I’m hesitant to use the word ‘masterpiece’ when talking about movies for fear of cheapening both the term and the art in one singular locution. A masterpiece is something hard to come by; in a film it has to be a work that achieves near the heights of what the form could and should be. It’s not a phrase to be tossed about, even when discussing very great movies.
But The Passion of Joan of Arc is a masterpiece!
It’s a French film that was made by a Danish director, Carl Th Dreyer, all of ninety years ago, and is truly phenomenal. A re-enactment as much as a dramatization of the trial and execution of Joan of Arc in 1431, it uses the actual records of the period, which combined with innovative filmmaking techniques and one of the greatest performances ever committed to celluloid, makes it a relentlessly heart-wrenching, beautifully evocative work of art. It’s the kind of movie that reminds me of the unique power movies have, and why I love them.
This is a quintessential example of a movie driven by emotion rather than story. The story is incredibly simple, beginning with Joan’s trial, where she frightfully but powerfully thwarts the attempts by the English judges to catch her in a lie or trick her into confessing witchcraft or devilish collusion. We get some of her backstory through this, such as the questions aimed to discredit her supposed divine interactions with Saint Catherine, Saint Margaret, and the Archangel Michael. This is succeeded by her torture, both physical and psychological, and ultimately her execution: to be burned at the stake in the centre of the town of Rouen in front of hundreds of her dedicated supporters. It follows the facts very closely, telling the story every student of history knows all too well. But it’s the presentation that makes all the difference.
The production design work on this film is awesome. But you wouldn’t know it, because Dreyer shoots most of the film in close-up. A face is often the focus of a frame, and even in medium, the character is more often than not at priority. Usually it’s Joan, as she reacts in fear, confusion, trepidation, assertiveness, or brave resilience to what’s being asked of her or done to her. But it’s also customarily the judges, the clergymen, or even civilians. The intent of this is to force the audience into the moment and to relate with Joan. It creates a feeling of claustrophobia -just as there’s no escape for Joan from her captors, so too are we unable to avert ourselves from the cruel men she’s facing. By confronting her and her persecutors head-on we’re thus confronting the ugly side of human nature. These are horrid people, frequently attempting to mislead her with generosity and calming even-tempered gestures (the temptation of Christ allegory isn’t hard to spot), but inevitably will show their true selves when she refutes them. This is especially well-illustrated in the fact that nobody wears make-up, giving the actors’ skin a more silvery look, and allowing every wart, wrinkle, and blemish to be on full display. Also, in their anger, the officials trying her are often seen to spit and slobber. Joan’s not perfect either, with little blackheads dotting her complexion and parched lips; but in her this gives her humanity. Why? Because unlike her prosecutors, she has feeling.
The most memorable part of this movie and probably the principal reason it’s held in such a high regard by film lovers is the performance by Renée Jeanne Falconetti in the title role. A stage actress who was never really fond of film, had only been in one film previously, and would never appear in another film after The Passion of Joan of Arc, gave one of the most powerful performances the medium has ever known! Her passion is palpable in every scene and never wanes in its effect. It’s not that Falconetti knows how to play sadness, but that she knows how to play the nuances of sadness: melancholy, hopelessness, broken-spirited, tortured, etc. Each requires a different impression that Falconetti delivers flawlessly. And while she’s mostly acting sadness and despair, there are also moments, particularly early on, where she’s wry and challenging in the face of her tormentors. It’s in the recollections of her own history and her mission brought up by the judges that brings out her tears initially. She subtly lets us into Joan’s psyche so that we understand every ounce of her emotions; and you marvel at how powerful her virtues are and how much her unwavering faith means to her. She’s a heroine with strong convictions that are being tested all throughout the movie, but she’s not portrayed as infallible to them. Early on, she seems more than willing to die for her beliefs, but later we see her terror at the prospect of death in a brilliant scene where she sees a skull with maggots crawling inside it as she’s about to make her fateful choice. There is likewise the point where she gives in, allows a priest to help her sign a confession -something no one could think less of her for under the circumstances. However she recants, and is more inspirational for it, even if it leads to her martyrdom. Obviously it’s a deeply pro-Christian message, but it’s impactful for everyone that she has a force in her life and a purpose, not to mention a love for her people, that she can so strongly stand by, despite the pain it’s causing her. She’s a mesmerizing character and a singularly beautiful performance, subtle at times, but with such raw sorrow to it, you don’t believe for a minute you’re not watching the real Joan of Arc. Falconetti imperviously brings the passion of this films’ title and it’s unbelievably moving.
She doesn’t quite achieve this effect on her own, as Rudolph Maté’s unique cinematography certainly helps; so do the excellent performances around her from actors like Eugéne Silvain and Antonin Artaud, and no doubt Dreyer’s sometimes harsh direction in order to get the best performance possible. For me, another factor is the “Voices of Light” soundtrack, an oratorio by Richard Einhorn inspired by the film. This grand orchestral music and Latin choir is a brilliant audial representation of the gravity of this character’s ordeal. And just on its own it’s wonderful to listen to. It’s an optional soundtrack though, as far as I know only available on the Criterion Collection edition, but you may it find in your local library.
The immense detail and symbolism in this film is terrific. Some of it’s obvious; like how one pious judge has hair shaped suspiciously like devils’ horns to infer who’s really doing the devil’s work in this trial, and of course there’s her makeshift crown of St. Michael that’s appropriated as her “crown of thorns”. But then there’s the fact her gaze often drifts and she has moments of bliss, as if in those moments she’s being divinely inspired. Joan’s played with the reverence of a divine figure herself, which she arguably is for France, and these instances are indicative of that. There’s a lot of fast editing and sharp cuts that both build tension (such as in the scene when she’s being exposed to the torture devices), and evoke a discomforting tone. Immediately following the burning, there’s an attack sequence reminiscent of Battleship Potemkin where the English assault the townspeople in a pre-emptive strike to a riot. But as this is going on, the camera continues to cut back and occasionally linger on Joan’s burning body, though it never seems to char, disfigure, or completely consume her. She remains identifiable throughout this calamity. I expect this is tied into the ending epilogue that states the flames protected her soul as she ascended to heaven. At least, those are the things I picked up on with this viewing. There’s so much more depth that even a professional film scholar couldn’t dissect it all. For instance, when she’s having her hair shaved, the edits purposely contrast this traumatizing experience for her with images of the French populace being entertained by sword-swallowers and contortionists. Why was that choice made? Is that meant to signify their vice as opposed to her virtue?
And all of this without the film having to utter a single word. In case you hadn’t guessed, The Passion of Joan of Arc is a silent movie, but it has resonance and artistry far exceeding the majority of sound pictures that come out. It uses just the right amount of title cards: enough to specify and exposit, while none are wasted on minor exchanges that are easy to interpret. This is a heavily visual movie, clever in its cinematography and mise en scene, even with the abundance of close-ups, and it knows how best to frame and shift focus. One of my favourite recurring pans is from Joan’s point of view, circling the judges condemning her in what seems to be a never-ending row. This is repeated late in the film, beautifully subverted by now being used to show the villagers moved by her sacrifice. There are an assortment of beautiful shots in the climax, including a curious one where an infant stops sucking at its mothers’ teat as if beckoned by Joan’s prayer. That as well as a graphic-for-its-time blood-letting scene serve to remind the audience this was made in Europe and before the Production Code.
And that brings me to an additional point to clarify. In the twenty-first century, the title of this film one may equate with The Passion of the Christ, Mel Gibson’s film about the trial and execution of Jesus. Gibson was no doubt inspired by The Passion of Joan of Arc, but the sadism of Jesus’ torture was entirely his own invention. None of that appears in Dreyer’s film, which isn’t at all concerned with the violence Joan undergoes as much as the personal, moral and spiritual impact her tribulation has on her. In fact this movie about a Christian saint is a lot more Christian in its values and themes than the later movie supposedly about Christ himself.
For a long time this movie couldn’t be seen in all its glory. The French government forced it to be heavily censored, cutting a lot out, much to Dreyer’s chagrin. And because of how fragile film stock was back then, most of the original negatives were lost or damaged beyond repair. It wasn’t until 1981 that a completed version was found and restored under unbelievable circumstances worth reading about. And how lucky it is that it was found! If you’re religiously inclined, it may even be a godsend.
Because The Passion of Joan of Arc really is one of the greatest movies. Searingly beautiful, provocatively edited, evocatively shot, and phenomenally acted, it’s just about everything a great film should be. The passion of the title is not misplaced; it was powerful enough to move me to tears. And I look forward to watching it again and again, gleaning something new each time. It’s entered the ranks of my favourite films, certainly becoming by far my favourite silent picture. This movie deserves all the acclaim it’s gotten, and more recognition. So too do Renée Jeanne Falconetti and Carl Theodor Dreyer. I can’t recommend it any more; also I’ve run out of superlatives praising it. All of it just supports what I said at the start: The Passion of Joan of Arc is a first-rate cinematic masterpiece, and the best way to know that is to experience it for yourself.
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