Numerous seminal filmmakers have tried their hand at revisionist cinematic takes on William Shakespeare’s work, just as the plays are regularly reimagined for the stage. William Oldroyd’s directorial debut “Lady Macbeth,” receiving its World Premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival in the cadre of the juried Platform selection, is an adaptation on two fronts. Not directly a recast version of the Bard’s tale of revenge “Macbeth” — a faithful version of which was brought to the silver screen last year by Justin Kurzel — but more immediately after Nikolai Leskov’s novel, “Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District.” Oldroyd’s film, with actress Florence Pugh as its centerpiece, provides a darkly humorous investigation into the Lady Macbeth archetype, though ultimately fails to sustain the initial nuance of its premise.
Displacing Leskov’s novel, “Lady Macbeth” is set in Victorian England and opens with the wedding ceremony between Katherine (Pugh) and Alexander Lester (Paul Hilton). As the protagonist settles into her routine as lady of the house, it does not take long to discover that the union is loveless and the husband is unable to fill Katherine’s sexual desires (and therefore produce a child). When Mr. Lester leaves the estate on business, his wife finds another source of pleasure — namely, the stable hand Sebastian (Cosmo Jarvis), with whom she pursues an affair indifferent to its social consequences. Filling out the household is Mr. Lester, Sr. (Christopher Fairbank) and Katherine’s handmaiden Anna (Naomie Ackie). As with, say, Andrea Arnold‘s “Wuthering Heights,” this isn’t a period drama with an all-white cast thanks to Ackie and others, clearly a very deliberate move that deepens the film’s contemporary resonances.
From this scenario, it should be clear that “Lady Macbeth,” in keeping with its direct source material, is a reversal and update of the gender dynamic of “Macbeth.” The Lady Macbeth figure is brought into the foreground and, more crucially, doesn’t crumble when the blood starts to flow. In its bones, the film is cognizant of how female characters often serve as plot devices. Even though many actresses of renown have given their take on “Out, damned spot!”, all of them are despatched — oftentimes offscreen — before Macbeth reassumes center stage and is served his just desserts.
Moreover, the character as written by Shakespeare is doomed to be overly psychologized. Using Kurzel’s film as but one example, the modifications in that version only further cement a link between madness and femininity. The objective of “Lady Macbeth” (written here by playwright Alice Birch) then seems to be to break this cycle. This milieu also allows for the handsomely photographed landscape shots one comes to expect of a British period production. The film’s visual triumph is all the more impressive for the fact that Australian cinematographer Ari Wegner has no significant credits to her name, at least any that carry festival cachet. Wegner’s interiors are equally accomplished, often captured in long-take tableaux,with Katherine’s blue dress contrasting against the drab and sterile rooms of the Lester estate.
Perhaps the most appealing shift from other variations on the source material is the motivation for Katherine’s actions — regicide is, of course, not the most relatable of criminal impulses. Rather than committing murder to slake her thirst for power, the protagonist is compelled by her personal pleasure and to enact her own agency. This yearning initially manifests in Katherine’s anachronistic sense of humor, far more telling of contemporary gender politics than any historical reference. The film’s winking irony is furthered through its editing — particularly in the second act — by abruptly cutting between the lovers’ tryst and Katherine in her daily routine, a telling expression on her face. In perhaps her most triumphant line, she later dictates her progressive terms to Sebastian, quipping: “It’s husbands and wives that kiss like that.”
In its second half, “Lady Macbeth” begins to unravel as narrative beats start to more closely approximate its Shakespearean analogue. Murder begets more murder, even when the behavior is less rational (and more gruesome); likewise, Sebastian takes on the female psychology of “Macbeth,” becoming more unstable with each deed just as Katherine only becomes more certain on the lifestyle she wishes to pursue and who will inhabit her daily life. There is a growing frustration in how these more radical actions — a relatively spoiler-free example is the one-take killing of a horse, and later shots of its rotting corpse — and the revulsion that they inspire in the audience complicate the initial rehabilitation of the well-trodden Lady Macbeth figure.
It is not up for dispute that the film is a technical accomplishment; director William Oldroyd employs a measured cinematic pace for the narrative’s unfolding, while the film’s visual strategy is more akin to painting (and, by consequence, trends in arthouse cinema) than theater. The presence of a female director of photography and screenwriter, alongside Pugh’s performance, lends a degree of credibility to the production. However, underneath the dark humor and holistic mise en scène, there remains the nagging suspicion that what is onscreen is — in spite of the film’s best intentions — another patriarchal interpretation of Lady Macbeth. As the spectators filed out of the cinema, one woman could be heard saying of Katherine, “She’s psycho.” If this is the consensus of the audience, then Oldroyd has in some measure failed in his updated take on Shakespeare and Leskov’s antiheroine. [C+]
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— BFI (@BFI) September 10, 2016
