World Film History: Strike and The Passion of Joan of Arc

I've been slacking off on reviewing the movies in my World Film History class, largely because I'm rather ambivalent about reviewing silent movies. First of all, my experience in this film is fairly limited. Second of all, I find them largely alien to my 21st Century sensibilities. Thirdly, in case you haven't noticed, I've been seeing movies at an usually-rapid rate and can't review every movie I see. And finally, I'm fucking tired after a four-hour night class on Wednesday.

I'll try and backtrack for the last two weeks, though, and take a stab at reviewing Sergei Eisenstein's Strike (1925) and Carl Theodore Dryer's The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928). Both of these films are brilliant, and the only other silent I've enjoyed as much is King Vidor's The Crowd (1928). (I saw that a year ago though, so don't expect a review anytime soon.)

Strike



Strike was Sergei Eisenstein's first major film, before the more famous Battleship Potemkin and October. Despite its comparative obscurity, Strike is a viscerally powerful masterpiece, transcending its origins as Bolshevik propaganda and being a compelling work of cinematic art.

In turn-of-the-century Russia, a group of oppressed factory workers go on strike, demanding an increase in wages and fewer work hours. When management refuses to negotiate, the workers seize control of the factory, and form a makeshift community. The police react by sending a team of spies and provocateurs to disrupt the strike, but most of them are quickly rooted out. Unable to disrupt the strike from within, the authorities resort to brute force, sending in a company of dragoons to slaughter the strikers.

Plotwise, Eisenstein's film is a straightforward piece of Communist agitprop. The righteous workers and peasants opposing the bloated, cigar-smoking capitalists and their jack-booted oppressors is the exact opposite of subtlety. In this case, it's the presentation that matters, and Strike is the perfect example of Soviet montage. Eisenstein uses every cinematic tool to convey his message, and the result is a truly striking piece of work.

Eisenstein's direction and editing are marvellous. The film is full of striking images, from Eisenstein's clever use of double-exposure (the animals representing the police spies), excellent set-pieces (the scemounted dragoons riding among an apartment's high rises is even more intense than the Odessa steps scene in Potemkin), and a few bizarre touches of surrealism (dwarves dancing on a table as the police interrogate a striker). Perhaps most astonishing is the finale, where the gory slaughter of a bull is juxtaposed with Cossacks gunning down unarmed strikers (an image appropriated by Coppola in Apocalypse Now). The result is a visceral, gut-wrenching feeling of violence, that remains with the viewer long after the film ends. Even if the message is clunky, dated and unappealing, the experience is unquestionably brilliant.

The Passion of Joan of Arc



Carl Theodore Dryer's The Passion of Joan of Arc is equailly masterful. Besides being a compelling "film of conscience" a la A Man for All Seasons, Dreyer's direction, cinematography and editing are just as striking as Eisenstein's, albeit less flamboyant. It also contains a truly astonishing performance by Renee Jeanne Falconetti.

Joan of Arc (Renee Jeanne Falconetti), the famous French patriot and military leader, is put on trial for heresy by the Catholic Church and the English occupiers. Joan firmly resists attempts to coerce her confession, from threats of torture to challenges to her spirituality, but she refuses to bend - until directly confronted with execution. Joan repents, only to instantly regret it, and she accepts her martyrdom

Intended as an early "docudrama", Joan of Arc is an intense, gripping cinematic experience. Joan is a wonderfully convincing, heartbreaking protagonist, with pleading, bewildered eyes and a haunting innocence; her interrogators think she's a clever trickster rather than the simple, honest girl she is. The straightforward cinematography, using extreme close-ups of makeup-less faces (and tops of heads), quick editing, and a near-verbatim trial transcript create an incredibly intense and oppressive atmosphere, through marvellous simplicity. The final scene, with its quick-editing rioting, smacks a bit much of Eisenstein, but it works well-enough. The ingenious choral soundtrack by Voices of Light enhances the experience.

Falconetti gives a truly mesmerizing performance. Hers is one of the great silence performances, conveying fear, anguish, faith and resignation with striking facial expessions. The typage casting of the church authorities, with flabby faces, glistening boils and cavernous wrinkles, is equally effective, but it's Falconetti's show all the way.