France, 1928
Directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer
With Maria Falconetti (Jeanne d’Arc), Eugène Silvain (Pierre Cauchon), Antonin Artaud (Jean Massieu)
It is difficult to guess where this odd crown, with its main circle ornamented with loops pointing upwards, made of a material that is hard to recognize, but perhaps it is just iron, comes from and has become the cherished property of the titular character. She keeps it carefully within reach in her bare cell and holds it as dearly as anyone would grip fervently a beloved souvenir or a precious gift, like the jewel proffered by the lover. Even when her coarse and callous gaolers carelessly take it and put it on her head to mock her and her belief, reenacting without shedding blood but while laughing out rudely, the torture his Roman gaolers inflicted on the Christ, thrusting a makeshift crown full of thorns on his head, she says nothing, endures the slight, leaves the crown untouched even as she weeps.
The crown not only underlines Jeanne d’Arc’s exceptional status as a savior of a French monarchy under the treat of being defeated by the royal troops of England and thus her link with the French king, it also relates her to the Son of God. It is because she was called by Archangel Michael and feels guided by God that she dared to leave her village and the life of an ordinary country girl and to pretend heading the French troops fighting the invader. She views herself as a tool in the hands of God, trusting Him and barely questioning whether her faith and her experience: to her, it is a given, and it drove her to take actions that were helpful to her country. That is enough. God, anyway, is the only one able to judge her and to grant her salvation. The trial the busy and stern men around her have set up has nothing to do with the true justice that she is expecting and with the wider world she thinks to be part of.
The film adheres to her viewpoint even before starting, in its very name. It is not titled “The Trial of Joan of Arc”, even if the vivid prologue focusing on hands holding and browsing old manuscripts emphasizes the screenplay is carefully based on genuine archives stored in the French parliament, and proceeds to show a reconstructed 15th century. It is precisely titled “The Passion of Joan of Arc”, which refers obviously to the Passion of the Christ, and the Passions His apostles couched on paper. Her trial must be viewed as an ordeal narrow-minded and arrogant men, too confident in the ecclesiastical power they wield and too deferential to the military power they have consented to endorse, have contrived to test the resolve and purity of a stunning young woman who cannot fit into their spiritual and social prejudices. Think of their obsession with clothes, the horror the fact she is always wearing the clothes of a soldiers while she must be wearing proper feminine clothes, out of respect for her Creator and the conventions, which clearly matter hugely to them, making them pathetically unable to gather that she has chosen her clothes out of common sense and without much afterthought.
And an ordeal it is, as they relentlessly pressure her, under the wily guidance of the bishop presiding over the proceedings, Pierre Cauchon, playing every dirty tricks in the book, from writing a counterfeited letter by the French king to carrying out a real execution. Painted constantly as ruthless, they are often shocked but also puzzled by her words and attitude. Only one monk, Jean Massieu, eventually sympathizes with her, without believing all her claims, but still keen on relieving her, guiding her, sparing her if possible the worst, of course to little avail. The judges nearly succeed, however, in swaying her: but it is precisely when the man tasked with cleaning her cell sweeps away with dust and debris that odd crown that Jeanne d’Arc realizes she has failed herself and her calling and decides to repudiate a previous, damning statement, and to accept the ultimate sacrifice – her public execution on a bonfire making her a martyr for the ordinary people as a breathtaking final sequence shows, but also making her repeat the fate of her Savior.
If most of the film relies on a rather tame camerawork relying mainly on closeups, though the film started with a great lateral tracking shot capturing the restless mass of the clerics attending to and/or taking part in the 1431 trial, that final sequence delivers astonishing views of the streets, the buildings, the crowd. The camera moves and sways in many, baffling directions, powerfully capturing the mess the burning of Jeanne d’Arc causes – the horrendous images of a burning body acting as a leitmotif in the visual pandemonium the director so cleverly crafts. That epilogue stands as a poignant and radical statement reminding the audience how important the fight led by the martyr was for the French people and monarchy and how her death made her instantly a myth shaping the national identity.
But most of the time, Jeanne d’Arc cuts a humble figure, a delicate woman so sincere in her faith and her ideal that she struggles to face up to her tormentors while staying stolid. Her trial does stir something deep in her, though it is not enough to let her abjure. Harassed and mocked, she cannot but weep, looking like a tragically sacrificial lamb. However, she proves through her curt remarks and her overall resilience a strong opponent to the judges, Her simple, heartfelt, straightforward faith gives her far more confidence than the official, refined, biased, faith the judges rely on. Her ultimate defeat – in the sense she does not come out alive and free from the trial, an outcome the English army would not have allowed – is also their defeat – in the sense that they fail to change her mind and to avoid her personal journey becomes an inspiration.
That trial is illustrated by a basic, systematically applied, visual syntax. Low angle shots highlight the cruelty of the judges and the wider clergy and high angle shots point to the uncomfortable position of the defendant and how crushed she is by the attacks of the clergy and how fragile her courage is. Medium shots are rare, briefly exposing the depressingly bare settings of the historical event, though the exploration of the chamber of torture proves chillingly spectacular, signaling the barbarity of a stubborn and politicized clergy. It is closeups that prevail, even extreme closeups, faces and miens filling fully the frame, and actually even bursting it. Those images become swiftly the exceptional stage where the emotional power of lead actress Maria Falconetti can exert its spell, although it can also be viewed as not simply overwhelming but rather outrageous. A vivid, blunt, aggressive expression seems to be the beginning and the end of everything in the directorial effort, viewed perhaps as the ideal language for a clash of ideals.