The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) is Carl Theodor Dreyer’s first masterpiece. It was critically acclaimed but a disappointment at the box-office. Dryer followed it with a second masterpiece, Vampyr (1932), which also failed to impress its investors, but this time he was criminally overlooked by the critics, probably due to the stigma that hounds the horror genre. Day of Wrath (1943) fared better, but due to its allusions to the tyranny of Nazi Occupation Dryer fled to Sweden and did not return to Denmark until after the war. Dryer grew up in a Danish foster home and was adopted by a newspaper typographer, and this later dovetailed into a career in journalism. In 1912 he got work as a title writer for Nordisk Film and for the next six years wrote many scripts before breaking out as a director. Dryer was influenced by Sergei M. Eisenstein’s work, but his films are in a class all of their own and have left deep imprints on many filmmakers, including Lars von Trier – who sometimes seems to be as haunted by Dryer as were all the people who worked on The Passion of Joan of Arc.
I first saw The Passion of Joan of Arc in a film history class taught by Stan Brakhage. It was there that I learned how Dryer had the “white” walls of the set designed by Hermann Warm tinted pink to make them more photogenic to the black-and-white medium, and how none of the actors wore makeup, and how traumatizing the role was for Maria Falconetti (she would never make another movie again). The film was shot in chronological order and based on the transcripts of the 18-month long 15th-century trial against Joan of Arc. In the film the trial, death-sentence, and execution are all rolled into one day for maximum cinematic impact. 18-months is also how long it took Dryer to shoot the film, a fact not lost on future financial backers who would come to regard Dryer as a costly filmmaker with an obsessive eye for detail. Speaking of eyes, the excerpt below from Georges Sadoul’s Dictionary of Films provides fascinating insights. (There is a link to the full review at very bottom.) In Brakhage’s class, Sadoul’s books were required reading, and every time I consult them I can see why:
Valentine Hugo has described Dreyer’s methods on the set: “At all times we suffered the enveloping sense of horror, of an iniquitous trial, of an eternal judicial error … I saw the most mistrustful actors, carried away by the will and faith of the director, unconsciously continuing to play their roles after the cameras had stopped. A judge, after a scene in which he appeared moved by Joan’s suffering, mumbling, ‘At heart she’s a witch!’ he was living the drama as though it were real. Another, boiling with rage, hurls a string of invectives at the accused and finally interjects this apostrophe: ‘You are a disgrace to the Army!’ … (It was) particularly moving the day when Falconetti’s hair was cropped close to her skull in the wan light of the execution morning and in the total silence on the set. We were as touched as if the mark of infamy were truly being applied and we were in the grip of ancient prejudices. The electricians, the mechanics held their breaths and their eyes were full of tears.” Falconetti herself cried. “Then the director slowly walked towards the heroine, caught some of her tears on his finger and touched them to his lips.” (Cine-Miroir, November 11, 1927).
The excerpt above reminds me of similar stories I read in interviews with cast members who worked on Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ (2004). I want to be very clear about this: I am not comparing Mel Gibson to Carl Theodor Dreyer. I am, however, insinuating that the “passion” in both of these cases is clearly referring to a transcendental spiritual experience, and in both cases the people working on their respective film sets felt the spirit of the martyrs they were representing in a very clear and present way.
The Passion of Joan of Arc shows tonight on TCM. For further reading:
http://filmfrog.org/reviews/p/passion-of-joan-of-arc.html
