In a year when Scotland asserted its strength in British politics, it’s fitting that an adaptation of ‘the Scottish Play’ should place Shakespeare’s tragedy more squarely into its proper milieu than any previous film and probably most stage productions. It may not feature Scots amongst its leads, yet this Macbeth really does bring the mad thane home.

Ironically, it’s directed by an Australian. But Justin Kurzel’s one previous feature, Snowtown – about a real-life serial killer whose evil deeds tarnished the life of an entire Adelaide community – turned out to be a perfect grounding for Macbeth’s bloody and far-reaching social climbing. And with location work on Skye, he places Scotland’s fierce beauty and uncompromising weather front and centre of the tale. Here, character and locale are one.

Michael Fassbender is the warrior whose loyalty to King Duncan (David Thewlis) makes way for murderous ambition once the three witches make their prophecy; Marion Cotillard is a French Lady Macbeth, an historical possibility and one that lends both her and the couple an “otherness” that befits their increasing alienation from all around them.

The pair are mesmerising. With his short, matted hair and craggy beard, and Princess Leia buns framing her elfin face, they make a beautiful and sexy couple; one of the film’s best scenes, as Lady Macbeth challenges her husband’s manhood in order to push him towards murder, plays as a sizzling seduction. They also delineate the couple’s shifting marital control and differing descents into madness extremely well.

The Irishman is especially fine, as he charts Macbeth’s progression from honourable man to indecisive murderer to paranoid lunatic with recourse to little else than his eyes – eyes that contain something of Olivier’s cruelty as the new king protects his stolen crown at any cost. Cotillard is clearly not comfortable with the language – but as she’s playing French, that’s quite convenient. And what she does offer is a terrific reading of the about-turn in Lady Macbeth, from egging her husband to kill the king, to being driven to despair by the realisation that she’s created a monster.

The key supporting cast, adopting modest Scottish accents, are excellent. Thewlis makes a likeable, vulnerable Duncan; Paddy Considine a touching Banquo, Macbeth’s best friend and fellow soldier; and Sean Harris a formidable Macduff. The weak links are Jack Reynor’s Malcolm, a damp squib throughout, and the witches; while I can see why Kurzel would wish to avoid the customary cackling crones in his interpretation, he does deny this dark piece some light relief.

Visually, his approach is to combine gritty authenticity with moments of kinetic stylisation, a contrast that is no better apparent than at the start of the film. It opens with Macbeth and Lady Macbeth shrouded in blankets on a blustery mountainside, surrounded by their community and overseeing the burial of their stillborn child – underlining the impression that the couple are diverting their focus from family to political ambition.

The action then switches to a battlefield, where Macbeth and Banquo lead the king’s outnumbered supporters against the rebels. Sporting black war paint, with Samurai overtones to their battle garb, these warriors launch into slow-motion, hand-to-hand, visceral combat. It’s tremendously well staged, with Kurzel occasionally saturating the screen in red.

His direction throughout is intelligent and intense, evoking a harsh, feudal world mired in greed, bloodshed and superstition. He’s ably backed by his Snowtown cinematographer Adam Arkapaw, Oscar-winning costume designer Jacqueline Durran (Anna Karenina) and his composer brother Jed, whose insistent, low-hum soundtrack creates a pervasive sense of unease.