10/10

Rating: 10/10 (9 January 2004)

Carl Dreyer presents us with one of the greatest tests of an audience in the history of the movies. He forces us to look at Joan's face in a hundred fragmented close-ups, gaze into her steely eyes permeated with God's destiny, never sure of our surroundings. He makes us those that would judge her, gawking at her facetiously. She's the greatest angel we've ever had, and Dreyer doesn't make the mistake of turning her into a device for sympathy: when she bends, it's not because she's weak, it's because she's overcome with God's power. As usual with Dreyer, his film is something that we reflect ourselves onto: are we Joan, or the onlookers? When Joan cries, do we blame ourselves?
Individual scenes are captivating: the scene where Joan is tortured in order to confess to lying is one of the tensest in film, and when she gets her hair chopped off it's as if her soul is being hacked away. Dreyer never shows her as a warrior in battle; indeed, he just shows the chaos incited by her death. In terms of silent movie impressiveness, there's a cool scene with blood squirting out when Joan is bled due to her fever, and some jarring cuts to a mother milking her baby. There is a great sense of drama here, as well. The questioning of Joan is often brilliant: How do they know she wasn't hearing the voice of the Devil? She certainly looks possessed. All Joan can say is, "To make me suffer the Devil has sent you." Falconetti is magnetic, otherworldly, drained. You can see why she never acted again. Like all true artists, she lets us peer into her soul, and it's frightening. Dreyer uses her magnificently -- through each tear droplet, her soul pushes its way out of her physical body so we can see inside.
I personally don't believe she was the daughter of God, or a clairvoyant; instead, I respect that she didn't question herself, only those around her. It's what makes her human: God told her what to do, and since you can't question God, she's not liable. It's that maddening sense of childishness and purity and stubbornness and hypocrisy and a million other things that makes her someone you can't understand, makes her human. It's not so much that we believe she's hearing God as it is we believe that she believes she is. That kind of assurance is, of course, wildly admirable, but at the same time offensive and incredibly dangerous. Worshipping at the altar of Joan is foolish, I think, except for what it represents: trial by fire, and mankind's cynical, relentless attitude, comprised mainly of jaded non-believers. Dreyer's film is great not because it presents Joan as the greatest of martyrs but because it has the courage to show her as simple and human -- and probably as loony as the rest of us. 10/10