Madre Giovanna degli angeli

A slow-burn horror for the imagination, atmospheric and superbly acted, the players get more expression from their eyes than I've seen in any film since the silent days. Yet the voices of the 'devils' as they speak through Mother Joanna are all scarily differentiated. A great setting, empty and expressionist, which I believe was a rubbish tip or an old quarry near Lodz. The convent set was, like Black Narcissus, entirely a studio construction. I can't remember the last time I saw such crisp pellucid black and white photography. In plot terms, this is a sequel to Ken Russell's The Devils, near the beginning we see the stake where Grandier (his name changed to something a bit more Polish-sounding) had been burnt. There are no more burnings in this film, but the shadow of the stake overhangs the action, underlining that even when a story ends, the characters go on. As they will go on in your mind after you've watched this film. You'll talk about it - What will happen to them next?

The subject of this film is a fascinating one and it has been portrayed in several media with great eloquence. I know nothing at all about the director of this film except that he is apparently not an experienced director at all. He might be a writer or theologian or philosopher but his field of expertise does not extend to direction. The film is poorly paced, verbose and it drags on for at least thirty minutes in excess. It repeats itself almost literally near the end to make a rather feeble point that it actually does have structure with apologies, I suppose, for the talk fest for the past two hours plus.. Frankly,I can't find anything to admire in it.

Curtis Stotlar

In what could be viewed as a sequel to Ken Russell's The Devils (1970), Jerzy Kawalerowicz's bleak but brilliant drama tells the infamous story of the so-called 'Loudon Possessions', in which a convent of nuns were said to have been possessed by a variety of demons, seducing men and indulging in sinful activities while the Church sent priests to exorcise them. It resulted in the death of French Catholic priest Urbain Grandier, who was burned at the stake after suggestions were made that he had succumbed to evil himself, forging a 'diabolical pact' that bound his soul to the Devil. It's an event that has caught the imagination of many artists, including the aforementioned Russell, as well as Aldous Huxley. but never has it been portrayed with such terrifying foreboding as in Mother Joan of the Angels.

Father Suryn (Mieczyslaw Voit) is sent to a Polish convent in the seventeenth century, where talk amongst the sparse townsfolk are of the wicked acts committed by the nuns of the convent that looms over the town like a ghost. At the head of this apparent possession is Mother Joan (Lucyna Winnicka), who tells Suryn of the fate of the previous priest, whose charred remains still lie at the burning post. Suryn is so horrified by what he sees as the purest of evils that he promises to rid Joan of her affliction, even if it is at the expense of his own soul, becoming a martyr in the fight against Satan's influence.

The picture is black and white and the cinematography is dark and empty, capturing the hopelessness of this small, insignificant and nameless town. It resembles the minimalistic work of Ingmar Bergman and Carl Theodor Dreyer, and shares many of the conflicted representations of religion that frequented the auteur's back catalogue. The film occasionally branches out into horror, with close-ups and shadows used to powerful effect as Satan's influence creeps into Suryn's soul, leading him to reach out in desperation to a rabbi in what is one of the film's most powerful scenes. It's also a twisted love story between Joan and Suryn, transcending mere desire into something deeper and unspoken. Complex and courageous, Kawalerowicz's film will most likely always be overshadowed by Russell's more provocative work, but this is one of the finest works to come out of 60's Poland.

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Released a decade earlier than Ken Russell's The Devils, yet functioning as a spiritual successor of sorts, Jerzy Kawalerowicz's Mother Joan of the Angels also bases its story around the 17th century Loudun possessions to interesting effect, especially when taking into consideration the vast stylistic differences that define each film.

Where Russell exposed the ugliness of this tale of unholy devotion through farce, allowing his characters to writhe around in all the filth and hypocrisy that defined the period, Kawalerowicz created a world where the peasants, nuns, and clergymens' mindsets were treated as frankly as it may have been for those residing in it, unaware of any other reality besides their own. It was documentation not through historical hindsight but by retracing the footsteps that led to its foregone conclusion. Russell's maximalism replaced with Kawalerowicz's minimalism. Vibrant colors traded in for textural black and white. Psychosexual phantasmagoria replaced by emanations of a slowly corruptive force.

If a directors' execution could be grouped by an imaginary school of thought, these two men may as well be rivaling factions. Rusell's proximity to Alejandro Jodorowsky in stylistic technique equals the vastness that may group Kawalerowicz to Frantisek Vlacil when tackling the same subject matter. And yet, both films are masterfully done despite their radical departures in approach.

With Mother Joan of the Angels, Kawalerowicz showcases the temptation, elation, and destructive power that blind devotion could manifest. A thin margin separating spiritual ecstasy from cardinal desire. A nudge made in either direction holding the power to change a pillar of sanctity into one accused of sacrilege. The same kind of thin margin that separates the physical space between a nun and priest, bound by an unspoken unison. It's either sainthood or sinner. Any system defined by that sort of dogmatic rule is a house of cards waiting to topple.

An honest meditation on faith and its inescapable fight with the world that surrounds it, Kawalerowicz's Mother Joan of the Angels has cult-classic status written all over it. All it's missing is its faithful congregation.

A priest is sent to a small parish in the Polish countryside which is believed to be under demonic possession and there he finds his own temptations awaiting.

I had never heard of this before it ended up on one of my lists and the title did not instill much confidence. Instead, it shocked and amazed me. Whether this is a "horror" film or not is open to debate. I think it is, but it is done in such a way that it will appeal to a wider audience than just the horror crowd. At the time his film was made, how many possession movies existed? To my knowledge, not very many.

The gritty lack of color, this is a film that deserves to be highlighted by scholars and movie lovers alike. I understand Martin Scorsese gave it some love, but perhaps there is more that can be done.