Act IV, scene i: A witches haunt.
In this ridiculously controversial scene, in which our Weird Sisters make really disgusting soup, we see every possible taboo in Shakespeare's time mentioned and then thrown in with some extra-virgin olive oil for super duper flavor. Eewwwww. Eye of newt? Check. Toe of frog? Check. Racist implications of people's body parts? Gotcha, and BAM. Finger of birth-strangled babe, ditch-delivered by a drab? Oh, yeah. The grossest ingredient, to my reading, is the body fat drained from a murderer's gibbet after it drips out of the corpse. Shakespeare knew how to nauseate.
But what makes this scene work so well are the dual elements of the sing-songy rhyme scheme ("Double, double toil and trouble"--and please don't mention the Mary-Kate and Ashley video again) and the fact that as evil as the witches are, they still refer to Macbeth as being more wicked. "Something wicked this way comes," they intone, and boom, there he is, in all of his paranoid glory.
The stew they brew is in anticipation of his visit; he immediately starts bossing them around, which is what I would do to ministers of darkness who can screw me over, and they summon forth four apparitions, each more intriguing in symbolism than the last.
The first is a helmeted head, which intones, "Beware MacDuff!" Don't forget that every warning has a double meaning, and each apparition has a symbolic value as well.
The second, disturbingly, is a bloody baby--although remember that blood can imply both life and death (particularly at some births, say, C-sections) which says, "None of woman born shall harm Macbeth." Macbeth, being an idiot, thinks this is cool. Savvy readers know better.
The third, a child, crowned, holding a tree branch, says, "Til Birnam Wood to come to Dunsinane Macbeth shall not vanquished be" and again, in his arrogance and idiocy, Macbeth thinks this is so awesome. It is not awesome. How many of you were envisioning angry Ents taking revenge on Saruman? I did! Macbeth is far too literal, and can't see "the equivocation of the fiend/That lies like truth" yet. Stupid, stupid man.
The fourth apparition says nothing, but freaks him out. He demands to know the future, and the witches demur. He curses them and they bring forth the horrible truth: A parade of eight kings, starring Banquo. The last king holds a mirror that reflects eternity. His seed will NEVER rule and all of his efforts are for naught. He melts down and almost cries.
Suddenly, the witches vanish, cauldron and all, and he is left with just the news that MacDuff has fled to England. His new plan? Seek forgiveness? Plant some trees? Start a service learning program for at-risk youth? Oh, no. He's going to hire assassins to go slaughter everyone he can find at MacDuff's house, and really show him. What a guy.
Act IV, scene ii: Castle Fife, Home to MacDuff
This scene is truly odd; it is supposed to represent innocence in a world of hurt, but the conversation between Lady MacDuff and her Egg is so bizarre by today's standards that it is hard to see any shred of naivete amid the snark. As the scene opens, Ross is talking to his cousin, Lady MacDuff, who is appalled that her husband has left Scotland and abandoned her and her children. She is usually staged cradling a baby, with little Egg by her side in a scene of domesticity. Ross says a lot of stuff that could go either way; personally, I think he brought a truckload of assassins with him, but I am pretty cynical. Finally, he says if he stays any longer he'd just embarrass her, so he leaves.
Lady MacDuff and her child engage in a form of banter that probably passed for entertainment back then; he accuses her of buying and selling husbands, and he asks her what traitors are, and they talk about hanging people. Good times! This is what I liked to discuss when I was in first grade. Shortly after she calls her child a "poor monkey" a messenger breathlessly runs in and warns her that her life is in danger. The messenger runs out, and Lady MacDuff reacts in exactly the way I would: She gives a speech about the nature of goodness. If this were a movie, and I were in the theater, I'd be yelling RUN WOMAN AND TAKE YOUR BABIES. But, alas, this isn't that kind of interactive opportunity, and soon Murderers come rushing in.
Valiant little Egg jumps in the way to save Mom, in an exact role reversal of Banquo's death scene, and he is quickly overtaken and slain. Lady MacDuff runs out screaming MURDER MURDER MURDER (as fifth period well knows) and the scene closes. We know she's a goner; too bad she hadn't left town.
Act IV scene iii: England.
This is the only scene in the entire play that is not set in Scotland.
MacDuff has connected with young Malcolm and is trying to convince him to come back and take over. Unfortunately for the noble and decent MacDuff, Malcolm is deeply suspicious, having been attacked before and having been a victim of many, many plots set upon him by Macbeth. In order to test him, Malcolm weaves elaborate lies.
First, he tells him that he is far too slutty to rule Scotland. "Your wives, your daughers. . .I would hit all of them." MacDuff assures him that Scottish wenches are, er, generous by saying "We have willing dames enough." In other words--yes, lust is bad, but Macbeth is worse. Please come back to Scotland.
Next, Malcolm tells him that lust isn't the only problem. He is also greedy. He would rob every nobleman and line his own pockets (as if kilts had pockets!) MacDuff is disappointed, but says "We have foisons enough to fill up your will. Come back."
Malcolm is disgusted by MacDuff's willingness to overlook these character flaws, and he lobs a home run: He claims that in a wrathful way, he will destroy his country. He will foster war for the heck of it. He will make Macbeth seem like Lambchop in comparison.
MacDuff loses his temper, and cries, "Bleed, bleed poor country!" He has lost his hopes.
Malcolm, relieved that MacDuff is no yes-man, assures him that he was just lying (nice, eh?) and tells him, yo, I'm a virgin who doesn't like to pick fights and I don't even have a lot of stuff. Oh, and I've been raising an army of 10,ooo Englishmen to come kick some major Scottish butt. Can we be friends?
While poor MacDuff is still reeling from lies/not-lies, Ross enters and tells them that Scotland is just about as bad as Wal-mart on Black Friday. People are panicking, rushing about, shoving each other over cheap DVD players. . .but I digress. Ross, after much vacillation, tells MacDuff the bad news: His wife and kids have been murdered, at the behest of Macbeth. Perhaps with Ross's help (read between the lines, peeps.) But they are at peace. Riiiiiight.
What I find most fascinating about this sequence is that MacDuff, though manly in all the right ways (ahem), cries. He feels wretched about losing his family, as anyone should (but so far hasn't in this play, if you've noticed) and even when young Malcolm says "Dispute it like a man!" MacDuff replies, "You're a virgin who can't drive" (whoops--that was Clueless, way harsh, Tai) "Yes, I will dispute it like a man, but first, I must feel it like a man," thus revealing that he is the Total Hero. A warrior with FEELINGS. Awesome.
They plan to come back to Scotland, armed with Englishness, and destroy Macbeth--make medicine for the sickly weal, as it were, and purge the illness plaguing Scotland. A MacIllness.
