The Tragedy of Macbeth (2021, Joel Coen) (Patreon)

58/100

"We're long overdue for a contemporary version by a major director," I noted in 2014 (pre-Kurzel, to whom that adjective doesn't apply anyway imo, sorry Thierry), concluding my A.V. Club review of Polanski's Macbeth. "What might Paul Thomas Anderson or the Coen brothers do with Shakespeare?" To my surprise—never saw a frame in advance, read nothing—and measured delight, solo Joel opted for an homage to stark, no-budget Welles, though these cavernously expressionistic interiors arguably owe more to The Trial than to Welles' own adaptation of the Scottish play. (Hedging because it's been 17+ years since I last watched either one.) It's always odd and arresting to see an artist faithfully replicate formal decisions that were originally born of necessity; Welles, who could rarely afford extravagance post-Shanghai, often compensated with a look so strikingly barren that its deliberate adoption now qualifies as avant-garde. At the same time, there are visual touches here that don't feel much indebted to anyone (not even the Coens): those initial circling crows and the optical illusion their flight path creates; the arrival of Great Birnam Wood represented as an explosion of leaves through the window; cutting mid-decapitation (viewed from a distance and at a barely visible angle) to Macbeth's crown coming to rest. And this floating dagger beats 'em all. "The handle toward my hand!" Literally. 

Shame about how flatly that speech is delivered. I'm generally open to "conversational" Shakespeare; Branagh's great gift is his ability to make the Bard's verse sound extemporaneous while retaining its poetry and intensity. Not so for Washington, who didn't work for me as Don Pedro 28 years ago and doesn't work for me as Macbeth now. It's a strange, incoherent performance—sometimes employing his usual amused-assertive cadence, sometimes mumbling the most famous lines ever written as if he's embarrassed by their weight. McDormand works in a more traditional mode, but finds no distinctive approach to m'Lady. In fact every celebrity here comes across as lethargic compared to Alex Hassell, who's instantly recognizable as someone who's been classically trained. (Looked him up: Royal Shakespeare alumnus.) Ross as the Third Murderer has become commonplace, but Coen seems to have taken his cue quite specifically from Polanski's film, making this functionary even more of a Machiavellian figure (saving Fleance! quite possibly killing Lady M!) via purely cinematic means. Ross’ scenes breathe intermittent life into what's otherwise a gorgeous exercise. Coen does wonders with a simple stage direction like "They fight and Young Siward is slain" (orchestrated here in a way that reminded me of Mike Ehrmantraut disarming Trevor: "You can make it not so easy"), but he could have gotten there working from Holinshed. Shakespeare's greatness is barely discernible when it creeps in this petty pace.