Part I. Joan on Film: In the Beginning
May. 30th, 2005 07:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ealgyldenHi there! Still not dead. All last week I kept meaning to write an update post, but I kept putting it off until by now it hardly matters. Still, if you could send a healthy thought or two into the ethers for my dad, that'd be keen. Thankee!
Aaanyway... A while ago, I had a wee idea. "Self," I said to myself, "May 30th is coming up, and as everyone knows, May 30th is the Feast of St. Joan of Arc. You have a nice collection of movies and TV shows about Joan. Why don't you do a post and blather a little about them?" And so I did. Except... I kinda got carried away (shocking, I know), and ended up with many, many pages of blather about the aforementioned movies and TV shows, most which is probably pretty boring. Not that that'll prevent me from posting, of course. Heh. I have all those words from all those posts I haven't been making recently lying around in my brain gathering dust, so I might as well use them for something. But honestly, I really won’t be insulted if you scroll on by. This blather doesn't include every movie about Joan, or even all of the ones that can be considered important, since, among others, I don't yet own a copy of Robert Bresson's Procès de Jeanne d'Arc. It hasn't been commercially available for a while, and bootleg copies only show up on eBay when I'm broke. This blather doesn't even include every Joan show I do have in my collection, since I never had a chance to rewatch my tapes of Witchblade. But it's a pretty healthy selection nonetheless, including portrayals good and not-so-good. Like Hamlet, Joan of Arc is an difficult, strenuous part for any actor. She's a tremendously complex figure, so susceptible to contradictory interpretations, so charged with fascinating possibilities. She contains multitudes. Playing her must be a daunting proposition, but an irresistible one.
And so, on with the blather. I'll begin at the beginning, with the silents, then on to the mid-century portrayals, then the Joans of the '90s, and finally, television. And for each film, I've included a link with at least a small picture of the actress in costume, so you can get a glimpse of the changing face of the role.
Joan the Woman (1916), Geraldine Farrar:
"No sword once drawn for France - shall be thrown Down!"
Ah, here we have that well-known tale, the tragic romance of Joan of Arc and her English lover, Eric Trent. What's that? Joan had no lover, and especially not an English soldier? Yeah, this version is an interesting one, no question. It would take a stronger historical figure than even the Maid to resist the combined forces of Geraldine Farrar and Cecil B. DeMille. A change here, a change there, and soon enough you end up with a Joan whose heart is torn between her nation and her good-looking enemy. Go figure. As the opening title card says, this film is the story of, "the Girl Patriot, who fought with Men, was loved by Men, and killed by Men -- yet withal retained the Heart of a Woman." Which means she needs a boyfriend. Gerry and DeMille gave her Eric Trent, an English soldier (!) whose life she saves twice, and who betrays her to the English and the Church in the end. But that's okay, since he feels really guilty about it. So guilty that when he's reincarnated into the framing device, set in the trenches in 1916, he takes on a suicide mission to save his fellow soldiers and earn Joan's forgiveness. How romantic.
And then there's the question of Geraldine Farrar. Now, I love Gerry (that's her in my icon). Her voice is a lovely instrument, even translated through the recording limitations of her day, and I think her filmed version of Carmen (also made with DeMille) is just fabulous (see it if you can- she's a kickass Carmen). Plus, she was such a fun character personally, a diva among divas and one of the great media stars of her day. But casting her as Joan of Arc is an odd choice, to say the least. She was about 35 years old during filming, and she looks it. Gorgeous, true, but it's hard not to scoff when characters refer to her Joan as a child and a girl (and harder still when the title cards call her a "sturdy country maiden." Sturdy's right, anyway). She's a mature, voluptuous woman, and she just can't pass as a teenager. And yes, she gives a fun performance as some sort of romantic warrior woman, if not the one we're expecting, but in the end, she's terribly miscast. I can't help thinking she would have made a splendid Boudicca. The wronged queen, the bereaved mother, the furious avenger of her family and her people... now that would have been a role for Gerry. Ah well, opportunities lost. Also, compared to the other two silent Joan films in my collection, the acting in this version is melodramatic and stagy. It's the "strike a pose" variety of acting that informs the cliché of silent movies (for example, this pose is from the film itself, not the publicity). Gerry was used to playing to the back rows of the Met, after all. I think that sort of acting has its own charms, but it can be an acquired taste. Joan's Voices are represented through visions of glowing swords and a masculine angel (presumably Michael). Later she has visions of an army on the march, and another of a male angel on a black horse. Strangely, considering that two of the historical Joan's three Voices were female saints, all of this Joan's visions are male. Gerry's Joan is a feminine anomaly in an entirely masculine world, and her potential freakishness is defused by the comfortably conventional love story.
Like Gerry, this Joan is a diva. She has no fear of general or king, no humility and no doubts. She boldly slices Baudricourt's sword in half with a dagger, identifies the hiding Dauphin after mere seconds of thought and decisively breaks up the signing of a treaty that favors Burgundy. She's not exactly popular at court ("Are the nobles of France to follow a peasant wench?"), but she wisely wraps herself in Charles's banner, and she certainly does cut a dashing figure in her armor, so she's safe for a while. She takes Orléans with much pomp and excitement, though unlike other Joans she doesn't carry her own banner. That's what servants are for. Her wounding is a moment of highest melodrama, but she's quickly back on her feet and winning the day, the better to enjoy her triumph with armor shining and a head crowned with laurels. Hail the conquering diva! It's really not surprising that a priest admonishes her, "Wouldst thou be a Queen?", considering the amount of adoration she graciously accepts as her due. The crowd chases him off, but it's her celebrity (and her appreciation thereof) as much as her religious dubiousness that soon turns Charles and the Church against her.
Oh, and by the way. Cauchon's throne has a tiny secret compartment that holds a wee vial of poison, with which he attempts to kill the king. Because he's evil. Very evil! This movie is fun, but it's not subtle. Naturally Joan stops him, giving him a personal reason to pursue her death (heresy not being good enough for this bishop). Anyway, it's time for the coronation, after which Joan requests that the king give her the life of her English boyfriend. Oy. Trent asks Joan why she's freed him twice. Rather than answering, she turns to face the crucifix and pray, so he gently turns her back and tries to woo her. No luck, but as he leaves disappointed, she watches him longingly, with arms outstretched. That "Heart of a Woman" thing does seem to be a bit of a distraction. Gerry's Joan is certainly not as single-minded as some of her fellows; she's neither soldier nor visionary. Anyway, Boyfriend Trent is the one who captures her outside Compiègne (shouldn't have freed him!), so they break up. He does try to ransom her, but he fails and is lead away sobbing. Joan just looks vaguely disappointed, and it's tough to tell whether she's decided to embrace her fate or if Gerry just didn't want to mar her beauty with grief. After a very brief time being guarded by the Ku Klux Klan (maybe DeMille was economizing on costumes?) and an aborted rescue by Boyfriend Trent playing cavalry, Gerry heads to her execution. In a very stylish effect, the flames on the pyre are tinted red. DeMille was cracked, but there are often moments of visual poetry in his films, and some of his images help make all the rest worth it. Speaking of which, Gerry's Joan exits prettily, never looking more than slightly uncomfortable and without actually burning or dying. Instead she just stretches her arms out toward the audience and vanishes. No, not even a raging fire would dare harry this Joan.
La Passion de Jeanne d'Arc (1928), Maria Falconetti:
"Si j'y suis, que Dieu m'y tienne... si je n'y suis pas, que Dieu m'y mette!"
I'm firmly of the opinion that not only is this one of the greatest movies about Joan ever made, it's one of the greatest movies ever made. It's a demanding work, but its rewards are bountiful. It has one of the most compressed time frames of any Joan movie, covering only her trial and execution with none of her previous triumphs to soften the blows. The length of the film is also rather compressed, sweeping along at a brisk pace for only 82 minutes (for comparison, Joan the Woman is 138 mins. and La Vie merveilleuse is 124 mins.). The result is a transcendent, exhausting experience and a true masterpiece of cinema. See this movie. Especially see this movie with Richard Einhorn's "Voices of Light" oratorio attached, as on the Criterion DVD or the 1999 remastered VHS edition (and then go buy the CD). When I first saw this film, it was with an organ score that occasionally turned to "La Marseillaise" to make its points, and it was still extremely impressive. The support of a work as gorgeous and intelligent as "Voices of Light" lifts the film into another realm altogether. Don't be surprised if you cry.
The script is drawn primarily from the actual trial transcripts, and the sets and costumes are simple and austere. There's hardly a straight line or right angle to be found anywhere, with a mix of off-kilter camera angles and misaligned doorways and walls heightening the general atmosphere of dread (much as in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari). Sometimes shots are blocked so that the actors are nearly entirely out of frame. The bulk of the movie is filmed in close-ups or single-actor shots, interspersed with a variety of well-designed establishing shots. Dreyer is merciless with his camera and lighting; no wrinkle, wart, or sneer of the judges goes unseen, and the effect is often quite oppressive. Luckily for the viewer, Dreyer's approach also means that we spend long moments gazing at one of the most expressive faces in the history of film, that of Maria Falconetti.
It's hard to imagine that Falconetti was primarily a successful performer in light, sophisticated theatrical comedies when Dreyer cast her as Joan, so deeply does her performance plumb the depths of agony. She's transcendent in the role, but the experience of filming was so harrowing that she never made another movie. It's a great loss. At first glance, her looks are rather plain. Her nose is too large and her face too round to be a classic beauty. But as the film goes on, we come to see that she is, in fact, magnificent. The broad plains of her face and her fine mouth could be carved from marble, and a hundred emotions, each of them true, can be seen in her at once. And then there are her eyes, large and liquid and filled with light. I've watched a lot of movies in my life, and I've never seen eyes like Falconetti's.
Falconetti's Joan is not one who answers her judges boldly or combatively, but rather one who sheds a tear at the thought of her mother and whose core of pure faith is covered in very mortal fear. She has moments of exultation and bravery, but more often she expresses grief and confusion. If she was once a warrior, she is one no longer. On the other hand, it's easy to imagine this Joan as an accepting martyr. She is an ecstatic, exquisite victim.
Joan's judges (a collection of fascinating faces) are a worldly, craft lot who rage at her and at each other every time she evades their snares. Their frustration pours off the screen. In moments such as when Joan is threatened with torture if she does not abjure, the tension between the panicked Joan and the thwarted judges spirals so high that it's almost a relief when she collapses. They win in the end because they wear her down, not because her faith is shaken. She simply cannot stand up under the weight of their fury and frustration any longer. So broken and exhausted is Falconetti's Joan that she hardly reacts when told her sentence; her wounds are already too deep for this final one to be marked. She's weakened by her long fight and is hardly able to walk to the pyre, but not only does she not resist, she helps the executioner by handing him a rope he's dropped. One suspects she'd still rather go home to Domrémy and her mother, but it's clear that if martyrdom is to be her fate, she'll embrace it. As she dies, the scene explodes into a violent struggle between the English soldiers (who strongly resemble WWI German officers) and the watching, grieving crowd. The camera returns again and again to her burning body, lest we forget that she was a person, not just a saint.
And that, Mel Gibson, is how you film a passio.
La Vie merveilleuse de Jeanne d'Arc (1928), Simone Gènevoix:
"Donnez-moi des hommes d'armes et je léverai le siege d'Orléans, puis vous menerai sacrer a Reims."
You know, it's interesting. This film was released 77 years ago. It had only a limited release in North America at the time, though it did well in Europe, and it's been little seen since. It's a distant star in the constellation of Joan films (tragically so, IMO). So watching it can be a startling experience- either it had a disproportionately powerful effect on the iconography of Joan in the twentieth century, or director Marco de Gastyne tapped directly into the collective unconscious for his imagery. This is how Joan and her story look to an awful lot of people. If any portrayal can be both wholly transcendent and wholly populist, this one is.
And if ever a movie was deserving of rescue and a higher profile, it's this one. There was a reconstruction of the film done in 1983, and it's not in unwatchable condition, but there's still a heavy amount of damage to the print. It pains me to think of this film rotting away. Criterion, Kino, somebody, save this movie! Every voice in the film, each character, letter, decree and "voiceover," has its own font used in the title cards (which are in French), so that Joan "sounds" different than Cauchon, Charles, the English, etc. And I have no idea if the score in use is even slightly related to the original, but it's very effective, a rich and dramatic mix of orchestra, solo strings, some electronics, and vocals (both choral and a soprano soloist).
The film's producers started what would become a filmic-Joan trend by throwing wide their nets in an extensive casting search, looking not for a high-profile actress, but simply for a French brunette who could ride a horse. The result was the wonderful choice of Simone Gènevois. She wasn't new to the screen, having appeared in Abel Gance's Napoléon and a handful of other films, but neither was she a star. Sadly, Jeanne d'Arc doesn't seem to have made her one, either; she has no credits after 1934 (I suspect her marriage to Andre Conti, one of the business men behind the merger of Rapid-Film and Pathé-Cinéma, played a hand in that). What a pity.
Certainly, Simone looks the part. She's a lovely Joan, but in a regular person way, not a movie star way (unlike Ingrid Bergman or Gerry Farrar). She's small but strong-looking. She seems comfortable in both her peasant garb (a classically late-19th c. version thereof, with a dark vest/corselet over a light blouse with rolled sleeves and a shortish skirt, the very Romantic ideal of the peasant- much like this Joan) and in her armor. She rides a horse with authority and wields her banner like a weapon against the English. She's the right age, seventeen when the film was released. She has the knack for looking uplifted and slightly otherworldly without coming across as vacant-minded (which can be tough- Jean Seberg never managed it). The film has a relatively extended amount of time devoted to Joan's youth in Domrémy, and we get to see Joan's Voices (Sts. Catherine and Margaret, if not Michael) as ghostly dancing figures superimposed over the scene, or as beautiful, slightly consumptive-looking women smiling beatifically down on their chosen one. Joan is given her mission and sets out, and the film expands to epic scale complete with a "cast of thousands!" (some of whom were provided by the French army, to fill out the busy, exciting battle scenes), luxurious costumes and armor, gorgeous scenery, and even some scenes filmed at the actual sites of the story's action.
This Joan is direct and vital. If she ever doubts her Voices, she doesn't show it. Her expression at La Hire's blaspheming is both fierce and disappointed, shaming him into better behavior, and she's strong and determined enough to stare down the dangerously charismatic Gilles de Rais (the historical Bluebeard) to protect the noble lady he's seducing. (I have to say, Philippe Heriat's Gilles is really, really hot, in a gay pirate sort of way. An effect that's heightened by the big hoop earrings he has in both ears.) Her excitement and pleasure when a priest brings her the banner she's commissioned is tinged with a sense of purpose. It's also one of the most beautifully composed scenes in the film, with the small, slender girl in her bright armor and sleek pageboy, smiling at the priest as she cradles the banner in her arms. Gorgeous.
None of the performances show the staginess that fills Joan the Woman and stereotype silent movie acting; rather, everyone seems rather relaxed and naturalistic, like they truly wear these clothes and ride these horses in life. The battles are huge and tumultuous with a real sense of danger (I worried for the actors and horses), and Joan is an exceptionally active rally for her men, shining in her armor and flashing banner. Gastyne balances this glorious martial vision with a scene of Joan grieving alone in her room after the battle. She might not doubt her mission, but she mourns its cost.
Simone's Joan never really loses that vitality. At her trial, she looks tired but strong. She answers boldly and without fear, never losing her temper as in some later depictions (esp. Jovovich's and Sobieski's), and at one point she even shares a chuckle with her inquisitors. But the moment is brief. The fear and exhaustion that usually leads to the moment of abjuration doesn't really come through (as it does with, say, Bergman's performance), but she looks lost, hopeless, and very young. In this retelling, Joan never weakens, and her abjuration is forced. The priest guides her hand less because she can't write than because otherwise they'll never get her to sign. Her emotional break comes not with her abjuration but with the sentencing; when told she'll burn, she collapses in fear and grief, and then goes into shock. These last moments are always painful scenes, but it's especially tragic to see Simone's Joan, so lively and strong for so long, now so utterly broken. The English soldiers lounge and laugh as she burns, and unlike so many others on the pyre, she is a Joan who screams.
Next up, Bergman and Seberg.
Aaanyway... A while ago, I had a wee idea. "Self," I said to myself, "May 30th is coming up, and as everyone knows, May 30th is the Feast of St. Joan of Arc. You have a nice collection of movies and TV shows about Joan. Why don't you do a post and blather a little about them?" And so I did. Except... I kinda got carried away (shocking, I know), and ended up with many, many pages of blather about the aforementioned movies and TV shows, most which is probably pretty boring. Not that that'll prevent me from posting, of course. Heh. I have all those words from all those posts I haven't been making recently lying around in my brain gathering dust, so I might as well use them for something. But honestly, I really won’t be insulted if you scroll on by. This blather doesn't include every movie about Joan, or even all of the ones that can be considered important, since, among others, I don't yet own a copy of Robert Bresson's Procès de Jeanne d'Arc. It hasn't been commercially available for a while, and bootleg copies only show up on eBay when I'm broke. This blather doesn't even include every Joan show I do have in my collection, since I never had a chance to rewatch my tapes of Witchblade. But it's a pretty healthy selection nonetheless, including portrayals good and not-so-good. Like Hamlet, Joan of Arc is an difficult, strenuous part for any actor. She's a tremendously complex figure, so susceptible to contradictory interpretations, so charged with fascinating possibilities. She contains multitudes. Playing her must be a daunting proposition, but an irresistible one.
And so, on with the blather. I'll begin at the beginning, with the silents, then on to the mid-century portrayals, then the Joans of the '90s, and finally, television. And for each film, I've included a link with at least a small picture of the actress in costume, so you can get a glimpse of the changing face of the role.
Joan the Woman (1916), Geraldine Farrar:
"No sword once drawn for France - shall be thrown Down!"
Ah, here we have that well-known tale, the tragic romance of Joan of Arc and her English lover, Eric Trent. What's that? Joan had no lover, and especially not an English soldier? Yeah, this version is an interesting one, no question. It would take a stronger historical figure than even the Maid to resist the combined forces of Geraldine Farrar and Cecil B. DeMille. A change here, a change there, and soon enough you end up with a Joan whose heart is torn between her nation and her good-looking enemy. Go figure. As the opening title card says, this film is the story of, "the Girl Patriot, who fought with Men, was loved by Men, and killed by Men -- yet withal retained the Heart of a Woman." Which means she needs a boyfriend. Gerry and DeMille gave her Eric Trent, an English soldier (!) whose life she saves twice, and who betrays her to the English and the Church in the end. But that's okay, since he feels really guilty about it. So guilty that when he's reincarnated into the framing device, set in the trenches in 1916, he takes on a suicide mission to save his fellow soldiers and earn Joan's forgiveness. How romantic.
And then there's the question of Geraldine Farrar. Now, I love Gerry (that's her in my icon). Her voice is a lovely instrument, even translated through the recording limitations of her day, and I think her filmed version of Carmen (also made with DeMille) is just fabulous (see it if you can- she's a kickass Carmen). Plus, she was such a fun character personally, a diva among divas and one of the great media stars of her day. But casting her as Joan of Arc is an odd choice, to say the least. She was about 35 years old during filming, and she looks it. Gorgeous, true, but it's hard not to scoff when characters refer to her Joan as a child and a girl (and harder still when the title cards call her a "sturdy country maiden." Sturdy's right, anyway). She's a mature, voluptuous woman, and she just can't pass as a teenager. And yes, she gives a fun performance as some sort of romantic warrior woman, if not the one we're expecting, but in the end, she's terribly miscast. I can't help thinking she would have made a splendid Boudicca. The wronged queen, the bereaved mother, the furious avenger of her family and her people... now that would have been a role for Gerry. Ah well, opportunities lost. Also, compared to the other two silent Joan films in my collection, the acting in this version is melodramatic and stagy. It's the "strike a pose" variety of acting that informs the cliché of silent movies (for example, this pose is from the film itself, not the publicity). Gerry was used to playing to the back rows of the Met, after all. I think that sort of acting has its own charms, but it can be an acquired taste. Joan's Voices are represented through visions of glowing swords and a masculine angel (presumably Michael). Later she has visions of an army on the march, and another of a male angel on a black horse. Strangely, considering that two of the historical Joan's three Voices were female saints, all of this Joan's visions are male. Gerry's Joan is a feminine anomaly in an entirely masculine world, and her potential freakishness is defused by the comfortably conventional love story.
Like Gerry, this Joan is a diva. She has no fear of general or king, no humility and no doubts. She boldly slices Baudricourt's sword in half with a dagger, identifies the hiding Dauphin after mere seconds of thought and decisively breaks up the signing of a treaty that favors Burgundy. She's not exactly popular at court ("Are the nobles of France to follow a peasant wench?"), but she wisely wraps herself in Charles's banner, and she certainly does cut a dashing figure in her armor, so she's safe for a while. She takes Orléans with much pomp and excitement, though unlike other Joans she doesn't carry her own banner. That's what servants are for. Her wounding is a moment of highest melodrama, but she's quickly back on her feet and winning the day, the better to enjoy her triumph with armor shining and a head crowned with laurels. Hail the conquering diva! It's really not surprising that a priest admonishes her, "Wouldst thou be a Queen?", considering the amount of adoration she graciously accepts as her due. The crowd chases him off, but it's her celebrity (and her appreciation thereof) as much as her religious dubiousness that soon turns Charles and the Church against her.
Oh, and by the way. Cauchon's throne has a tiny secret compartment that holds a wee vial of poison, with which he attempts to kill the king. Because he's evil. Very evil! This movie is fun, but it's not subtle. Naturally Joan stops him, giving him a personal reason to pursue her death (heresy not being good enough for this bishop). Anyway, it's time for the coronation, after which Joan requests that the king give her the life of her English boyfriend. Oy. Trent asks Joan why she's freed him twice. Rather than answering, she turns to face the crucifix and pray, so he gently turns her back and tries to woo her. No luck, but as he leaves disappointed, she watches him longingly, with arms outstretched. That "Heart of a Woman" thing does seem to be a bit of a distraction. Gerry's Joan is certainly not as single-minded as some of her fellows; she's neither soldier nor visionary. Anyway, Boyfriend Trent is the one who captures her outside Compiègne (shouldn't have freed him!), so they break up. He does try to ransom her, but he fails and is lead away sobbing. Joan just looks vaguely disappointed, and it's tough to tell whether she's decided to embrace her fate or if Gerry just didn't want to mar her beauty with grief. After a very brief time being guarded by the Ku Klux Klan (maybe DeMille was economizing on costumes?) and an aborted rescue by Boyfriend Trent playing cavalry, Gerry heads to her execution. In a very stylish effect, the flames on the pyre are tinted red. DeMille was cracked, but there are often moments of visual poetry in his films, and some of his images help make all the rest worth it. Speaking of which, Gerry's Joan exits prettily, never looking more than slightly uncomfortable and without actually burning or dying. Instead she just stretches her arms out toward the audience and vanishes. No, not even a raging fire would dare harry this Joan.
La Passion de Jeanne d'Arc (1928), Maria Falconetti:
"Si j'y suis, que Dieu m'y tienne... si je n'y suis pas, que Dieu m'y mette!"
I'm firmly of the opinion that not only is this one of the greatest movies about Joan ever made, it's one of the greatest movies ever made. It's a demanding work, but its rewards are bountiful. It has one of the most compressed time frames of any Joan movie, covering only her trial and execution with none of her previous triumphs to soften the blows. The length of the film is also rather compressed, sweeping along at a brisk pace for only 82 minutes (for comparison, Joan the Woman is 138 mins. and La Vie merveilleuse is 124 mins.). The result is a transcendent, exhausting experience and a true masterpiece of cinema. See this movie. Especially see this movie with Richard Einhorn's "Voices of Light" oratorio attached, as on the Criterion DVD or the 1999 remastered VHS edition (and then go buy the CD). When I first saw this film, it was with an organ score that occasionally turned to "La Marseillaise" to make its points, and it was still extremely impressive. The support of a work as gorgeous and intelligent as "Voices of Light" lifts the film into another realm altogether. Don't be surprised if you cry.
The script is drawn primarily from the actual trial transcripts, and the sets and costumes are simple and austere. There's hardly a straight line or right angle to be found anywhere, with a mix of off-kilter camera angles and misaligned doorways and walls heightening the general atmosphere of dread (much as in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari). Sometimes shots are blocked so that the actors are nearly entirely out of frame. The bulk of the movie is filmed in close-ups or single-actor shots, interspersed with a variety of well-designed establishing shots. Dreyer is merciless with his camera and lighting; no wrinkle, wart, or sneer of the judges goes unseen, and the effect is often quite oppressive. Luckily for the viewer, Dreyer's approach also means that we spend long moments gazing at one of the most expressive faces in the history of film, that of Maria Falconetti.
It's hard to imagine that Falconetti was primarily a successful performer in light, sophisticated theatrical comedies when Dreyer cast her as Joan, so deeply does her performance plumb the depths of agony. She's transcendent in the role, but the experience of filming was so harrowing that she never made another movie. It's a great loss. At first glance, her looks are rather plain. Her nose is too large and her face too round to be a classic beauty. But as the film goes on, we come to see that she is, in fact, magnificent. The broad plains of her face and her fine mouth could be carved from marble, and a hundred emotions, each of them true, can be seen in her at once. And then there are her eyes, large and liquid and filled with light. I've watched a lot of movies in my life, and I've never seen eyes like Falconetti's.
Falconetti's Joan is not one who answers her judges boldly or combatively, but rather one who sheds a tear at the thought of her mother and whose core of pure faith is covered in very mortal fear. She has moments of exultation and bravery, but more often she expresses grief and confusion. If she was once a warrior, she is one no longer. On the other hand, it's easy to imagine this Joan as an accepting martyr. She is an ecstatic, exquisite victim.
Joan's judges (a collection of fascinating faces) are a worldly, craft lot who rage at her and at each other every time she evades their snares. Their frustration pours off the screen. In moments such as when Joan is threatened with torture if she does not abjure, the tension between the panicked Joan and the thwarted judges spirals so high that it's almost a relief when she collapses. They win in the end because they wear her down, not because her faith is shaken. She simply cannot stand up under the weight of their fury and frustration any longer. So broken and exhausted is Falconetti's Joan that she hardly reacts when told her sentence; her wounds are already too deep for this final one to be marked. She's weakened by her long fight and is hardly able to walk to the pyre, but not only does she not resist, she helps the executioner by handing him a rope he's dropped. One suspects she'd still rather go home to Domrémy and her mother, but it's clear that if martyrdom is to be her fate, she'll embrace it. As she dies, the scene explodes into a violent struggle between the English soldiers (who strongly resemble WWI German officers) and the watching, grieving crowd. The camera returns again and again to her burning body, lest we forget that she was a person, not just a saint.
And that, Mel Gibson, is how you film a passio.
La Vie merveilleuse de Jeanne d'Arc (1928), Simone Gènevoix:
"Donnez-moi des hommes d'armes et je léverai le siege d'Orléans, puis vous menerai sacrer a Reims."
You know, it's interesting. This film was released 77 years ago. It had only a limited release in North America at the time, though it did well in Europe, and it's been little seen since. It's a distant star in the constellation of Joan films (tragically so, IMO). So watching it can be a startling experience- either it had a disproportionately powerful effect on the iconography of Joan in the twentieth century, or director Marco de Gastyne tapped directly into the collective unconscious for his imagery. This is how Joan and her story look to an awful lot of people. If any portrayal can be both wholly transcendent and wholly populist, this one is.
And if ever a movie was deserving of rescue and a higher profile, it's this one. There was a reconstruction of the film done in 1983, and it's not in unwatchable condition, but there's still a heavy amount of damage to the print. It pains me to think of this film rotting away. Criterion, Kino, somebody, save this movie! Every voice in the film, each character, letter, decree and "voiceover," has its own font used in the title cards (which are in French), so that Joan "sounds" different than Cauchon, Charles, the English, etc. And I have no idea if the score in use is even slightly related to the original, but it's very effective, a rich and dramatic mix of orchestra, solo strings, some electronics, and vocals (both choral and a soprano soloist).
The film's producers started what would become a filmic-Joan trend by throwing wide their nets in an extensive casting search, looking not for a high-profile actress, but simply for a French brunette who could ride a horse. The result was the wonderful choice of Simone Gènevois. She wasn't new to the screen, having appeared in Abel Gance's Napoléon and a handful of other films, but neither was she a star. Sadly, Jeanne d'Arc doesn't seem to have made her one, either; she has no credits after 1934 (I suspect her marriage to Andre Conti, one of the business men behind the merger of Rapid-Film and Pathé-Cinéma, played a hand in that). What a pity.
Certainly, Simone looks the part. She's a lovely Joan, but in a regular person way, not a movie star way (unlike Ingrid Bergman or Gerry Farrar). She's small but strong-looking. She seems comfortable in both her peasant garb (a classically late-19th c. version thereof, with a dark vest/corselet over a light blouse with rolled sleeves and a shortish skirt, the very Romantic ideal of the peasant- much like this Joan) and in her armor. She rides a horse with authority and wields her banner like a weapon against the English. She's the right age, seventeen when the film was released. She has the knack for looking uplifted and slightly otherworldly without coming across as vacant-minded (which can be tough- Jean Seberg never managed it). The film has a relatively extended amount of time devoted to Joan's youth in Domrémy, and we get to see Joan's Voices (Sts. Catherine and Margaret, if not Michael) as ghostly dancing figures superimposed over the scene, or as beautiful, slightly consumptive-looking women smiling beatifically down on their chosen one. Joan is given her mission and sets out, and the film expands to epic scale complete with a "cast of thousands!" (some of whom were provided by the French army, to fill out the busy, exciting battle scenes), luxurious costumes and armor, gorgeous scenery, and even some scenes filmed at the actual sites of the story's action.
This Joan is direct and vital. If she ever doubts her Voices, she doesn't show it. Her expression at La Hire's blaspheming is both fierce and disappointed, shaming him into better behavior, and she's strong and determined enough to stare down the dangerously charismatic Gilles de Rais (the historical Bluebeard) to protect the noble lady he's seducing. (I have to say, Philippe Heriat's Gilles is really, really hot, in a gay pirate sort of way. An effect that's heightened by the big hoop earrings he has in both ears.) Her excitement and pleasure when a priest brings her the banner she's commissioned is tinged with a sense of purpose. It's also one of the most beautifully composed scenes in the film, with the small, slender girl in her bright armor and sleek pageboy, smiling at the priest as she cradles the banner in her arms. Gorgeous.
None of the performances show the staginess that fills Joan the Woman and stereotype silent movie acting; rather, everyone seems rather relaxed and naturalistic, like they truly wear these clothes and ride these horses in life. The battles are huge and tumultuous with a real sense of danger (I worried for the actors and horses), and Joan is an exceptionally active rally for her men, shining in her armor and flashing banner. Gastyne balances this glorious martial vision with a scene of Joan grieving alone in her room after the battle. She might not doubt her mission, but she mourns its cost.
Simone's Joan never really loses that vitality. At her trial, she looks tired but strong. She answers boldly and without fear, never losing her temper as in some later depictions (esp. Jovovich's and Sobieski's), and at one point she even shares a chuckle with her inquisitors. But the moment is brief. The fear and exhaustion that usually leads to the moment of abjuration doesn't really come through (as it does with, say, Bergman's performance), but she looks lost, hopeless, and very young. In this retelling, Joan never weakens, and her abjuration is forced. The priest guides her hand less because she can't write than because otherwise they'll never get her to sign. Her emotional break comes not with her abjuration but with the sentencing; when told she'll burn, she collapses in fear and grief, and then goes into shock. These last moments are always painful scenes, but it's especially tragic to see Simone's Joan, so lively and strong for so long, now so utterly broken. The English soldiers lounge and laugh as she burns, and unlike so many others on the pyre, she is a Joan who screams.
Next up, Bergman and Seberg.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-31 02:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-04 06:07 am (UTC)And yay, another Cohen fan! I know a bare handful of us now. I suppose he's hopelessly out of fashion, but when has that ever mattered? :)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-06 03:55 am (UTC)Btw, in catching up with lj I see that you just had a birthday. I hope it was a good one. :-)