It
seems hugely ironic that arguably the greatest Joan of Arc film ever was twice
thought lost to fires (just like its subject). After the first disaster, Carl
Theodor Dreyer managed to reconstruct a second print from outtakes, but it too
would meet a similar fate. However, an intact print of Dreyer’s original cut
was discovered in the service closet of a Norwegian mental hospital. It is
true, as Joan herself says: “the Lord works in mysterious ways.” The
restoration of Dreyer’s uncensored original vision is indeed a blessing. Accompanied
by Richard Einhorn’s eerily tragic-sounding Voices
of Light score, Dreyer’s freshly restored silent classic The Passion of Joan of Arc opens this
Friday at Film Forum.
Joan
is a simple peasant girl, but she was visited by the Archangel Michael, who
commanded her to take up arms against the English to preserve French sovereignty
during the Hundred Years’ War. At least, that is what Joan believes with all
her heart. However, the clergy of Rouen who remained loyal to the British are
determined to force Joan to recant.
As
the title suggests, Dreyer’s film dramatizes the trial and execution of Joan,
drawing extensively (sometimes verbatim) from the surviving transcripts. Right
from the start, it is clear Joan is ignorant of doctrinal controversies, but the
innocent simplicity of her answers often exposes the cynical nature of the
questions posed of her. As a result, several members of the tribunal will
become disillusioned by the inquest’s Machiavellian motives. Unfortunately, Joan
is already well past saving, especially when she naively trusts Bishop Pierre
Cauchon when he pretends to be a protector dispatched by her revered King
Charles VII.
Passion is one of those
films whose illustrious reputation is probably far greater than its actual
viewership, but for decades it was only circulated in inferior prints. In this
case, all the hype is true, starting with Rudolph Maté’s dramatic
cinematography, featuring low-angle shots filmed in trenches that predates Gregg
Toland’s similar, supposedly revolutionary techniques employed on Welles’ Citizen Kane.
Yet,
what really defines the film are the withering close-ups of its star, Maria
Falconetti, born Renée Jeanne Falconetti and often billed simply as “Falconetti,”
who is undeniably the source of the film’s mystique. It is a nakedly haunting,
achingly vulnerable portrayal, captured in unforgiving tight-shots. Reportedly,
it was also a physically painful performance, involving long stretches of time kneeling
on stone floors. Preferring the stage over the screen, Falconetti only appeared
in one prior feature and a short (both from 1917), which further heightens her
aura of mystery.
Falconetti
defines and personifies the film, but key supporting players hold up their end
as well, which helps elevate Passion from
a masterwork to a masterpiece. In fact, Eugène Silvain is nearly as remarkable
as Falconetti playing the duplicitous Cauchon. We can see he is partially aware
of his own damnation, but persists anyway out of misplaced fervor.
