THE PASSION OF JOAN OF ARC Explained. The Truth Behind the Masterpiece

Everyone considered the proper, director’s version to be irretrievably lost. The film reel of The Passion of Joan of Arc was destroyed right after the final editing, shortly before its official premiere in 1928. Dreyer was forced to hastily re-edit the film using only previously rejected material. Additionally, several scenes were cut at the behest of the Church, which demanded the right to assess and censor the work before its premiere. Thus, a crippled version of The Passion of Joan of Arc reached the cinemas. The Danish director, whose Ordet (1955) most likely inspired Bergman, died in 1968 with the belief that his greatest cinematic achievement was never presented to the world in the form it truly deserved.

But through some incredible twist of fate—miracle? divine intervention?—the original version of the film was discovered in pristine condition in 1981… in Oslo, in the janitor’s room of a psychiatric hospital. The room was being cleaned out after the man’s death, and several boxes of old film reels were found. They were sent to the Norwegian National Film Archive, where they lay for three years, as no one was particularly eager to examine material found in the room of some eccentric loner. One can only imagine the astonishment of the archivists when they finally sat down to review the reels and discovered that they had before them a masterpiece of silent cinema that was believed to be irretrievably lost! There are several theories about how the film reel made its way from France to a psychiatric hospital in Oslo, but nothing has ever been proven. It’s certainly easy to detect a certain irony, even an unsettling poetry, in the fact that a film about Joan of Arc—a woman who heard the voices of angels and saints, and who today might be diagnosed with schizophrenia by modern psychiatry—was found in such a place. Incidentally, a very similar fate befell Murnau‘s Phantom from 1922.

The restoration of the found material allowed viewers to fully appreciate Dreyer’s vision. Moreover, The Passion of Joan of Arc was complemented by a stunning oratorio composed by Richard Einhorn specifically for the film, Voices of Light. Although Dreyer himself recommended watching his work in silence, today it’s difficult to imagine it without this particular soundtrack, which serves as a perfect complement to the visuals. Here are a few pieces; you can listen to them while reading.

How did it come about that a Danish, Protestant director made a high-budget film about the Catholic patron saint of France in that country? He was given the opportunity thanks to the great success of his earlier work, Master of the House (1925). This drew the attention of the Société Générale des Films, a production company aiming to make monumental films about great events and figures from French history. Out of the topics proposed to him, Dreyer chose the biography of Joan of Arc, who had been canonized and declared the patron saint of France just a few years earlier, in 1920.

Dreyer was drawn to the paradoxical nature of this figure. A saint who was burned at the stake as a heretic. A martyr in the name of Christ, yet executed by the Church. The Vatican rehabilitated Joan of Arc in 1457, admitting that they had erred in sentencing her to death. For centuries thereafter, debates raged over whether she was a saint, mad, or even possessed. So, who really was Joan of Arc, the Shepherdess of Domrémy, the Maid of Orléans? Certainly, one of the most intriguing and mysterious women in European history. Her exact birthdate is unknown, but she was only 19 when she died. She came from the village of Domrémy, born to a poor peasant family, and she couldn’t read or write. Her short life unfolded during an exceptionally difficult period in French history: weakened by the plague and the Hundred Years’ War, the country was on the brink of collapse. Most of its territory was occupied by the English and Burgundians, France had no crowned king, the last cities were defending themselves with dwindling resources, and no one in the country still hoped to ever throw off the English yoke.

Joan was about 12 when, while tending animals, she first heard the voices of Jesus, angels, and saints. Later, these voices began convincing her that the fate of France rested on her shoulders, that her destiny was to lead the country to victory and ensure the coronation of the king. She donned knightly armor and joined the French army. Initially scorned and driven away, she eventually won over the commanders… with her determination? Her inspired wisdom? To quote historian Stephen W. Richey: Only a nation in utter desperation would place its trust in an illiterate girl from a small village who claimed that God had told her to take command of the army and lead it to victory over the enemy. Whether she heard God’s voice or not is no longer relevant because the story of her life leaves everyone dumbfounded.

Against all logic and probability, Joan, a simple peasant girl with no military experience, took command of an army, liberated Orléans and Reims, revolutionized the French army’s tactics (focusing on aggressive offense), and led to the coronation of Charles VII as the King of France. When people marveled at her successes, she claimed that all her actions were directed by God, and she was merely a vessel executing His will. Unfortunately, in the spring of 1430, during a retreat after a lost skirmish, she was captured by the Burgundians, who then sold her to the English government.

The English were intent not just on eliminating her as a political opponent but on destroying her symbolic significance for the French. It was her very presence that breathed hope into a humiliated nation; Joan had already become a national myth in her lifetime, giving the French people a sense that divine justice was on their side. Proving the heresy of the Maid of Orléans would have been a tremendous blow to the occupied country. It would have also undermined the legitimacy of Charles VII’s claim to the French throne, as it would mean he was crowned by a “witch.” That’s why English-paid clerics sentenced Joan to a prolonged, exhausting trial, meant to force her to admit that her visions did not come from God, that she deliberately lied, and that she committed blasphemy. Despite torture, Joan remained unbroken. She never renounced her convictions, and the frustrated English burned her at the stake on May 30, 1431. This is the incredible story of Joan of Arc in a nutshell.

The film’s screenplay was based on authentic transcripts from her trial. Most of the dialogue in The Passion of Joan of Arc wasn’t fictionalized but directly taken from these documents: the film includes the actual words of the interrogated Joan and her interrogators. Dreyer worked on the script for several months, consulting regularly with historian Pierre Champion. Although Joan’s trial and torture lasted about a year, Dreyer condensed all the interrogations and her execution into a single day—the final day of the heroine’s life. Dreyer was intent on maintaining unity of time, place, and action to imbue the story with the qualities of an ancient drama, further emphasizing the tragedy of the protagonist, forced to choose between her life and her ideals.

The Passion of Joan of Arc received a positive critical reception upon its release, but it was only over time that the film’s position became firmly established, allowing audiences to fully appreciate its greatness, as often happens with works that are ahead of their time. Today, this production is openly referred to as a milestone in cinema. The film remains remarkably fresh and evocative; it was actually the screening of The Passion of Joan of Arc that made such a strong impression on Michael Mann that he decided to become a director. The movie shocked contemporary audiences with its naturalism, showing, among other things, genuine bloodletting, and in the scene where Joan is spat on by a priest, real saliva lands on her cheek. The film also abandoned the thick makeup characteristic of silent cinema because Dreyer wanted to capture the truth in the actors’ faces, with their natural expressions, emotions, individuality, wrinkles, and imperfections. Cinematographer Rudolph Maté further increased the contrast in close-ups of the antagonists to emphasize their ugliness, while Joan was filmed with low contrast, making her appear more ethereal, as if surrounded by an angelic aura.

The Passion of Joan of Arc draws its strength primarily from close-ups and tight shots. It is perhaps the first film to so emphatically demonstrate that one of cinema’s greatest advantages over theater is the ability to look directly into the actor’s face. For this reason, The Passion of Joan of Arc is sometimes called a “document of the face.” Silent cinema long borrowed its means of expression from theatrical traditions (excessive acting, staging style…). The most outstanding cinematic achievements of this era can be recognized, among other things, by how they treat film as a medium distinct from theater and exploit to the fullest what is characteristic of cinema alone: editing, changing locations, framing, and, particularly, the close-up. Although an accurate replica of medieval Rouen was created for the film, Dreyer rarely used these decorations in individual scenes. Most shots in the film are long close-ups of the actors’ faces, static frames of the lonely and contemplative Joan against the backdrop of white walls contrasted with the crude, scheming faces of her tormentors. It was an extremely innovative solution: making the human face the source of emotional tension. Filming a historical movie without grand scenes, one that is quiet, intimate, and based on an extremely close look at the heroine’s face, ascetic in its minimal set design. Dreyer did not make an epic but rather a reflective, ahead-of-its-time psychological drama about an individual faced with a tragic choice. Because of this, we empathize with Joan as we would with another suffering human being, not just a historical figure.

And now – the title heroine. The Passion of Joan of Arc owes its “masterpiece” status not only to Dreyer. This film wouldn’t exist without the actress in the lead role. Renée Falconetti (also known as Maria Falconetti) acted in just two films throughout her career. She spent most of her life performing in theater and cabaret revues, with mixed results. It was during one of these comedic performances that Dreyer, present in the audience, noticed her. He was intrigued by a certain sadness in her face, a distant look, an aura of someone preoccupied with inner turmoil. He immediately offered her the lead role in his production, and the then-34-year-old actress accepted.

Thanks to Dreyer’s excellent casting intuition, we received from Falconetti something that I can – without exaggeration – call the most beautiful facial performance in cinema history. Her alternately tormented and inspired countenance, her simultaneously crazy and wise gaze, her strength and fear – The Passion of Joan of Arc would not have succeeded without the astonishing ability of the actress to embody all the nuances of the titular heroine. Falconetti’s dedication to the role and her identification with Joan became legendary, as did the not-so-kind treatment she received on set from the director. For instance, Dreyer made her kneel on stones for extended periods to better feel the suffering of the character she portrayed, and he filmed an endless number of takes, always searching for that one perfect shot.

The film showcases not only Joan’s superhuman endurance in the face of hardship but also her remarkable wisdom. Suffice it to say that during the year-long trial, she was interrogated by well-educated theologians who tried to trick and manipulate her into uttering blasphemies, saying something contrary to Church doctrine, or indicating her supposed possession. However, Joan answered so cautiously and thoughtfully that the English canonists fell silent in amazement, lacking arguments. But she is most moving not when demonstrating an unyielding character or sharp intellect, but when she reveals herself to be a simple, naive girl, seemingly surprised by the enormity of the situation she found herself in. When asked her name, she responds: Joan, but in my village, they call me Joasia. When asked how she knows the Lord’s Prayer, she begins to cry at the memory of her mother who taught her this prayer. Or when she prays for the last time in her life, already at the stake, with the words: God, I humbly accept my death… but please, do not let me suffer too long.

Another aspect of the film’s brilliance is the editing. Dreyer uses it not only to provide the trial with appropriate dynamism but also employs associative editing with great awareness to create symbolic meanings. A good example of this is the sequence just before Joan’s burning: the silhouette of the heroine praying before her entrance to the stake is twice juxtaposed with a close-up of a baby suckling at its mother’s breast. We don’t know who this child is. Perhaps it is in the crowd awaiting the public execution, intended to remind us of humanity’s indifference to evil. Perhaps it’s a frame from the past depicting young Joan – thus closing the circle of her short story, and we see side by side two images from the very beginning and end of her life.

The Passion of Joan of Arc is based on expressionist contrast not only in its formal layer but also in its meaning. The dividing line is clearly drawn: Joan vs. priests and monks. Everything distinguishes the heroine from her judges. She is the only woman among men, a Frenchwoman among the English, a peasant among the educated, a soldier among the clergy. The loneliness of the heroine imposes an interpretation of the film as a story about the conflict between the individual and society. We witness the effort to crush Joan’s individuality, to level her to uniformity. Her person disrupts the entire medieval social order. She is a peasant who rose above her station, and a woman who transcended the roles assigned to her gender. The Maid of Orleans is not only the patroness of France but of all kinds of outcasts, outsiders, misunderstood, and rejected individuals.

Joan of Arc’s gender identity has sparked controversy in church circles for centuries. We’re talking about a woman who donned armor, cut her hair short, and insisted on being addressed as a knight. To the very end, she showed strong determination to dress like a man, even though on the day of her death she was forced to wear women’s clothing. Was Joan of Arc transgender? Perhaps. In Dreyer’s film, in accordance with historical truth, Joan’s male attire is counted among the long list of her supposed “sins.” The priests at the trial directly label her clothing as sacrilegious, blasphemous, indecent, perverse. We are struck by the fervor with which they attack this aspect of Joan’s personality, seemingly insignificant to the overall judgment of her guilt; while she wants to talk about her mission from God, they debate her trousers and chainmail. There is no room for understanding; they speak different languages. Watching the film today, one might bitterly conclude that, nearly six hundred years after Joan of Arc’s burning, the Church still isn’t ready to accept human diversity. It remains willing to condemn someone for their attire, beliefs, or sexuality and continues to be more concerned with the material and external than with the spiritual and divine. The bodily aspects of others concern it more than their souls, which, according to Christ’s teachings, should be the foremost priority.

Although The Passion of Joan of Arc is undeniably a film about faith, it’s difficult to call it a celebration of institutionalized religion. Furthermore, the Church is portrayed here in a decidedly negative light (which didn’t prevent the Vatican from including The Passion of Joan of Arc among the 45 greatest films in history). In her ultimate “blasphemy” – the one that led her to the stake and proved unforgivable – Joan directly accuses the priests and monks torturing her of representing not God on earth but the devil. This approach to spirituality is characteristic of Dreyer’s sensibility, who, in his other films, also advocated personal communion with the Absolute. The ritualization of faith by the Church in such a perspective becomes just an obstacle to approaching the truth; God can only be found alone, sometimes even through heresy. The Church in The Passion of Joan of Arc is solely a source of oppression, which adds another layer of suffering for the heroine, who falls into crisis and illness when she realizes that the institution in which she once so fervently believed is acting against her and fails to see the significance of her divine mission. The only positive figure among the canonists is a young monk supporting Joan, portrayed by the famous French intellectual, artist, and writer, Antonin Artaud. However, he lacks both the courage and the influence to stop the execution.

The central conflict in The Passion of Joan of Arc is the struggle between earthly matters and the matters of the spirit. The titular heroine fully aligns herself with the immaterial world of ideas and spiritual values. And though she perishes in the end, it is clear to the viewer that she is the one who triumphs, not the English. In Dreyer’s film, the strength of spirit, fervor of faith, and loyalty to one’s convictions rise above the limitations of the body, fear of death, politics, the Church, and all other earthly institutions.

The term “mystery” suits The Passion of Joan of Arc more than “film.” When asked what his work was about, Dreyer used to say it was about the triumph of the spirit over life. Few films can evoke genuine metaphysical experiences in the audience, but *The Passion of Joan of Arc* undoubtedly belongs to that rare group. Noble in its simplicity and consistency of artistic means, it offers the viewer a sense of encountering something greater. It draws us closer to some ineffable mystery of existence, the meanings of which we can only intuitively sense. After watching this film, I simply had to write about it. But now I’ll fall silent, for I can only get in the way of your viewing experience, which is meant for solitary contemplation.