ByMichael Laskaris, writer at
Brooklyn-based yoga practitioner, writer/editor and self-educated film buff.
Michael Laskaris

Roman Polanski’s grim adaptation of Shakespeare’s Scottish Play is certainly one of his most pessimistic films. He transports us to a medieval Scotland drenched in mist and rain, full of muddy moors and gloomy twilights, populated with filthy bodies, raw sword fights, and greasy banquets. Once the credits commenced, I direly desired a shower. Produced directly following the Manson Murders, Polanski’s personal “sound and fury” echoes throughout the drafty castle corridors. The source material is inviolable, but this hypnotic vision is an original, bubbly concoction belonging entirely to Polanski; it’s a bloody, bleak and brilliant nightmare, which dourly signifies nothing (…shivers…).


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