This production of the old warhorse was brought to you courtesy of Republic Pictures, home of early John Wayne Westerns, and run by the tyrannical skinflint and notorious cheat, Herbert J. Yates. Also home to the unforgettable Vera Hruba Ralston, Yates' main squeeze, then his wife. Yates promised Welles $700K to make this film, then cut the budget. Welles, intent on showing that he could be bloody, bold, and resolute, cut even more corners and managed to bring the film in on time and on budget.
I'd heard so many bad things about this movie -- furry images, unintelligible dialog -- that I was almost afraid to watch it. But it's not nearly as bad as I'd expected.
The story: Led on by the predictions of three sinister sisters met in the woods, MacBeth and his wife murder the king of Scotland back in the Dark Ages, then the guy next in line, then the family of the guy next in line, then -- then I think I always get lost. I had to memorize long lines from it in high school and enjoy reading it now, especially because it is, I think, Shakespeare's shortest play. But some of the plot threads always slip by me. I can't tell, for instance, whether MacBeth gets his head chopped off on stage or off stage. Anyway, after several brutal murders, MacBeth and his wife wind up dead, and the proper heir takes the throne.
Welles is MacBeth, Dan O'Herlihy is Leon MacDuff, and Roddy McDowall is Malcom. John Dierkes is present in a less important role. You will probably recognize his face. It was ubiquitous in the 1950s. You might recognize the voice too, although it belongs not to Dierkes but to Orson Welles. I guess that's one of the ways Welles cut corners. Instead of calling for more takes or, worse yet, recalling the cast for pick up shots, he simply dubbed some of the voices himself.
Despite the clear image and crisp sound on the print used by Turner Movie Classics, I did have some trouble with the lines. Shakespeare himself is tough enough, what with his obsolescent lexicon, his idiosyncratic usages ("her beauty beggars all description," wow, in which he turns a noun into a verb), and Shakespeare's own historical position, poised between Middle and Modern English (eg., "yclept"; Well, that's Old English, but you get the picture), he imposes a Scottish burr on the character's lines. Some of the actors pull it off better than others. Welles doesn't do too badly with the accent but it sometimes does take effort to interpret it. "Hour" comes out the way that "whore" is pronounced in Newark, New Jersey -- "hoor." The musical score, which is not overdone, sounds like it's reaching for Prokoviev but not the melodious dissonance of, say, Alexander Nevsky, but something more accessible -- Peter and the Wolf. In any case, the score uses some strange themes, including a pompous, almost comic march led by a tuba. I was surprised to find it was written by Jacques Ibert, a memorable composer in his own right.
The photography is -- well, to be honest, I have to agree with some of the people who found fault with the movie. It's really dark, and artily so. It's like Eisenstein on mushrooms. Most of the story takes place at night, as if to mask the cheap sets. And half the time, it seems, characters are shot in silhouette or back lighted. In one shot, the camera looks down at MacBeth's lone figure and his shadow stretches before him by a quarter of a mile. Some of the decisions regarding make up seem hasty too. The men's faces are always beaded with sweat, though sometimes they are dressed in furs. (Other times they go around shirtless.) The sinister sisters are reduced to an invisible squawk that's hard to understand, and their pronouncements are important to the plot too -- Birnham Wood coming to Dunsinane and all that. Jeanette Nolan as Lady MacBeth is a bit theatrical and scratchy for my taste, maybe because she reminds me of somebody else I know.
But, as I say, this is not even close to the chintzy failure I'd expected. The play itself, its marvelous dialog, scenes of violence, and gripping portrait of ambition and guilt, is strong enough to carry the entire film, even without the sometimes splendid performances. Dan O'Herlihy is memorable. And Alan Napier (Alfred in the Batman series) as an invented figure seems born to do Shakespeare.
I'd heard so many bad things about this movie -- furry images, unintelligible dialog -- that I was almost afraid to watch it. But it's not nearly as bad as I'd expected.
The story: Led on by the predictions of three sinister sisters met in the woods, MacBeth and his wife murder the king of Scotland back in the Dark Ages, then the guy next in line, then the family of the guy next in line, then -- then I think I always get lost. I had to memorize long lines from it in high school and enjoy reading it now, especially because it is, I think, Shakespeare's shortest play. But some of the plot threads always slip by me. I can't tell, for instance, whether MacBeth gets his head chopped off on stage or off stage. Anyway, after several brutal murders, MacBeth and his wife wind up dead, and the proper heir takes the throne.
Welles is MacBeth, Dan O'Herlihy is Leon MacDuff, and Roddy McDowall is Malcom. John Dierkes is present in a less important role. You will probably recognize his face. It was ubiquitous in the 1950s. You might recognize the voice too, although it belongs not to Dierkes but to Orson Welles. I guess that's one of the ways Welles cut corners. Instead of calling for more takes or, worse yet, recalling the cast for pick up shots, he simply dubbed some of the voices himself.
Despite the clear image and crisp sound on the print used by Turner Movie Classics, I did have some trouble with the lines. Shakespeare himself is tough enough, what with his obsolescent lexicon, his idiosyncratic usages ("her beauty beggars all description," wow, in which he turns a noun into a verb), and Shakespeare's own historical position, poised between Middle and Modern English (eg., "yclept"; Well, that's Old English, but you get the picture), he imposes a Scottish burr on the character's lines. Some of the actors pull it off better than others. Welles doesn't do too badly with the accent but it sometimes does take effort to interpret it. "Hour" comes out the way that "whore" is pronounced in Newark, New Jersey -- "hoor." The musical score, which is not overdone, sounds like it's reaching for Prokoviev but not the melodious dissonance of, say, Alexander Nevsky, but something more accessible -- Peter and the Wolf. In any case, the score uses some strange themes, including a pompous, almost comic march led by a tuba. I was surprised to find it was written by Jacques Ibert, a memorable composer in his own right.
The photography is -- well, to be honest, I have to agree with some of the people who found fault with the movie. It's really dark, and artily so. It's like Eisenstein on mushrooms. Most of the story takes place at night, as if to mask the cheap sets. And half the time, it seems, characters are shot in silhouette or back lighted. In one shot, the camera looks down at MacBeth's lone figure and his shadow stretches before him by a quarter of a mile. Some of the decisions regarding make up seem hasty too. The men's faces are always beaded with sweat, though sometimes they are dressed in furs. (Other times they go around shirtless.) The sinister sisters are reduced to an invisible squawk that's hard to understand, and their pronouncements are important to the plot too -- Birnham Wood coming to Dunsinane and all that. Jeanette Nolan as Lady MacBeth is a bit theatrical and scratchy for my taste, maybe because she reminds me of somebody else I know.
But, as I say, this is not even close to the chintzy failure I'd expected. The play itself, its marvelous dialog, scenes of violence, and gripping portrait of ambition and guilt, is strong enough to carry the entire film, even without the sometimes splendid performances. Dan O'Herlihy is memorable. And Alan Napier (Alfred in the Batman series) as an invented figure seems born to do Shakespeare.