Macbeth - Cinematic Presentness: Why Theatrical Adaptations Don't Work
Thoughts On: Macbeth (2015)
A 'cinematic' adaptation of the classical play.
Macbeth, alongside being a half-decent film, brings about a never-ending discussion surrounding the difference between theatre and cinema--surrounding the sovereignty of cinema as an individual art form. It is then only likely perceivable as particularly weak from the theorist's perspective. In some ways, the downfalls of Macbeth speak to the art form's irrefutable distinguishedness, and so its failures are, you could argue, cinema's successes. The highest praise that I can give Macbeth concerns its aesthetics; this is a visually stunning film, one whose cinematic language and cinematography are consciously impacting the way in which the narrative must be understood and received. I cannot say I am much of a fan of a film trying too intentionally to achieve an effect; therefore, the intense colour schemes appear slightly pretentious to me. Alas, my praise of Macbeth quickly runs aground after the mention of aesthetics. The performances are made spectacle out of - as is common in theatre - but I found nothing particularly special about them (being very far from a theatre geek who creams over a long soliloquy). What makes the story function well emerges, to a significant degree, from the play. The story of Macbeth seems to strongly capture an ever-pertinent narrative, existential discourse on fate, on what it means to impress ones will upon the universe. Our cinematic incarnation elevates this, in my belief, by translating a theatrical play into a cine-poem of sorts, one that makes expression out of Macbeth's psyche to a more intense degree than any theatrical production ever could. But, we bridge here towards the aesthetic paradox of Macbeth that I have been trying to keep at bay.
As initially suggested, Macbeth's failures are cinema's successes. Furthermore, the minor successes that Macbeth has undermine the film's existence. Both of these outcomes are a consequence of cinema's capacity to manage presentness. This issue is two-fold, however; we can talk about presentness in both spatial terms and narrative terms.
The spatial confines of theatre are what make it an art unto itself, but are also what signify the all-important potentials in cinema. If Macbeth was written for the screen originally, sequences such as the banquet scene where Macbeth sees the ghost of Banquo and breaks down would not exist. This is so obvious in Kurzel's Macbeth as Macbeth's conversation with the assassin is so jarringly loud, as is his conversation with Lady Macbeth. Of course, the scene centralises the simultaneous derangement and power of the new king through his awkward unfolding. However, the plausibility of the king essentially announcing and discussing his own corruption is shakey.
Plausibility and verisimilitude as immutable pillars of cinematic fabrication are constructs of American cinema (the American typhlodrama) post-1950 in my opinion, and so the unrelenting requirement of a plausible, sinless, logically cogent, plot-hole-less narrative is a demand of audiences accustomed to Hollywood convention. Alas, the ques and conventions that make the banquet scene acceptable come from the theatre, they are not cinematic constructs. Theatre owns the soliloquy and conversational bubble. Cinema does not. All attempts to integrate this into the body of cinematic language, in my view, died down after the 50s with the intensified development of self-referentialism, the fourth wall break and spatial incontinuity. A Godard or Von Trier film, as an example, is eager to present the cinematic equivalent of a soliloquy with their V.O'ed self-reflexivity and fourth wall breaks. Films that use expressionism and/or surrealism to mutate the cinematic space into a psychological space (think of the opening of Apocalypse Now, any dream sequence you like, or something such as Lynch's Eraserhead) break the rules of reality's space and time, but do so to contain us in a conventionalised space in which we interact, personally, with a character, theme or event. Slow motion, freeze frames and other such devices that break the rules of spacetime are examples of how cinema introduces the personal and psychological into its spatial confines. We see not this in the banquet scene of Macbeth.
There is no cut, there is no camera, there is no space in theatre: there is a stage. And so personal bubbles must be impressed onto the setting by the audience; we must accept that certain characters just can't hear certain things at certain moments, or that a character is abstracted from the physical space for a soliloquy or a fourth wall break. This is what occurs in the banquet scene; the conventions and language displayed are entirely theatrical, they are not cinematic. And so I do not believe that the scene works; it should have been made cinematic with surrealism, expressionism, maybe a freeze frames (tableau vivant) or spatial incontinuity--something un-anti-cinematic. Indeed, the scene didn't have to use these devices - no film is required to do anything. What I mean to to suggest here is that the appropriation of theatrical conventions are one of the ways in which Macbeth shows that its theatrical elements are only apart of its failings: the scene doesn't work, in my opinion, because it is not cinematic - or rather, because it is too theatrical.
The soliloquies and extended dialogue sequences that work better than this, as alluded to, are the ones that involve an overlain montage of sorts that appears to align the film with the cine poems of filmmakers such as Chris Marker. One such example is linked to the continual return to visions of the young solider that dies in Macbeth's arms at the beginning of the film. These images juxtapose the prosaic speech of, say, Macbeth in the cine poem fashion as to emphasise his trauma and the theme of sacrifice that subtly runs through the narrative. Why, we could ask, is Macbeth's fate presented to him after his glory in battle? It appears that it is because he makes a valiant sacrifice. This is certainly what the film presents us with as we watch bodies crash and devastation wisp around Macbeth in its violent way throughout the battle sequence. It is this courageous sacrifice that is undermined by Macbeth's villainous pursuit of the throne with his wife. The continual references to the sacrifice that Macbeth endured during the battle via the dead boy solider remind us of this as he speaks of his present anguish. This expression is cinematic; montage of this sort belongs to cinema, it is not possible in theatre. It not only elevates the film, but highlights the fact that the cinematic elements of the narrative are the only truly functional ones.
Like Kurosawa's Throne of Blood (which I have not seen recently enough to make apt comment on), Kurzel's Macbeth, as a cinematic document, benefits most from the camera's ability to explore large, enclosed, three dimensional sets and real landscapes. This level of verisimilitude is unthinkable in the theatre. Little must be said about this as its effects are so abundantly clear, but the situation of the drama upon real Scottish landscapes (as well as many English landscapes) provides the film a tact and realistic bite that transports one through the linguistic barriers.
And with language mentioned, we must now stop to make a note. My strongest reservations concerning Macbeth emerge from the fact that I found the film somewhat impenetrable due to the use of 'Shakespearean language'. Indeed, much of the dialogue is lifted directly from the theatrical transcripts, and I simply can't say I follow it very well. I can then comfortably admit that I might be able to understand some Spanish-language films as well as I did Macbeth (y mi español es horrible). I only followed this film so closely because, many years ago in school, I read the play and so could remember most of the plot beats and meanings of the big soliloquies. This theatrical convention of language is just yet another thing I do not find very welcome in the cinematic space. Cheap as it is, subtitles are a profoundly valuable construct of cinema.
To take a step back, however, let us talk about one of the most evident expressions of cinema's ability to be present. As said, the use of sets and real locations in cinema allow us to be in a space of greater versimilitude. But, what does this mean? Most simply, we get to be and feel where things are happening. There is no better exemplar of this than the opening; we actually get to see the battle that catalyses everything that unfolds in Shakespeare's narrative. The original play, of course, opens with sequences surrounding the witches and then Banquo and Macbeth (among others) talking about the battle. Theatre cannot be present at the battle, and so it isn't. As we see in Kurzel's Macbeth, being present during the battle has a huge effect on the narrative as imagery from the battle is carried forward from the sequence, and, furthermore, we perceive Macbeth in an entirely new light. Of all the images I have seen of Macbeth, none are more formidable than Fassbender's. This looks like a man who has gone to war--in fact, we have seen him go to war, so there is no need for speculation at all. It is cinema's ability to be present--narratively as well as spatially--that provides just this and that furthermore allows us to step into his psyche. The effect is purely cinematic.
There is no wonder that so many theorists talk of cinema with rather vulgar language pertaining to voyeurism and scopophilia. Cinema's very existence is predicated, in large part - and especially as the contemporary era expresses with CGI and a developed language - upon the fact that it can go where the eye wishes it could. One of the more questionable results of this are pornographic conventions that make spectacle and sensation out of this disembodied eye that locks away what visions it steals. Alas, the most profound expressions of narrative also emerge from this eye, from cinema's presentness. With cinema, we can see reality, can go where life happens as opposed to bring life before a camera, and we can push the camera into realities of impression, expression and the surreal as to be present in a mind, in an emotion, in a happening in a far more tactile and tangible manner than any other art form. Macbeth, ever so slightly, betrays cinema in this respect by even attempting to adapt a theatrical production. But, let us not admonish it on these grounds alone. Macbeth fails as it does not break away from cinematic convention successfully and fails also in appropriating theatrical convention. But, with that said, I turn all over to you. What are your thoughts on Macbeth and all we've discussed today?
Previous post:
Await Further Instructions - The Evil Spirits In The Television
Next post:
Why There So Many Superhero Origin Stories
More from me:
amazon.com/author/danielslack
A 'cinematic' adaptation of the classical play.
Macbeth, alongside being a half-decent film, brings about a never-ending discussion surrounding the difference between theatre and cinema--surrounding the sovereignty of cinema as an individual art form. It is then only likely perceivable as particularly weak from the theorist's perspective. In some ways, the downfalls of Macbeth speak to the art form's irrefutable distinguishedness, and so its failures are, you could argue, cinema's successes. The highest praise that I can give Macbeth concerns its aesthetics; this is a visually stunning film, one whose cinematic language and cinematography are consciously impacting the way in which the narrative must be understood and received. I cannot say I am much of a fan of a film trying too intentionally to achieve an effect; therefore, the intense colour schemes appear slightly pretentious to me. Alas, my praise of Macbeth quickly runs aground after the mention of aesthetics. The performances are made spectacle out of - as is common in theatre - but I found nothing particularly special about them (being very far from a theatre geek who creams over a long soliloquy). What makes the story function well emerges, to a significant degree, from the play. The story of Macbeth seems to strongly capture an ever-pertinent narrative, existential discourse on fate, on what it means to impress ones will upon the universe. Our cinematic incarnation elevates this, in my belief, by translating a theatrical play into a cine-poem of sorts, one that makes expression out of Macbeth's psyche to a more intense degree than any theatrical production ever could. But, we bridge here towards the aesthetic paradox of Macbeth that I have been trying to keep at bay.
As initially suggested, Macbeth's failures are cinema's successes. Furthermore, the minor successes that Macbeth has undermine the film's existence. Both of these outcomes are a consequence of cinema's capacity to manage presentness. This issue is two-fold, however; we can talk about presentness in both spatial terms and narrative terms.
The spatial confines of theatre are what make it an art unto itself, but are also what signify the all-important potentials in cinema. If Macbeth was written for the screen originally, sequences such as the banquet scene where Macbeth sees the ghost of Banquo and breaks down would not exist. This is so obvious in Kurzel's Macbeth as Macbeth's conversation with the assassin is so jarringly loud, as is his conversation with Lady Macbeth. Of course, the scene centralises the simultaneous derangement and power of the new king through his awkward unfolding. However, the plausibility of the king essentially announcing and discussing his own corruption is shakey.
Plausibility and verisimilitude as immutable pillars of cinematic fabrication are constructs of American cinema (the American typhlodrama) post-1950 in my opinion, and so the unrelenting requirement of a plausible, sinless, logically cogent, plot-hole-less narrative is a demand of audiences accustomed to Hollywood convention. Alas, the ques and conventions that make the banquet scene acceptable come from the theatre, they are not cinematic constructs. Theatre owns the soliloquy and conversational bubble. Cinema does not. All attempts to integrate this into the body of cinematic language, in my view, died down after the 50s with the intensified development of self-referentialism, the fourth wall break and spatial incontinuity. A Godard or Von Trier film, as an example, is eager to present the cinematic equivalent of a soliloquy with their V.O'ed self-reflexivity and fourth wall breaks. Films that use expressionism and/or surrealism to mutate the cinematic space into a psychological space (think of the opening of Apocalypse Now, any dream sequence you like, or something such as Lynch's Eraserhead) break the rules of reality's space and time, but do so to contain us in a conventionalised space in which we interact, personally, with a character, theme or event. Slow motion, freeze frames and other such devices that break the rules of spacetime are examples of how cinema introduces the personal and psychological into its spatial confines. We see not this in the banquet scene of Macbeth.
There is no cut, there is no camera, there is no space in theatre: there is a stage. And so personal bubbles must be impressed onto the setting by the audience; we must accept that certain characters just can't hear certain things at certain moments, or that a character is abstracted from the physical space for a soliloquy or a fourth wall break. This is what occurs in the banquet scene; the conventions and language displayed are entirely theatrical, they are not cinematic. And so I do not believe that the scene works; it should have been made cinematic with surrealism, expressionism, maybe a freeze frames (tableau vivant) or spatial incontinuity--something un-anti-cinematic. Indeed, the scene didn't have to use these devices - no film is required to do anything. What I mean to to suggest here is that the appropriation of theatrical conventions are one of the ways in which Macbeth shows that its theatrical elements are only apart of its failings: the scene doesn't work, in my opinion, because it is not cinematic - or rather, because it is too theatrical.
The soliloquies and extended dialogue sequences that work better than this, as alluded to, are the ones that involve an overlain montage of sorts that appears to align the film with the cine poems of filmmakers such as Chris Marker. One such example is linked to the continual return to visions of the young solider that dies in Macbeth's arms at the beginning of the film. These images juxtapose the prosaic speech of, say, Macbeth in the cine poem fashion as to emphasise his trauma and the theme of sacrifice that subtly runs through the narrative. Why, we could ask, is Macbeth's fate presented to him after his glory in battle? It appears that it is because he makes a valiant sacrifice. This is certainly what the film presents us with as we watch bodies crash and devastation wisp around Macbeth in its violent way throughout the battle sequence. It is this courageous sacrifice that is undermined by Macbeth's villainous pursuit of the throne with his wife. The continual references to the sacrifice that Macbeth endured during the battle via the dead boy solider remind us of this as he speaks of his present anguish. This expression is cinematic; montage of this sort belongs to cinema, it is not possible in theatre. It not only elevates the film, but highlights the fact that the cinematic elements of the narrative are the only truly functional ones.
Like Kurosawa's Throne of Blood (which I have not seen recently enough to make apt comment on), Kurzel's Macbeth, as a cinematic document, benefits most from the camera's ability to explore large, enclosed, three dimensional sets and real landscapes. This level of verisimilitude is unthinkable in the theatre. Little must be said about this as its effects are so abundantly clear, but the situation of the drama upon real Scottish landscapes (as well as many English landscapes) provides the film a tact and realistic bite that transports one through the linguistic barriers.
And with language mentioned, we must now stop to make a note. My strongest reservations concerning Macbeth emerge from the fact that I found the film somewhat impenetrable due to the use of 'Shakespearean language'. Indeed, much of the dialogue is lifted directly from the theatrical transcripts, and I simply can't say I follow it very well. I can then comfortably admit that I might be able to understand some Spanish-language films as well as I did Macbeth (y mi español es horrible). I only followed this film so closely because, many years ago in school, I read the play and so could remember most of the plot beats and meanings of the big soliloquies. This theatrical convention of language is just yet another thing I do not find very welcome in the cinematic space. Cheap as it is, subtitles are a profoundly valuable construct of cinema.
To take a step back, however, let us talk about one of the most evident expressions of cinema's ability to be present. As said, the use of sets and real locations in cinema allow us to be in a space of greater versimilitude. But, what does this mean? Most simply, we get to be and feel where things are happening. There is no better exemplar of this than the opening; we actually get to see the battle that catalyses everything that unfolds in Shakespeare's narrative. The original play, of course, opens with sequences surrounding the witches and then Banquo and Macbeth (among others) talking about the battle. Theatre cannot be present at the battle, and so it isn't. As we see in Kurzel's Macbeth, being present during the battle has a huge effect on the narrative as imagery from the battle is carried forward from the sequence, and, furthermore, we perceive Macbeth in an entirely new light. Of all the images I have seen of Macbeth, none are more formidable than Fassbender's. This looks like a man who has gone to war--in fact, we have seen him go to war, so there is no need for speculation at all. It is cinema's ability to be present--narratively as well as spatially--that provides just this and that furthermore allows us to step into his psyche. The effect is purely cinematic.
There is no wonder that so many theorists talk of cinema with rather vulgar language pertaining to voyeurism and scopophilia. Cinema's very existence is predicated, in large part - and especially as the contemporary era expresses with CGI and a developed language - upon the fact that it can go where the eye wishes it could. One of the more questionable results of this are pornographic conventions that make spectacle and sensation out of this disembodied eye that locks away what visions it steals. Alas, the most profound expressions of narrative also emerge from this eye, from cinema's presentness. With cinema, we can see reality, can go where life happens as opposed to bring life before a camera, and we can push the camera into realities of impression, expression and the surreal as to be present in a mind, in an emotion, in a happening in a far more tactile and tangible manner than any other art form. Macbeth, ever so slightly, betrays cinema in this respect by even attempting to adapt a theatrical production. But, let us not admonish it on these grounds alone. Macbeth fails as it does not break away from cinematic convention successfully and fails also in appropriating theatrical convention. But, with that said, I turn all over to you. What are your thoughts on Macbeth and all we've discussed today?
Previous post:
Await Further Instructions - The Evil Spirits In The Television
Next post:
Why There So Many Superhero Origin Stories
More from me:
amazon.com/author/danielslack
