The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)

France
3.5*

Director:
Carl Theodor Dreyer

Screenwriters: 
Carl Theodor Dreyer
Joseph Delteil

Director of Photography:
Rudolph Maté

Running time: 82 minutes

Original title: La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc

The saying goes that a picture is worth a thousand words, and this is particularly true of silent films, where one often has only the images to rely on. Carl Theodor Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc has a remarkable following and is revered as one of the best silent films. Above all, reviewers focus on the force of the lead performance, by Renée Falconetti, whose face conveys anguish and passion with great clarity and admirable conviction.

However, for all the veneration it has inspired in viewers all over the world, and I grant that Dreyer’s film has much going for it, it has never provided me with the kind of transcendental experience that other viewers have written about.

Based on the trial records archived at the Bibliothèque de la Chambre des Députés, the film prides itself on being an exact reproduction of historical events. It focuses on the interrogation of Joan of Arc in court in 1431, her obstinate refusal to disavow her statement that she is the daughter of God and her eventual execution by burning.

The problem is the same one I had with Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, incidentally also very faithful to previous texts, and my objection has nothing to do with the religious content of the two films. Rather, I question the approach of a filmmaker who seems to think that the viewer would be able to fill in the big gap left by the removal of the film’s build-up. In Gibson’s film, as in Dreyer’s film, if you had never heard of Jesus Christ, or of Joan of Arc, the film simply wouldn’t make much sense, since the reason for their suffering has been wholly omitted.

In the film, Joan of Arc is supposed to be about 19 years old. At the time of the shoot, Falconetti was almost twice her age: 35. This is not a fatal disparity, but since the main character states her age in the opening scene, I found it difficult, from the very beginning, to trust anything she had to say.

And then there is the face of the film, Falconetti’s face, with eyes, says Roger Ebert, “that will never leave you”. That much is true: when I think of the film, I think of Falconetti’s face and her unblinking eyes. But that is because Dreyer spends so much time showing us her face, and Falconetti spends so little time doing anything else than trying not to blink. Her pauses are frustrating, and she remains a very opaque figure at the centre of the drama, even though it is clear that the director intended for her to seem like she was drunk on divinity. Most of the time, whenever she is asked an important question, she stares blankly at her interrogator, her eyes as big as plates.

The film is evidently on her side, not only because an opening title card informs us that we are about to watch the story of “a young, pious woman confronted by a group of orthodox theologians and powerful judges” (théologiens aveuglés et juristes chevronnés: blind theologians and seasoned legal experts), but also because the judges themselves are not portrayed very flatteringly: In one of the opening shots, a judge scratches his ear and examines the piece of wax on his finger. The judges often snicker at Joan’s responses to their questions and victimise her even further.

Despite my objections about its plot and the central performance, The Passion of Joan of Arc is an audiovisual gem. I watched a version with Richard Einhorn’s glorious “Voices of Light” on the soundtrack, and the experience of listening to his choir music, often accompanied by strings, and watching the stark, clean images with pure white backgrounds, sometimes in very elegant tracking shots over slightly expressionist décor, was extraordinary.

The film is intense, and many sequences stand out for provoking powerful feelings in the viewer, but Dreyer’s choice to place his central character above all else (significantly, he fails to introduce all other characters by name) makes it a very prejudiced work of art. On the technical side of the production, however, The Passion of Joan of Arc is one of the most beautiful films ever produced.

2 thoughts on “The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)

  • October 25, 2011 at 5:46 pm
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    I found your review extremely enlightening.

    I watched this film for the first time about a year ago and have since treasured it as one of those few films that evoked such a strong personal response, devotion almost. To me it does signify some sort of transcendental viewing experience.

    Yet all your criticisms are valid. I have never regarded this film with much objectivism (as presented in your review) and found your views eye-opening, to an extent. I say to an extent, because even in view of your legitimate critique do not feel the film has in anyway been disenchanted for me.

    Following some contemplation I do not regard this as a contradiction, but rather as a gestalt switch. I can view this film critically for which a 3.5* might be justified in light of the filmic and literary weaknesses. Yet, to me, these faults are transcended in the potency of experiencing this film; the personal (dare I say spiritual?) inspiration derived from it.

    This reminds me of a review I read about Malick’s recent Tree of Life. I am unable to recall the exact phrasing but the reviewer also came to the conclusion that there are two divergent perspectives with which you can view the film: the one perspective sees Malick over-indulgences in cinematic meditations to such an extent that Tree of Life fails as a coherent film (I myself have walk out of the cinema to overhear members of the audience to complain that ‘this was no movie at all’); the other perspective is obviously to see the film as a all-engrossing transcendental experience.

    Anyways, as I said, I found your review enlightening in the sense that it broadened the mindset with which I view films: there is more than one way to experience a work of art.
    Lastly, I was wondering in regards to your criticism that the film does not set itself up with any historic exposition (merely relying on the viewer supposed historic knowledge of Joan of Arc): would it have been a more successful film, in your opinion, if it was not written as a historical text but rather as a ideological text?

    The starkness of the film (both in mise-en-scene and narrative) is what I found most appealing; the historical context tainting this serene minimalism. If the protagonist “Joan of Arc” was perhaps replaced by a Kafka-esque “K.” (or probably more appropriate a “J.”) and the narrative restructured so that it can function coherently without any extratextual demands- would that not work better?

    I feel that if Dreyer did include some historical exposition the film would become a mere biographical or historic film and loose that minimalism that I find so appealing. This is where I might diverge from your criticism: I feel that the power of the film is derived from Dreyer’s overcontemplation (and I used the prefix ‘over-’ in a non-derogatory way) of Falconetti’s face. I think this is the distinguishing element that causes the film to be such unique and overwhelming experience for many viewers and that diverting the film from this central element would detract from the power of the film as a whole. But perhaps that has more to do with my filmic preferences than with artistic merit.

    Reply
    • November 2, 2011 at 3:04 pm
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      Hi, Adriaan, and thank you very much for your comments.

      I like the idea that no film is perfect, except the ones I like. This statement underlines the subjectivity of the film experience; of course, everybody goes into the cinema, or sits in front of a television or laptop, with different expectations of what a film should provide and how it should do that. I was particularly struck by your remark that Dreyer’s film somehow transcends its flaws because of the power of the film itself, and this idea links with the one with which I started this paragraph.

      If I go and look back at some of my favourite films I realise that I deliberately ignore (or at least, downplay) some of their less admirable qualities, or narrative developments, or whatever, because the films somehow seem to warrant it – they are great despite their flaws. There is another saying about authentic Persian carpets: they always contain some flaw, because only God can achieve perfection.

      The bottom line is that the most important part of the experience of watching a film is your own reaction. A collection of film reviews for one film will quickly reveal how differently films are perceived and what one critic might call a flaw the other calls genius. I have my own expectations for the films I watch and in my reviews I try to illuminate my reasoning behind criticism of and praise for certain elements of the film. Perhaps, in reading the review, you might understand why I view the film in a certain way and you can decide for yourself whether it impacts your viewing experience or not.

      Personally, in The Passion of Joan of Arc, I needed some kind of contextualisation and felt that the filmmaker had relied too heavily on (the viewer’s knowledge of) the world outside the film. If Joan were substituted by a character called K or J, I would have the same problem – given the film’s explicit favouritism towards her character, I wanted some reason why I should side with this woman, and who she is. However, this “flaw” could absolutely be mitigated by a stronger ideological message with which I can associate – delivering, in its own way, the kind of “potency” that you mention.

      Dreyer’s contemplation of Falconetti’s face is certainly striking, and ensures that the film is burned into the viewer’s mind, but I was looking for a little more justification for using these images – the kind of justification that would have made me understand the character better.

      Reply

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