Game Of Crowns.
113 Minutes. Starring: Michael Fassbender, Marion Cotillard, Sean Harris, Elizabeth Debicki, Jack Reynor, Paddy Considine & David Thewlis. Director: Justin Kurzel.
Winter cometh. And thou should feast their gaze on this tale of sorrow, desperation, ambition, greed, power and that what corrupts absolute from the quill of William Shakespeare. Retold from the bards scroll by 'Snowdon's' Justin Kurzel in the highlands of a snow bound Scotland that doesn't forgive, all senses will be lent to a masterpiece remade with magnificent mesmerisation. Ears, eyes, the feel of something as visceral as it is visual. Thou can almost smell the stank soil of the filthy air and taste the brutal betrayal. Sword and crown. Throne and thorn. This doth taketh 'Macbeth' through boiling toil and trouble that bubbles like a cauldron that repeats. Brimstone burnt to the blood red, epic end.
All hail Fassbender! All hail Fassbender!
That which will be king? And have his crown? Academy or Oscar. Bard or Bafta. A man with mettle who moveth such like Magneto. Inglorious. A bastared slave master for a dozen dark years. The apple of the future fruits eye. But here lies a much worse man and all the betterment for it with the creed of an assassin. Blood red, brave hearted war paint dripping to his hands that carry such shame. Every emotion sunketh deep from under the skin, to a dagger you see before you straight to the soul. Blood streaming like tears, perspiring on the battlefield. Like the war waged in this warriors heart. A kings crown on a head full of the thorns of a scorpion sting. Deception, treason, evil. Murder. On this world stage doth this lead player maketh a killing. And that of a legend. That is he. Cursed all that stand in his way.
All hail Macbeth! All hail 'Macbeth'!
And then there is she. The lady. The maid Marion. French Cotillard. Understated as which she is unmistakable. Beauty covering the ugly truth that lies beneath this act. Behind every good man is a woman and with a dagger behind every bad one, one that manipulates. Yet mesmerizes. Closeth to the blades edge. Yet still with the hope of the light of a new day. In all this darkness, she still lights up the stage with all the players. The friend or foe of Paddy Considine. A revenge ravaged Sean Harris and his lady of elegance and decadence Elizabeth Debicki. Uncivil blood running unclean for this Romeo & Juliet from the palm of Macbeths blade. Like the last true king of Scotland, David Thewlis and the rightful heir Jack Reynor. The stage is set to a chilling curtain climax, draped in darkness.
All hail Macbeth!
And therin lies the rub. Something wicked this way comes and if I doth protest too much its a feast for the sense. With blood-curdling battles that scream with a thing more original than sin as our players address the audience as direct as the day they first set foot on the stage. Their souls piercing our very eyes. Striking your heart like the iron blood of a drawn sword. Cumberbatch's 'Hamlet' has met its match in this winter of no more discontent. Be satisfied. The royalty of this Shakespearian company requires a production of this tale alive to the globes stage, because only one man has told it better. Yet here lies the will to take this all further. To be heard forever more. 'Macbeth' will never be undone. Hail! Hail! Hail! TIM DAVID HARVEY.
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