O Martírio de Joana D'Arc

A certain amount of credit must surely be paid to the director for the genius of 'La Passion de Jeanne d'Arc.' The daring camera angles, use of incessant close-ups and peculiar authenticity all may be attributed to Carl Th. Dryer. However, Renee Maria Falconetti is the reason this film indeed surpasses all attempts at reaching the Platonic form of brilliance. Her performance is breathtaking by all accounts. One can not help but remain mesmerized by her expressions. Yes Dryer's gift to us of so many wonderful close shots of Falconetti should be acknowledged. He must be praised for his relentless filming of scenes to produce the desired result. Yet to imagine anyone else in this timeless role (such as Lillian Gish who was said to have been considered) is to envision a less than perfect film. Unimpeded by the silent medium in which she worked, Falconetti's mere tilt of the head or gentle glance pierce the soul of the viewer. We see her speak in Jeanne's native tongue. We see her compelling portrayal of the anguish which the saint most certainly endured. It is almost as if we are watching what the director said he had found; the martyr's reincarnation! This actress presents to us her raw beauty unmarred by powders or makeup - thanks to a decision of Dryer. How bitter-sweet the fact that we have this once thought to be lost silent film and yet can not help now but to long for more Falconetti. And so we return to 'La Passion de Jeanne d'Arc' and with each of many tears and inaudible sighs marvel at the staggering accomplishment which is Renee Maria Falconetti's Jeanne.

I saw this film for the very first time last week and was so tremendously captivated by it that I needed to share this rapture. The innovative camera-angles, the close-ups revealing pain and spirituality. It elevates the human condition and the Art of film. I would love to be able to go on into the whys or hows or technicalities. But my words couldn't do the film justice for the imagery still overwhelms me.

This film almost leads one to believe that sound betrays the emotion the eyes capture. Just as the blind develop hearing far better than the average, the deaf develop a keen sense of sight. I am convinced that a lack of dialogue forces us to read the language of the face and body, a verbage unmatched in beauty and nuance. Though the accompanying musical piece (be careful not to identify it as a score), so deliciously inspired by the film, enhances the visual playground; it is the actors' faces that comprise this tour de force. Ms. Falconetti shifts from worry and doubt to unabashed conviction in a single shot, giving the viewer the luck of seeing one's thoughts in progress. She needs no response to the interrogation, it's all in her face. Renee is not superficially beautiful and the lack of make-up only reinforces how bare Joan is, but it is the uncanny ability of an incomparable stage actor to be a window into the soul that makes her so stunning, for the soul we see is one we only wish to attain for ourselves. The Church sees what we see, and they respond just as clearly to her unspoken protest with vehement pomp. The cinematography is so astounding for its time no comment could ever do it justice. Though many comments can be made, and are, surrounding the inspiration and detail for the set, it is at its core an incredible gift from Dreyer to the actors meant to inspire. It plays little part in the film, but to pull an inconceivable last drop of reality from the actors. A testament I can imagine will never be matched to the incredible power of silence.

One of the last great silent films made during the advent of sound, Carl-Theodor Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc is a haunting, riveting portrait of the historical martyr based on documentation from the original trial. Focusing primarily on the series of courtroom examinations that doomed the young warrior, the film gloriously employs vivid close-ups to accentuate the ordinariness (while at the same time exaggerating the most grotesque qualities) of Joan's inquisitors. Maria Falconetti is unforgettable as Joan, perfectly distilling the pain, terror, and saintliness required by what is probably one of the most demanding roles an actor could attempt. The consequence of Joan's conviction -- her burning at the stake -- allows Dreyer to hammer home his exquisite visual motif balancing erotic corporeality with transcendent spirituality.

What can one say about this work of art that has not been said many times before by those far better qualified to explain both it's importance and place as cinema and art? I shall not comment on the greatness of the film's technical achievements; the stunning cinematography, the production design, the brilliance of the screenplay based on actual transcripts from the trial, or the perfection of Mr. Dreyer's direction. The performance of Falconetti as Jeanne d' Arc has a profundity and depth far beyond my ability to illuminate. I suppose the best I can hope to do is to share my feelings, however inadequately expressed, of the effect it had on me. To say that it may be the greatest film ever made is to sound both obvious and trite. That a work of such beauty and simplicity, made seventy-six years ago can still have the power to move audiences in an era of multi-million dollar, hi-tech, bombastic over-wrought cinematic drivel is in itself a testament to the vision and genius of Carl Theodor Dreyer, Maria Falconetti and their collaborators. It is nourishment for those that hunger for something more in cinema, a feast for the soul. It is a reminder that film can indeed be art, and this film like all great works of art, lifts and transports us from the routine of our work-a-day lives to enable us, if only for a moment to experience the sublime. When viewing it we look at it as looking in a mirror. That is to say we look into ourselves. We question ourselves as to our own beliefs, or the lack thereof and the strength of spirit that enables an individual to endure the unendurable. Viewing it is a profound experience the nature of which for myself is transcendent rather than religious, because I am not in the least a religious person. Transcendent because it evokes emotions and thoughts that I cannot wholly account for, or adequately explain.

"La Passion of Jeanne d'Arc" is stark, radiant, exalted, simple, (but never simplistic), and ultimately sublime. The rest is silence.