To be honest, I'm not generally a fan of silent movies.  The comedy depends too much on slapstick.  The drama is over emoted.  Prints tend to be in fairly shoddy shape--often way too dark.  And everything seems to run at warp speed, as if the projectionist couldn't slow it down.  There are of course a few I've enjoyed, but even with them, much of the enjoyment lies in the very fact that they are so old-fashioned, that they carry with them that whiff of nostalgia, a quaint creakiness.  Carl Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc, on the other hand, is not only a great silent film, maybe even the greatest, it is also a seemingly timeless film, one where the fact that it's silent doesn't matter a bit, might almost be nothing more than the director's preference.  If it were being released today, for the first time, it would still look fresh, original, innovative, and technically accomplished.

Now part of this may just be a fluke.  For years it was thought that the only prints of the film had been destroyed.  Fire consumed the original and a newer version that Dreyer painstakingly reconstructed.   After the second fire, he gave up and moved on to his next movie, Vampyr.  Thereafter The Passion was apparently shown in pretty dubious versions, until in 1981 a pristine copy of the original was found in a closet of a sanitarium in Oslo, Norway.  Whether it's a function of this unique preservation technique or wholly owing to Dreyer's vision, the film is much brighter and crisper than just about any other silent you'll ever see.  Another great benefit that this recently restored version enjoys is the exceptional accompanying music, Voices of Light, composed by Richard Einhorn specifically for this purpose, though it is a fine oratorio in its own right.

Dreyer used the actual transcripts of Joan's trial for the dialogue, but condensed the action down to one harrowing day.  He used various camera angles, so for instance, when the inquisitors are questioning Joan we look up at them; when she answers we look down.  Much is done in extreme close-up and the camera lingers over every wrinkle, mole, and fleck of spittle on these men.  Nor does it spare Joan--the nineteen year old girl, whose very style of dress (in men's clothing), was a threat to established authority.  She's played with bug-eyed intensity by Maria Falconetti who ends up looking like she's truly been tortured--ashen, gaunt, and hollow-eyed.  Apparently by the end of the scene where they cut Joan's hair, Ms Falconetti and some of the crew were so emotionally distraught that they had to stop shooting while folks recovered.

And, of course, in Joan's story, Carl Dreyer started out with remarkable material.  From trial, to prison cell, to torture chamber, to confession to sudden retraction and execution, he follows every step of the way.  Because the camera is always drawn in so tight and because he collapsed the time frame, we are allowed no room to breathe, no respite from the march of fate.  By the final horrific shots of the bonfire (May 30, 1431) consuming what is by then Joan's corpse, the viewer feels like they've come as close as they would ever want to experiencing martyrdom.  That's no small achievement on Dreyer's part and makes this one of the most memorable films of all time.  It is astonishing.

(Reviewed:07-Aug-02)

Grade: (A+)