The Passion of Joan of Arc

Renee Maria Falconetti plays Joan of Arc with such stark realism that it's as if she were born to play the Maid of Orleans. The remarkably intense interplay between her face and the camera is incomparable to any other I've seen on film. Not even Ingmar Bergman's consistently brilliant direction nor the immense talent of his pool of actors have been able to achieve what Ms. Falconetti manages to do in this role. Her performance ceases to be good acting and crosses into the realm of simply being. And keep in mind that her role, like the entire film, is silent.

Shot in 1928, The Passion of Joan of Arc can easily be considered the best silent film ever made. Not just for Ms. Falconetti's striking performance, which is perhaps the most amazing rendition of what the face can express ever caught on film; but also for the tableau lighting, the exquisite understanding of shadows, lights and darks, the Expressionistic set, and for the depiction of a time in history--captured in dress, mood, activity, and attitude. The French director Jean Cocteau said it played like ``an historical document from an era in which the cinema didn't exist.''


It's been said by many that the eyes are the mirror of the soul. But in this film, Ms. Falconetti's eyes are a totally transparent window. Every nuance of Joan's feelings are as clear and pure as the soft petal-like tears that fall from her eyes without even so much as a hint of 'acting.' Her unabashed display of emotion is like that of an innocent child blamed harshly for something she did not do. Watching this woman, with her face in such closeup, is an intimate, hynoptic, and unsettling experience. And this complete openness of character and steadfast courage is visibly unsettling to her inquisitors, determined to condemn her for heresy or to receive from her a confession of guilt.

As she burns at the stake--amidst the cruel ravages of smoke and flames, she speaks to God, telling Him softly that she hopes she will be with Him that night. The camera stays focused on her face, cutting away now and then to show the piles of burning sticks encircling the stake where she is tied. Her eyes are transfixed on the cross that Massieu holds high for her to see. And finally, before the flames and smoke engulf her, we see her passion. A gentle release, her head falls forward; and the thickening smoke rises above her head and screens her entirely from the townspeople and our view.

The townspeople are agitated, angered at the outrageous act that has taken place before them. Women clutch their children to their breasts, people huddle together in inconsolable horror. Weapons are lowered from the tops of the crenalated walls of a fortress. The soldiers grab these heavy spiked iron balls on chains and begin swinging them around, beating the angered and impassioned townspeople indiscriminately. "You have murdered a saint," cries one of the onlookers, an elderly man who is subsequently beaten to the ground by an angry soldier. The camera pulls away to reveal a town in smoke and flames and chaos. A lasting vision of destruction.

Carl Theodore Dreyer, famed Danish director of silent films cast Ms. Falconetti in the role of Joan of Arc after seeing her in a play in Paris. It was to be the only film she ever made. Antonin Artaud, French poet, essayist, playwright, actor, and director has a role in this film as well. He plays the role of Massieu.