The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)

The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928)

Directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer

Screenplay and intertitles by Carl Theodor Dreyer and Joseph Meteil

Runtime: 1 hr, 22 min (1985 restored version)

Joan of Arc’s story is so multi-faceted that it’s no wonder that artists of all stripes keep turning to it for inspiration.  Whether one chooses to profile her military exploits or her famed trial of 1431, the Maid of Orléans provides a great many ways to approach the subject.  Perhaps the most renowned of these stories, however, is the 1928 silent film version directed by the Danish director Carl Theodor Dreyer.  Considered one of the landmarks of the silent era, I feel that it was about time that I take a look at The Passion of Joan of Arc.

The Passion of Joan of Arc covers the trial, torture and execution of the title character, mentioning her pre-capture exploits only in passing.  In the role of Joan is Renée Jeanne Falconetti, the only role she ever played on film.  A devout young woman claiming she was sent by God to expel the English from France, Joan is forced to endure the abuse and trickery of her inquisitors, some of whom are given names in the credits but none of whom are identified in the film.  Throughout the trial, we see Joan grapple with her impending death and how the demands of the church conflict with her personal devotion to God.

Falconetti’s turn as Joan is often considered one of the best acting performances in the history of cinema, and it is not hard to see why.  At first her expressions are difficult to swallow; she is wide-eyed and intense from the moment that she steps before the judges.  After some time, however, the strain in Falconetti’s demeanor starts to show.  She exhibits a tension between her idealistic love of God and the harsh reality that she now confronts.  Her profuse tears, sighs of reliefs, stoic reactions and even flashes of laughter are all beautifully conveyed; it’s worthy of a standing ovation.

Falconetti is deservedly the star of the picture, but she gets a top-notch assist from Dreyer’s direction and the crew.  Dreyer, by all accounts, was incredibly demanding during production, putting Falconetti through physical hardships, such as kneeling on hard concrete for extended periods, to force her into a mental state which would approximate that of Joan of Arc.  In addition, Dreyer forbid any of the actors to wear makeup to emphasize the natural humanity of his cast.  It may sound overbearing, but Dreyer’s decisions allow for method acting at its finest.

What ultimately piqued my interest in the film, however, was not Falconetti’s legendary performance or Dreyer’s direction, but the fact that Rudolf Maté did the cinematography.  Maté, who I know as the director of D.O.A., makes extensive use of close-ups and extreme close-ups, putting every twitch and facial feature front and center.  Even his long shots give a sense of claustrophobia.  When the court is first introduced, foreground is cluttered with the heads of the judges.  It’s a wonderful use of the camera which gives The Passion of Joan of Arc a distinctive appearance.

Beyond Dreyer and Maté, the set decorators do their part to add to the movie’s atmosphere.  Granted, one does not see much of the set because of Maté’s frequent use of close-ups, but it’s the emptiness which counts.  Most of the film is dominated by bright white walls, giving the impressions that the characters are having a debate in a vacuum—or, perhaps better, Heaven.  And what little visible set design there is goes a long way.  For instance, the perfectly placed window frame creates the shadow of a cross on the floor of Joan’s cell.

That cross on the floor acts as a pivotal symbol in the film, especially when one of the judges’ shadows covers the cross from Joan’s vision.  There is a war regarding the proper nature of religion in The Passion of Joan of Arc.  On the one hand are the judges, clearly well versed in Catholic dogma but ultimately obscuring the light of the faith; on the other is Joan, standing alone in her alleged heresy, but with a tighter relationship with God than anyone else in the film; there is clear anguish, for example, when her inquisitors deny her communion unless she betray her command to dress as a man.

Joan’s clothing is emblematic of the other major conflict in the film, the one between the material and spiritual worlds.  The theologians, though ostensibly concerned with the affairs of Heaven, view the world through materialist lens.  They are less concerned about what St. Michael told to Joan and more preoccupied with his appearance and dress.  Joan, though, is far closer to the spiritual world, answering questions in the abstract and, thanks to Falconetti’s portrayal, acting in a far more ethereal manner.

All of this combines to make The Passion of Joan of Arc as singularly spiritual work to behold.  From its iconography to its theological arguments to its themes, the film grapples with the faith and strengthens the viewers in the process.  I am not a man of religion, but even as an atheist I can connect with Joan’s struggle to maintain her beliefs in the face of torment.  And as a fan of cinema, I instantly fell in love with its breath-taking camera work and outstanding performances.  Dreyer’s magnum opus, then, is a picture which is damn near impossible to top.