Carl Theodor Dreyer, 1928
[14 votes]
"Some
of the church officials are kind to Joan, it's true, and perhaps the film
offers that much of a reason to be optimistic about the influence of good men
on a corrupt and self-serving organization. ("You have burned a
saint!" cries one spectator at the film's end.) But In depicting so many
holy men doing the devil's work, Dreyer's film reminds viewers of the story of
Christ as easily as it resonates with the misogyny-tinged show trial that put
away the Russian protest band Pussy Riot. This is a work of surpassing sadness
and horror, magnificent in its passion and staggering in its emotional power.
Like all the great films, it reminds us that some stories never really change." ~ Bryant Frazer
"When delving into a task with as much potential to cause wailing and gnashing of teeth to the dedicated filmgoer as discarding all the countless films one loves in order to choose a greatest film of all time, it is useful to define one’s terms.
"'Je jure de dire la vérité, toute la vérité,
rien que la vérité,' swears Joan of Arc at the beginning of
Carl-Theodor Dreyer's landmark film of her historic trial for heresy. The
film's ambition is, of course, to find truth -- vérité -- in Joan's story. Dreyer worked from historical records of
the trial in crafting his film. But deception and, of course, faith are equally
important subjects. Battered by trick questions and accusations from the
assembled bishops and other ecclesiastics, most of them friendly to the English
whom Joan led armies against, the 19-year-old clings to her bare trust in God,
symbolized by the shadow of a cross cast on the floor by sunlight passing
through an open window that still, somehow, connotes charity, liberty, and vérité.
"Renee
Falconetti is mind-bogglingly expressive in the title role, conveying
conviction, confusion and abject terror in equal measure. Confident and
technically adroit yet open and unpretentiously emotional, it is almost
definitely the single greatest performance of the silent era. It is utterly
unforgettable. But Dreyer's directorial style and montage are nearly as singular
in their achievements. The Passion of Joan of Arc is built almost completely unlike any other
film I know. There are no establishing shots. There is no coverage. The
180-degree rule isn't just flouted; it doesn't even apply. This is a story told
head on, in close-ups that read the feelings on Joan's face, and that highlight
the hard, ugly features, lined faces and matted hair of her inflamed
inquisitors. When Dryer's camera gazes on Falconetti's face, it is steady and
unwavering. When it tuns on the clergy, it becomes fidgety, swooping forward,
tracking from side to side, or panning around as if growing dizzy from too many
spins on a carousel. Those men, self-righteous in their behavior but with
anything but truth on their minds, are the monsters in this scenario -- but
they are also men, behaving as men do. Watching this film, I hate them so.
"When delving into a task with as much potential to cause wailing and gnashing of teeth to the dedicated filmgoer as discarding all the countless films one loves in order to choose a greatest film of all time, it is useful to define one’s terms.
"What is film ultimately to the viewer? A storytelling
device? A means of self expression? Or simply the greatest lightshow ever
invented? All are valid.
"I on the other hand consider film to be primarily a means of
communication. The first words in a continuous monologue barely begun. At the
risk of crossing the border into romanticism, film is a medium that
communicates empathy, not in the general sense that literature does, but with a
powerful nearly brutal specificity. Which is why there can be no other pick for
the all time greatest film than The Passion Of Joan Of Arc.
"As a portrait of religious grace it is moving, as an example
of the artistry of arguably the greatest master of the silent drama it is
astonishing. The complexities found both in its form and content outstrip superlatives
and could easily fill their own book. But they are not why the film tops my
list. Because both of these elements hinge on the audience having, if not a
particular worldview, at least a particular set of knowledge. A sympathy for
the religious mindset if not a belief in it. Enough of an understanding of
film’s evolving grammar to understand how Dreyer’s runs counter to it. Even
centering on the mystery and singularity of Maria Falconetti’s performance we
somehow miss the point, reducing the film to a one woman show, which it is
decidedly not (It is if nothing else at least a dialogue between Falconetti and
Dreyer). If we define Joan by what it accomplishes artistically or thematically
we’re talking about something that is necessarily limited. But if you talk
about what it accomplishes emotionally, as a portrait of one woman’s suffering,
one specific woman’s who is ultimately neither Joan nor Falconetti but a
synthesis of both, that has been projected to us across time you stumble upon a
universality that is stunning. No special knowledge of the art required, no
binary theological allegiance, being the owner of a mind and soul half a grade above that
of a sociopaths is all that is needed to experience an intensity of feeling
that is nigh unbearable.
"This film, made long before any of us were born which will
continue to be seen long after we die sends suffering, cruelty, compassion and
grace streaming down the years and ages. At the thought of all those who have
watched it and all those who will watch it, united in the same wave of empathy
and terror I am staggered. When I consider film as a whole past the borders of
this single work that awe is exponentially multiplied, to the point where I do
not even have the words for what this artform is. Perhaps Joan would simply
call it a miracle." ~ Bryce Wilson
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