Noh Doubt: Throne of Blood is Genius

When most people think of classical theater that transcends time, they tend to picture the work of William Shakespeare. While the Bard’s work has proved itself against the test of time, one theater style predates it and is still thriving. Noh is a traditional form of Japanese theater originating in the 14th century that is often based on tales of legend and utilizes masks, song, and precise dance-like movements. Akira Kurosawa applies traditional Noh techniques to turn “the Scottish play” into a film honoring the revered Japanese art form in his adaptation of Macbeth, Throne of Blood.

Kurosawa immediately establishes the tone for his adaptation with a somber Gregorian-chant-like chorus as the frame fills with heavy mist. Like the prologue in Romeo and Juliet, the song tells the audience what is going to happen. The music lends to Noh theater and the fog adds to the sense of mysticism and uncertainty surrounding the plot. Kurosawa, in honoring Noh tradition, did not use superfluous props or special effects. For example, the mist shown on screen is natural fog on Mount Fuji where the film was shot. Kurosawa would wait for the perfect, natural conditions and then begin to film.

Figure 1 Mount Fuji fog

The cinematography showcases some of the best uses of tracking shots in modern film. In an early scene, General Washizu (Toshiro Mifune), the Macbeth of the film, and Miki Yoshiaki (Minoru Chiaki), the film’s Banquo, ride through fog to the Lord Tsuzuki’s fortress. The camera tracks the pair as they ride aimlessly lost through the fog. Cuts are seamlessly added, giving viewers the same sense of disorientation the characters are experiencing.

One of the most visually and metaphorically striking scenes is when Kurosawa introduces the witch/spirit. Washizu and Miki stumble across the spirit in the forest. She, like the Greek Fates, is spinning thread as she sings about man’s mortality. Like the witches in Macbeth, she tells the men a prophesy detailing their future successes including that Miki’s son will rise to Lord after Washizu. The camera cuts to a medium shot behind the spirit, showing her bisecting Washizu and Miki signifying this prophesy has already begun to cause a rift between them. The spirit’s hut is built from bamboo bars resembling a cage which, after she departs, Washizu and Miki enter becoming prisoners to their prophesies, prisoners to their fates.

Figure 2 Spirit separates Washizu and Miki

Mifune’s performance of Washizu celebrates Noh theater subtly by maintaining a mask-like, yet exceptionally dynamic, face. His shining moment, ironically, is at Washizu’s end. His terror is chilling as he faces the consequences of his actions and is repeatedly shot at, which is another remarkable technique by Kurosawa honoring Noh tradition. The arrows used were actual arrows, but with rounded tips. Mifune’s flailing arms add to the sense of hopelessness and horror, but also serve the purpose of alerting the archers of where he was going to go next to avoid potential injury.

Figure 3 Washizu's end

Arguably even better than her on-screen husband, the performance of Asaji, the film’s Lady Macbeth, by Isuzu Yamada is transcendent. She, more than any other character, represents the bridge between modern film and traditional Noh theater. Her makeup is reminiscent of a Noh mask, the two marks on her forehead indicative of scars from ripped off horns (like a demon), and every move she makes is precise and intentional. Even her lack of movement makes a statement. In the conversation between Washizu and Asaji about their plot, Washizu paces around the room highlighting his uncertainty, she is like the devil on his shoulder encouraging him to kill Lord Tsuzuki. Asaji is like a statue. She is unmoving, uncompromising in her position. It is her concrete resoluteness that adds to her scary demonic disposition.

Figure 4 Asaji

Kurosawa does not include text from Macbeth, but the essence of some of the monologues can still be sensed in Throne of Blood. For example, Lady Macbeth’s “unsex me” soliloquy, as well as her constant belittlement of Macbeth and his masculinity, can be read as her disdain for the female sex and her desire to be more masculine. Kurosawa shows this with Asaji removing the spear, a phallic weapon, Washizu uses to kill the Lord from his hands. This symbolic emasculation is furthered by Asaji’s continuous control over her husband. It is her words that drove him to kill the Lord, and her manipulation over him by claiming pregnancy that leads him to kill Miki.

Kurosawa is undoubtably one of the most important filmmakers of the 20th century. In his autobiography Kurosawa says, “There is nothing that says more about its creator than the work itself” (189). His work speaks loudly. His merging of Shakespeare’s writing and Japanese culture results in beautiful and intriguing adaptations. Like the Bard, his work will transcend time.