Throne of Blood: Noh inspirations in Akira Kurosawa’s Macbeth

Christina Goefron

Honors Shakespeare ­ LIT 221­001H

Professor Geoffrey Sadock

12 May 2015

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Throne of Blood is Japanese auteur Akira Kurosawa’s 1957 film based on Macbeth, and

one of few Shakespearean adaptations that is considered a masterpiece in its own right (Wells

234). Kurosawa’s unique reading of Shakespeare, which he transposed with influences of

Japanese language and the art of traditional Noh theater, reflect his broad understanding of

Western and Eastern culture and where the two converge. By weaving elements of the two, he

produced something both instantly recognizable and intrinsically foreign to theater connoisseurs

from both cultures, and thus highlights the universality of Macbeth’s themes and the cinematic

language as a whole.

Much of the film is a direct translation of the events inMacbeth, with few variations from

Shakespeare’s text; most notable is Kurosawa’s addition of Asaji’s (Lady Macbeth) pregnancy

and subsequent miscarriage. The director claimed not to have seen another adapted version until

well after making Throne of Blood, and so no other translations directly affected his version

(Cardullo 15). Along with relocating the drama into that of Japanese culture, Kurosawa also

replaces the celebrated Shakespearean language with his own stylistic film techniques. The

setting of his film is that of Sengoku Japan, a period known for constant civil military conflict

among political and social upheaval. This era is well represented in Japanese art and literature,

and specifically within the film genre of period epics, calledjidai­geki,of whichThrone of Blood

is one of many. Kurosawa felt that this setting spoke to the prevalence of events such as those

depicted in Macbeth, which reflected the bloody and feudal 11th century Scotland. When

interviewed, he said, “In this film I adapted Shakespeare’sMacbeth because, during the period of

civil wars in Japan, there are plenty of incidents like those portrayed inMacbeth. They are called

ge­koku­jo. Therefore, the story ofMacbeth appealed very much to me, and it was easy for me to

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adapt” (Cardullo 64). Gekokujō refers to the act of overthrowing one’s lord or superior with

violence, and is a term synonymous with the Sengoku period in Japanese (Cardullo 64). Film

writer Donald Richie points out how these themes extend beyond mere historical reference;

“Kurosawa saw in Macbeth a contemporary issue ­ a parallel between medieval Japan and

medieval Scotland which illuminated contemporary society; and further, a pattern which is valid

in both historical and contemporary contexts” (Cardullo 39). The contemporary context which

both Kurosawa and Richie found relatable was that of post World War II Japan, in which outside

bodies had direct authority over many aspects of daily life. This extended to the content which

Kurosawa and other Japanese filmmakers could include in their work, first by the Japanese

government during the war, and after by the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers (SCAP)

(McDonald 71). Thus, the concept of agency and free will can be said to have had a tangible

effect on the formulation and production of the film.

Kurosawa goes further, in his own words describing how the humanistic themes of

Macbeth speak to his entire oeuvre; “The images of men who lived through an age when the

weak became a prey for the strong are highly concentrated. Human beings are described with

great intensity. In this sense, I think there is something in Macbeth which is common to all other

works of mine” (Cardullo 64). This affinity for and comprehension of the themes of Shakespeare

explains why Kurosawa returned to the Bard’s texts numerous times in his career, and with

lauded reaction. Like Throne of Blood is to Macbeth, his later film Ran (1985) is a similar

exploration of King Lear in the jidai­geki genre. The Bad Sleep Well (1960) is not jidai­geki,

instead taking place in postwar urban Japan, but it is loosely based on Hamlet. Kurosawa even

includes an enacted play, in this case a piece of Noh drama, within Throne of Blood, just as

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Shakespeare does in Hamlet. Taking place at the beginning of the banquet scene and prefacing

the appearance of Miki’s (Banquo) ghost, it is a nod to theater’s mimetic nature and

self­awareness.

Erin Suzuki believes this insertion of a metafictive device highlights the Macbeth

struggle between destiny and free­will. “Like Claudius confronted with the Mousetrap play in

Hamlet, Washizu demands at this point that the performance be halted: however, he appears to

act not out of a sense of guilt or fear of being discovered but as if he no longer wants to watch his

own fate played out before him.” Suzuki finds this theme further illustrated by Kurosawa’s usage

of camera technique and composition. The contrasting of highly still and artificially composed

scenes (like several of those between Washizu and Asaji, taking place behind closed doors)

versus frenetic, realistic sequences (as many of the beginning scenes where Washizu appears

with Miki outdoors, and Asaji is yet to be introduced) reflects Washizu’s internal conflict over

his power as a free agent against his own darker ambitions, which pull him into a doomed cycle

of aggression and retaliation (Suzuki 101).

The role of Duncan, King of Scots, goes to the feudal Lord Tsuzuki inThrone of Blood.

As in the book, his two top generals are those of Washizu (Macbeth) and Miki (Banquo), capable

and respected samurai retainers. Washizu’s standard is that of the centipede, and reminds us of

Macbeth’s line in Act III, sc. ii; “O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!” In contrast, Miki’s

standard is that of a rabbit. The rabbit is often connected with the moon in Chinese and Japanese

folklore, due to the lunar shape known as the “rabbit in the moon.” One of the traditional

meanings for the rabbit is that of rebirth and new beginnings, something significant to the death

of Banquo in the original text and the continuation of his line via Fleance.

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The film heavily uses images of dense fog, and in the opening presents it to us over the

ruins of a castle. A chorus provides haunting exposition, in which they speak of a “proud

warrior” whose spirit lingers, and warn:

Behold within this mighty place,

Now desolate,

Stood a mighty fortress,

Lived a proud warrior

Murdered by ambition.

His spirit walking still….

Vain pride, then as now,

Will lead ambition to the kill.

This type of chorus is a function of Noh drama, and much like the chorus of Classical

Greek theater, it serves as omniscient narrator to the unfolding events. Kurosawa uses this chorus

in both the opening and closing of the film, reminding the spectator of both the cyclical nature of

ambition and failure, power and ruin, and to the physical confines of the medium.

Drawing the viewer’s attention to the boundaries and artificiality of an object is an

important concept in traditional Japanese art. This is especially relevant to Noh theater and its

use of masks, which are essential in the performances of all major characters. These characters

are less defined by their actions and individual characteristics as they are by their masks; masks

thus transcend the boundaries of a single drama and are used in many plays where the established

archetype may be appropriate. In Throne of Blood, Kurosawa paid special attention to the

function of Noh masks and was candid of how they influenced the film:

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Drama in the West takes its character from the psychology of men or circumstances; the Noh is different. First of all, the Noh has the mask, and while staring at it, the actor becomes the man whom the mask represents. The performance also has a defined style, and in devoting himself to it faithfully, the actor becomes possessed. Therefore, I showed each of the players a photograph of the mask of the Noh which came closest to the respective role; I told him that the mask was his own part. To Toshiro Mifune, who played the part of Taketoki Washizu (Macbeth), I showed the mask named Heida. This was the mask of a warrior. In the scene in which Mifune is persuaded by his wife to kill his lord, he created for me just the same life­like expression as the mask did. To Isuzu Yamada, who acted the role of Asaji (Lady Macbeth), I showed the mask named Shakumi. This was the mask of a beauty no longer young, and represented the image of a woman about to go mad … This mask represents the state of an unearthly feeling of tension and Lady Macbeth assumes the same state … The witch in the wood was represented by the mask named Yamanba. (Cardullo 65)

Asaji also displays the most Noh physicality; her way of walking in slow, measured steps

is inherent of Noh dance. She also alternates movement with Washizu; this is another convention

of Noh dance, in which only one principal actor, or shite, moves at a time. This relationship

between Washizu and Asaji, performed in their “dance,” is a standard of Noh which reveals that

Asaji acts as merely a physical extension, orshite­zure, of Washizu’s being; she reflects the dark

side of his consciousness, and while he himself moves about the room in contemplation or

disbelief, it is Asaji as his “inner demon” who counters his hesitance to kill his lord (McDonald

133­137). In Shakespeare’s text, Lady Macbeth plays this same role in a much more humanistic

way; she chooses to invoke the darkness and steadfastness which she then displays to her

husband. In Kurosawa’s version, heavily influenced by Noh sensibilities, any hint of humanism

is already hidden behind her mask. She serves as an unyielding influence for Washizu toward his

darker leanings, and this one­dimensionality helps to further establish her as an extension of the

worst aspects of himself.

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A Shakumi mask by artist Nagasawa Ujiharu

Despite this simplification of the Lady Macbeth role, Kurosawa leaves much to the

audience to speculate about in regards to her character. While seemingly tempting Washizu

against his better judgement, Asaji’s warnings of betrayal by both the Lord and Miki are never

disproven; only her revelation about Tsuzuki’s similar act of betrayal hints at the chance that her

assumptions are correct (Wells 246). Washizu, while displaying moments of hesitance, still

performs one violent deed after another, proving that despite their contrasting reactions, the

husband and wife are still inextricably intertwined in both choice and fate.

The scene of Washizu and Asaji before the act ofgekokujō is possibly the most iconic of

the film, and rich with Noh symbolism and cinematic language. Asaji places Washizu on the

lord’s dais and leaves him there in silence as she prepares the act, literally placing him upon a

stage in which he can imagine an elevated stature. In a following shot, Washizu’s servants come

to the closed screen door and inform the couple that a blood­stained room is ready to be slept in ­

an essential part of Asaji’s plan to assassinate Lord Tsuzuki. From here we view only Washizu’s

motionless back as Asaji turns, speaking to both Washizu and the obscured servants, and informs

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them that she will offer Tsuzuki’s guards the (drugged) wine. Washizu, like us, is merely a

spectator at this point, as Asaji takes control of the situation and their fates. He sits motionless,

paralyzed, as Asaji becomes the shite and moves about the room. In a beautiful composition, we

see her walk slowly into the impenetrable darkness of a doorway, only to reemerge with the

fateful jug of wine. After serving the wine to the guards and placing the spear in Washizu’s

hands, Washizu now moves off stage and we watch Asaji perform a dance of fear and concern

above the blood stains in the room. The horrifying spot is where the previous retainer of the

castle, eventually a “traitor,” had committed ritual suicide. When Washizu returns, the deed

being done, he briefly “dances” before returning to a motionless and catatonic state, at which

point Asaji picks up the movement once more. This arresting version of one of Western drama’s

greatest scenes provides an eloquent and inspired visual translation, and is among the best

examples of the versatility of Macbeth’s themes.

As per Kurosawa’s admission when describing the usage of Noh masks for the film’s

characters, the witch in the woods is a Noh­influenced replacement for Shakespeare’s

supernatural Weird sisters and Hecate. Though the witch is played by actress Chieko Naniwa,

her deep, guttural voice aligns with the described androgyny of the original sisters; as Banquo

states in Act I, sc. iii., “you should be women / And yet your beards forbid me to interpret / That

you are so.” It is also an interesting emphasis in the context of Noh drama, which for hundred of

years did not include female actresses. Much like the barring of actresses in early English

theater, women were likewise barred from participating in the Japanese theater tradition for

“moralistic” reasons. Actors called onnagata instead specialized in the roles of female

characters. To this day, onnagata still enjoy roles in both traditional and contemporary Japanese

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theater, and thus this form of androgynous gender role is more familiar to Japanese audiences as

being indicative of traditional theater (McDonald 24).

Kurosawa refers to the mask of the witch as that from Yamanba, an iconic Noh play

written by prolific 14th and 15th century playwright Zeami Motokiyo. Zeami also wrote the play

Kurozuka, or “Black Mound,” in which “a party of wandering monks encounters an old woman

sitting at a spinning wheel. She sings alone how fleeting this world is and how sinful human

beings are … The old hag reveals her true identity: she is a demon living on human flesh. Behind

her hut is a pile of human remains” (McDonald 129). This description applies well to the

supernatural figure in Throne of Blood, whose cautionary song is heard by Washizu and Miki,

and behind whose hut they find mounds of armored, skeletal remains. Though the tale of

Yamanba is not familiar to Western viewers, Kurosawa’s choice of imagery is alike enough to

the folkloric, malevolent “witch” as to create an intuitive connection across audiences.

A Noh performance, with chorus seated at the far right.

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The fog also serves as an important visual and symbolic element in the film. It is often

present, obscuring any backdrop or setting, creating a blank and displaced setting. This can be

seen as a creative interpretation of Noh minimalism; Noh performances are purposefully sparse

of props and backdrops, the simplicity of which is said to contrast with and thus emphasize the

complexity of the art and the reactions felt by the audience (McDonald 127). The extended early

scene of Washizu and Miki riding back and forth through the fog leaves the audience with a

similar feeling of captivity and futility; all are trapped by the constructed walls, relieved only by

the grace of those in power, not least of which is Kurosawa as director.

Housed in cinematic technique, Kurosawa underlines a truth about Macbeth that is at

once timeless and universal, as well as historically poignant: that man’s struggle to control his

fate against the currents of outside force, his freedom, is an integral struggle of the human

condition. Kurosawa realized and then re­imagined the concept in such a way as to reach

audiences across the globe and beyond the relevantly oppressive context of postwar Japan. By

pulling specifically from theatrical traditions, he creates an additional layer of artificiality; one

which stresses the prescribed roles which are played, the structures of drama under which they

are ruled, and the boundaries of a stage to which all players cannot transcend. This marriage of

cultures, artistic mediums, and parallel symbols is a rare and celebrated achievement, and

warrants the great amount of study it continues to inspire.

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