It’s almost impossible to watch Throne of Blood (Kumonosu-jô) without everything one knows of Macbeth running through one’s head. Akira Kurosawa was without doubt the most Western-influenced Japanese director of his time – from Shakespeare to classical music to actual westerns, he begged, borrowed and cadged from American film and European culture, yet made it all his own. Kurosawa’s central preoccupation was the uniformity of human nature throughout time and space, and in this he observes and perfectly exploits the similarities between mediaeval Japan and mediaeval Scotland.

Throne of Blood was the first of Kurosawa’s three adaptations of Shakespeare plays (the others were Ran – King Lear – and Warui yatsu hodo yoku nemuru, or The Bad Sleep Well – Hamlet). At the British Film Institute’s screening on Monday, a brief introductory talk was given by the eloquently concise Mamoun Hassan, who made the point that “Shakespeare uses too many words.” One of the many great virtues of film is its ability to do away with needless dialogue by painting a picture that negates any need for it. This is not for a moment to suggest that Shakespeare’s dialogue is dispensable, but that when a film is made of the Bard’s work, so much of what (sadly) sends a disinterested audience to sleep can be conveyed in a single shot, a single gesture, a single image.

It’s definitely worth noting that, while over 100 film and television adaptations have been made of Macbeth (Shakespeare’s shortest, bloodiest, most controversial and, arguably, most fun play) since the advent of either medium, certainly the most memorable (and critically successful) of the past 45 years was the utterly horrible Hugh Heffner-produced soft-porn The Tragedy of Macbeth from 1971, starring Jon Finch in the title role, Francesca Annis as his Lady and no one else of any real note.

In fact, of all the many versions ever made, Throne of Blood is perhaps the most faithful to the essential text – despite the resetting to feudal Japan and the elision of not only swathes of dialogue but also scenes that anyone with a nodding acquaintance with Shakespeare would deem pivotal (the murder of Banquo/Miki, the suicide of Lady Macbeth/Washizu, the famous fact of Macduff/Noriyasu having been “from his mother’s womb untimely ripp’d”).

Kurosawa’s stock star (think Scorsese and De Niro) Toshirô Mifune is Lord Washizu, pretender to the titular Throne. Isuzu Yamada is the insidious Lady Washizu; Akira Kubo is Miki – essentially Banquo, but every bit as ambitious, if neither as canny nor as ruthless, as Washizu. Chieko Naniwa is utterly chilling as Old Ghost Woman, standing in for the three witches of the original.

It should go without saying, but for those who have never encountered Kurosawa, perhaps it is necessary: the direction is spot-on. The film is tensely paced, to an almost unbearable extent, despite the lengthy (one could rather cheekily say “Shakespearean”) scenes. The final battle sequence, which daringly dispenses with the source material and descends into a wordless, intoxicating skirmish, rivals the maestros of 80s Hollywood actioners for sheer thrills.

It’s interesting that Kurosawa manages to adapt Shakespeare (who is, after all, quintessentially English and all about the language) to such an extent and yet retain everything that is vital to the spirit of the original play. While the central themes of ambition, betrayal and supernatural temptation are all there, Throne of Blood is an unequivocally Japanese film. Like every version of Macbeth ever committed to celluloid, the atmosphere is bleak, with Mount Fuji standing in for the blasted heath.

For any English-speaking (indeed, pretty much any Western) audience, the experience of watching Macbeth comes parcelled with a shared cultural knowledge of Shakespeare, his historical context, his plots and themes. Despite not having these at his diposal, Kurosawa never labours the point for his audience; like Hitchcock, he knows what can be inferred by an intelligent viewer, and hence what does not need to be shown. The jidaigeki genre of the film (meaning, essentially, “period drama” and more specifically referring to stories set between 1603 and 1868), provides more than enough information for a Japanese audience to grasp the context, just as the Western shared understanding of what is Shakespearean does for us.

If you’re looking to expand your film knowledge but wary of testing out a Brobdignagian like Kurosawa, this is the perfect starting point. Like any really good, satisfying movie, it is an ideal stand-alone story, yet whets the palate perfectly for what’s to come.