versions, not to mention adaptations of the plot, as in Kurosawa’s brilliant Throne of Blood. 

One may wonder, in the light of all those other versions, why Joel Coen would choose to produce his own take on such familiar material. In point of fact, one can approach The Tragedy of Macbeth from any number of variations of two extreme interpretations. 

The traditional view of the play is to emphasize it as a story that is, above all, violent, filled as it is with innumerable references to blood and savagery, containing plot elements of the supernatural, most especially the witches and Banquo’s ghost, and presenting numerous acts of brutal murder.

According to this interpretation, it would appear to be ideal film fodder for today’s audience, which seems to revel in entertainment that embraces horror, the supernatural, brutal bloodshed, and treachery. Indeed, Shakespeare himself, in writing the play, may well have been pandering to his own audience’s similar taste and growing embrace of blood-soaked violence. He had already tried his hand at this with the horrors of Titus Andronicus.

Thus, the far superior Macbeth is in the line of blood-soaked dramas written contemporaneously by Thomas Kyd, and later, more obviously, by John Webster.

One must recognize that audience taste under the first Elizabeth may not have been much different than that under Elizabeth II. In this vein, Roman Polanski’s 1971 version seems to have anticipated today’s audience, which apparently enjoys blood and horror—a reality evidenced by countless popular recent film and television productions which indulge in them.

On the other hand, in contrasting interpretation, the play can be seen above all as a searing, deeply personal psychological drama. It explores such themes as the results of giving unbridled expression to ambition at the expense of one’s more positive leanings and the impact of a guilty conscience on one’s whole being. 

It is the latter aspect of the play which, in his new release, Coen has clearly wished to explore and, in this restrained, stripped-down, 90-minute version of Shakespeare’s shortest play, makes it an investigation of a private and personal fall from greatness.

In this regard, Coen makes it an examination of an intensely private tragedy, the polar opposite of Polanski. Coen has chosen to film in a narrow-screen format, relying on a multitude of close-ups, with minimalist sets reflective of German expressionism. 

Traditionalists, looking for a rough-hewn Scottish castle, may dismiss the result as an unhappy blend of what Prince Charles called the “carbuncle” of modern architecture and street scenes by Italian surrealist Giorgio de Chirico. Though Cohen does include a number of dark elements, including a novel take on the witches and a symbolic use of ravens as portents of wickedness, his version largely deemphasizes the more brutal aspects of the play. 

This is particularly the case in that the drama is presented in black and white, which does make the gore somewhat less gruesome. So it is that many have found it to be a welcome change from more extreme and violent traditional interpretations.

By contrast, traditionalists may find the underplaying and restrained interpretations of the actors to be antipathetical to the anguish and torment of what constitutes much of the play.

To cite just one example, in the role of Lady Macbeth, Frances McDormand gives us an opening scene so muted as to fly in the face of the gut-wrenching horror of a woman asking the spirits of the night to “unsex” her so that she can persuade her husband to murder his king.

This is surely one of the most horrific moments in all theatre, yet in this interpretation seems to have no more import than a woman trying to think of ways to persuade her husband how to dress for dinner. 

Similarly, Denzel Washington in the title role rarely indulges in the full torment and anguish of the character, with much of the growing inner conflict suggested, rather than overtly expressed. 

In other words, this new restrained cinematic version of Macbeth is hardly traditional and certainly not pandering to those who merely want horror for entertainment, though it is intriguing and challenging. 

Among its many novel interpretations, this version suggests that the search for power will, in the personage of Ross (usually present simply as an unimportant minor character) become a haunting presence of violence in waiting.  

Clearly, Coen is asking audiences to rethink the play. Coen’s presentation of the work in an entirely new manner may to some seem to be contrary to the very essence of the play, yet it is also a welcome effort to present it in a more subtle and intimate manner.  

Whether audiences will appreciate it will depend on how they see the play itself. Some may fully embrace the Coen version; others may return to Polanski’s take. It’s good to have a choice!