Despite multiple opportunities and a strong desire to do so, I’ve somehow never got round to watching The Passion of Joan of Arc before
now – an omission in part down to its formidable reputation. Like its
saintly protagonist, Carl Theodor Dreyer’s landmark film has long been
canonised, and this universal reverence, coupled with its renowned
emotional intensity, have meant the film always felt deserving of
something more than a casual rental. But excuses aside, the distressing
fact remains: I’ve made time in my life to see all three Diary of a Wimpy Kid films and every Saw,
yet never experienced what US critic Jonathan Rosenbaum described as
'the pinnacle of silent cinema – and perhaps of the cinema itself'. Talk
about cardinal sins…
Yet tonight, seated under the vaulted ceilings of Glasgow Cathedral,
it feels less like a grievous oversight and more like a sagacious effort
to ensure my first viewing is an unforgettable one. The cathedral’s
gothic architecture, imposing stone pillars and faintly glowing stained
glass leave a pronounced impression whatever your creed, and with the
projector literally atop the altar, the interlinking of awes both
religious and cinematic is potent. Even before the film begins, I can
feel the goosebumps rise (though whether that’s from wonderment or
chilliness it’s hard to say: impressive it may be, but the cathedral is
far from cosy, and jackets stay firmly on throughout).
As the audience adjusts in tightly-packed pews, GFF co-director Allan
Hunter takes to the pulpit to deliver his introduction. Special thanks
are extended both to the Cathedral’s custodians for graciously hosting
the evening, and to Cork French Film Festival curator Paul Callanan, who
originally commissioned the event last year, and who will invite it
back to Cork next month for a performance at Saint Fin Barre’s. A potted
overview of the film’s exulted status follows, with Sight & Sound’s decennial critic’s poll (in which Passion…
consistently charts high) evoked as a broad barometer of the enduring
admiration it attracts, and director Dreyer venerated as one of several
early filmmakers to alter perceptions of cinema’s capabilities: not
merely a sideshow novelty or 'cheap entertainment for the masses', but a
medium with latent artistic, poetic and spiritual possibilities. Hunter
goes on to note Dreyer’s technical innovations, and reserves special
praise (as is customary) for Maria Falconetti’s sublime central
performance. In order to elicit a genuine sense of suffering, Hunter
recounts, Dreyer instructed Falconetti to kneel on concrete for extended
periods – a behind-the-scenes tit-bit that puts any minor grumblings
about the hardness of the cathedral’s seating in perspective…
The film itself is every bit as resplendent as years of eulogising
have led me to expect. Falconetti’s face sears itself on brain and
conscience, her expressively wide eyes conveying acute torment during
every close-up, her iconic framing augmented tonight by the screen’s
grand surroundings. Less expected qualities include the sheer terror of
the torture chamber sequence and the horrific final execution, which
have a visceral impact that stays fixed in mind well into the following
day. Composer Irene Buckley’s new score proves a hauntingly dramatic
accompaniment to these onscreen revelations, contrasting ambient
electronics with sonorous organ (courtesy of the distinguished James
McVinnie), and utilising sudden silences to devastating effect. As
pounding tom drums reverberate through the cathedral’s sanctuary, it
becomes difficult for a newcomer enthusiast like myself to imagine the
film divorced from so apt a soundtrack. Also excellent is soprano Gemma
Nash, whose choral masses punctuate proceedings beautifully; while I
can’t claim to have any significant experience or frame of reference for
the recital style, it sounds pretty perfect from where I’m seated.
When the screen fades to black, there is a hesitant hush before the
enthusiastic and prolonged applause commences. I can’t be the only one
there who uses that moment to reflect on how special the event has been:
a highlight of the entire festival – indeed, any festival – and a
profound reminder of just how mesmerising and stimulating cinema can be.
And you don’t get that with Diary of a Wimpy Kid 2: Rodrick Rules, let me assure you.
[written for the Glasgow Film Festival blog]
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