Akira Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood is a graphic retelling of Shakespeare’s Macbeth as told in feudal Japan. Although the film does not carry with it any of Shakespeare’s original words, the poetry is made up by the images, the atmosphere, the stillness, and the dreadful silence it evokes. In this way, Kurosawa has made perhaps the definitive Shakespeare film by illustrating his words through film, rather than dialogue.
Throne of Blood takes you in like a waking dream, as we are whisked away into a cloud of fog. In the distance lies Spider Web Castle (The subtitle of the film), the location where much of the drama will lie. But the castle is also a symbol, one of power, ambition, and entitlement, and ultimately downfall for our main character the Macbeth incarnate Washizu Taketoki (Toshiro Mifune). Washizu is a heroic warrior, who along with his loyal friend Miki (Akira Kubo) are returning from a successful battle when suddenly they get lost in the woods.
They happen upon a white spector of an evil spirit who prophesizes to them both that their success will lead to a promotion, and in Washizu’s case, he will soon become the new Lord of Spider Web Castle, while Miki’s son will succeed him some day. When the two return home, they are indeed promoted, which leads Washizu to believe everything else the spirit told him would come true.
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At home, he tells his wife Asaji (Isuzu Yamada) about the prophecy leading her to become a co-conspirator. A cunning and vindictive woman, Asaji subtley plants the idea of murdering the Lord into Washizu’s head which will fulfill his destiny of becoming the new leader. Once he does the deed, death and murder continue, as he plans to not allow Miki’s offspring to succeed him on the throne. As he continues his climb to power, Washizu’s growing ego clouds his judgement as we see in his downfall which includes a magnificent climax of deadly arrows piercing every orifice of his body.
Throne of Blood gives us wonderful touches of theatricality to the proceedings, and it helps that the story of Macbeth lends itself to this. There are instances of melodrama, murder, and the supernatural perveying all above the surface, which meld perfectly into the film. Kurosawa doesn’t mince on giving the story a cinematic flare, he’s mostly concerned with film poetics rather than words. In the scene where we first meet Asaji, she is quiet, and calculating. We see in her face the wheels turning, plotting, and conspiring to help her husband.
There have been many Lady Macbeth’s portrayed on film, but what Yamada does is often more restrained and quiet than ones I’ve seen in the past. Kurosawa represents her power through carefully delicate motions. Even her kimono is a character unto itself, shaped almost like a cobra, while her feet underneath are given a very distinct soft sound of shuffling, as if she’s slithering. There is a shot where she exits into complete darkness, only the enter the frame again carrying a bottle of poisoned sake for the Lord’s guards. It’s almost as if she has entered into a black realm where she has left her morals and purity behind.
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For his role, Mifune is unhinged, with his specific form of acting working well against the heightened reality. His Washizu plays in contrast with the wife in the way, you never fully feel he is fully in control. Mifune’s gestures and facial expressions suggest a character lacking any great judgement or stoicism. What he does reflect is a fierce, animal who at times can be brave, arrogant, but also incredibly frightened. Mifune’s boisterous performance suggests a Macbeth character who is single minded in his persuits, a raving dictator, and mad man.
As far as images go, we know full well that we are in the hands of a master of mood, composition, and movement. Kurosawa is responsible for some of the greatest battle scenes and epics in film history, and this film is among his greatest accomplishments. As he has proven in films like Seven Samurai, and his other Shakespeare adaption Ran (a take on King Lear), Kurosawa creates wonderful pictorals of soldiers, and warriors in dynamic designs. His movements of each actor and extra is extraordinarily executed and planned out.
There are shots of soliders from a distance moving in unison, you wonder at the pure draft of blocking out such moments. Yet the most powerful are the more intimate scenes, which carry their own spectacle on their own.
One such moment happens in a scene where Washizu sees the spectral body of his now murdered friend Miki. The camera motions around the room as we see many people sitting squared by Washizu and Asaji while it lingers on two spots which are reserved for Miki and his son who are absent. The camera then pushes in to Mifune’s face and all we see is his reaction. As the camera pulls back, we see the eerie ghostly presence of Miki. This is a subtle movement, only slightly drawing attention to itself.
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In the original Shakespeare scene, there is much dialogue, however Kurosawa chooses silence. There isn’t even any music, and we are meant to wonder what will happen. It’s almost as if Kurosawa is having fun with his audience since most people aware of the original text would know what’s coming. It’s the reveal that is the real magic trick which leaves you caught off guard.
The finale is also another flourishing cinematic moment where we see Washizu’s demise. In another spin on the original story, his death comes not in a sword fight, but rather in an array of arrows as he is betrayed by his own men. The camera placement, along with Mifune’s performance make for a harrowing ending to a tyrant’s life. It’s a visceral, and graphic depiction that is as unrelenting as the arrows piercing Mifune’s body.
Throne of Blood is a film of pure cinema, which I believe was Kurosawa’s intent when he decided to make the film. There have been many Shakespeare adaptions done before and after this one, yet this feels unique in that it doesn’t feel beholden to the language. The story is still there, along with the themes, and the tragedy, but it’s also its own thing entirely.
What Shakespeare did with words, Kurosawa was able to adapt as a visual reference. I am in awe of his technique, and it’s no wonder he is still considered a master even today.
