Orson Welles was broke. He was always broke, really, but in 1947, the "Boy Wonder" of Hollywood was essentially persona non grata at the major studios after the fallout of Citizen Kane and the butchering of The Magnificent Ambersons. He needed a win. He needed it fast. So, he went to Republic Pictures—a studio known for "Poverty Row" Westerns and cheap serials—and told them he could shoot Shakespeare’s "The Scottish Play" in under a month. They gave him twenty-three days. He did it in twenty-one.
The result was Macbeth by Orson Welles, a film that looks like a fever dream and sounds like a thunderstorm in a coal mine. It didn't just fail when it came out; it was actively loathed. Critics at the Venice Film Festival were horrified. Republic Pictures was so embarrassed by the cast’s thick, "burring" Scottish accents that they pulled the movie, chopped it up, and redubbed the whole thing with flat American voices. But here’s the thing: those critics were wrong. Decades later, we can finally see this weird, jagged piece of art for what it is—the blueprint for modern independent filmmaking.
The Paper-Mache Nightmare of Republic Pictures
Welles didn't have the budget for Scotland. He didn't even have the budget for a decent castle. He was stuck on a soundstage that used to house B-Westerns, working with a budget of roughly $700,000. That is peanuts for Shakespeare.
Instead of hiding the cheapness, Welles leaned into it. He created a world that feels like it’s made of wet cardboard and dripping salt. The sets don't look like real places; they look like psychological states. You’ve got these massive, jagged crags and tunnels that look like they were carved out of prehistoric mud. It’s expressionism on a budget. Honestly, if you look at the "Voodoo Macbeth" he directed for the Federal Theatre Project in Harlem years earlier, you can see he was always obsessed with this idea of the play as a primitive, tribal ritual rather than a polite British drama.
He used what he called "visual shorthand." Because he couldn't afford hundreds of extras for a battle scene, he used fog. Lots of it. He used shadows. He used low-angle shots that made the actors look like giants against a void. It’s claustrophobic. It’s sweaty.
Those Infamous Accents and the 1980 Restoration
One of the biggest hurdles for Macbeth by Orson Welles was the sound. Welles insisted the actors speak with thick Scottish burrs. He wanted it to feel authentic, or at least his version of authentic. The studio executives panicked. They thought the audience wouldn't understand a word.
When the film was first released, it was a mess. They cut nearly twenty minutes of footage. They replaced the original soundtrack. For years, the only way to see this movie was in a butchered, 86-minute version that made almost no sense. It wasn't until 1980 that UCLA and the Folger Shakespeare Library worked to restore the original 107-minute cut with the Scottish accents intact.
Watching the restored version is a completely different experience. You realize the rhythm of the speech matches the jaggedness of the visuals. Jeanette Nolan, playing Lady Macbeth, gives a performance that is borderline operatic. It’s high-pitched, frantic, and deeply unsettling. Most people at the time hated it because it wasn't "proper." They wanted Laurence Olivier. Welles gave them something closer to a horror movie.
A Shakespearean Western?
Think about where this was filmed. Republic Pictures was the home of Roy Rogers. The crew was used to shooting cowboys, not kings. Welles used this to his advantage. He kept the pace fast. He used long, roaming takes—some lasting over ten minutes—that forced the actors to treat the set like a live stage.
There is a specific scene, the murder of Duncan, where the camera follows Macbeth through a labyrinth of damp stone. It’s one of the most famous long takes in early independent cinema. No cuts. No safety net. Just Orson Welles sweating through his furs, trying to keep the momentum going before the lights blew out.
Why the Costumes Look Like Garbage (And Why That Works)
The costumes are famously bizarre. Macbeth wears a crown that looks like a jagged piece of scrap metal. His fur cloak looks like it was scavenged from a dead bear in a gutter.
- The Crown: It’s not gold. It’s square, heavy, and ugly. It represents the weight of the "fruitless crown" Shakespeare wrote about.
- The Witches: They aren't just old women. They are weird, demonic entities that seem to rise directly out of the earth.
- The Cross vs. The Fork: Welles added a religious conflict that isn't really in the text. He has "The Holy Father" (a character he invented) representing a new, fragile Christianity fighting against the old, muddy paganism of the witches.
The Legacy of a "Failure"
Why should you care about a movie from 1948 that most people forgot? Because you can see its DNA in everything from Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood to Joel Coen’s recent Tragedy of Macbeth. Welles proved that you don't need a million dollars to make something epic. You just need a vision and enough gall to tell a studio executive that their Western set is actually a medieval fortress.
He was experimenting with "pre-recording" the dialogue, too. The actors recorded their lines first, and then mimed to them on set—a technique now standard in musicals but unheard of for gritty drama at the time. It allowed him to move the camera freely without worrying about bulky microphones. It was a technical gamble that almost broke the production.
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How to Watch It Today
If you’re going to watch Macbeth by Orson Welles, do not watch the edited 1950 version. It’s garbage. You need the 1980 restoration.
- Check the runtime. If it's under 100 minutes, turn it off.
- Listen for the burr. If the actors sound like they're from Kansas, you're watching the studio-butchered version.
- Look at the shadows. Pay attention to how Welles uses darkness to hide the fact that he has no money. It’s a masterclass in lighting.
The film is currently available on various streaming platforms like Kanopy (often free with a library card) or through specialized labels like Olive Films. It’s worth the effort. It’s a reminder that Orson Welles was never more creative than when he was backed into a corner.
Don't go into it expecting a polished Hollywood epic. Go into it expecting a nightmare. Expect to see a man trying to reinvent the most famous play in history with some plywood, a fog machine, and a whole lot of ego. That’s where the real magic is.
Actionable Steps for Film Students and Shakespeare Fans
- Compare the Long Takes: Watch the "Murder of Duncan" sequence in this film and then watch the opening shot of Touch of Evil. You’ll see how Welles was refining his ability to tell stories without cutting.
- Analyze the Soundscape: Listen to how the wind and the dripping water are used as characters. Welles was a radio veteran, and he used sound to build the world that the sets couldn't afford.
- Read the Production History: Pick up a copy of Orson Welles: Hello Americans by Simon Callow. It gives a brutal, honest look at just how chaotic the Republic Pictures shoot actually was.
There’s no "correct" way to do Shakespeare. There is only the way that sticks in your brain. This version, with all its flaws and weirdness, sticks. It’s ugly, it’s loud, and it’s brilliant.