For pity's sake… The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928), Globe Theatre, Utley and Gregory Ensemble

Cinema under the stars, as a gig, as a “play” watched from the groundling point of view in Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre: you can watch Carl Theodor Dreyer’s masterpiece in silence at home and be affected but here the emotional content was flavoured with new atmosphere. I am drained, strangely enriched and I really hate what the English did to Joan.

A few months back the Globe musicians had played on to silent Shakespeare at the BFI and tonight’s screening on the Globe stage was something of a return match. Purists all round were at risk of being offended: cinema on this stage, amplified music and a film whose director asked to be watched in silence accompanied not just by music grounded in rock and trip hop but by non-specialists.

Utley, Gregory and Hazelwood at the Globe

For me it works sublimely well – I left my socks on the floor of the Globe. This is now the third time I’ve seen the Utley and Gregory Joan, first at the Royal Festival Hall and second at an All Tomorrow’s Parties festival at Alexandra Palace where it happily rubbed shoulders with Portishead (Adrian’s day job), Swans, Nick Cave, Alan Moore and Godspeed You! Black Emperor, the Canadian “post-rock” ensemble whose massed guitar and violin meditations remind me of sections of tonight’s score.

Utley and Gregory deploy a broader sonic template than GYBE with not just those guitars but a brass section, synthesisers and, crucially, the Monteverdi Choir – ably marshalled by Charles Hazelwood, the drinking woman’s Gareth Malone (I should imagine…).  The sound was perfectly balanced and those voices soared up through the Globe’s open-top unerringly following Renée Jeanne Falconetti’s heaven-ward gaze.

Antonin Artaud and Renée Jeanne Falconetti (aka Renée Maria Falconetti)

It’s interesting that Dreyer was invited to make a film by the Société Générale des Films and chose Joan just as Gance had chosen Napoleon just before: nationalism was on the rise in the turbulent inter-war years and yet, whilst both films examine the philosophical construction and definition of France, Dreyer was more interested in the theological issues centred on this most remarkable teenager from Domrémy.

Since I last saw this film I have been to both Rouen where Joan was tried and burned and to Orleans, the scene of her greatest victory and where you can still walk around a house she stayed in… Almost 600 years after her death, Joan exerts a huge pull on the imagination: how could someone from such humble beginnings play such a role in history: how could her words, as reproduced in the film from transcripts of her trial, be so poised?

Acute angles and no make-up to accentuate Joan's fears

Even allowing for inevitable historical and contemporary distortion, the text shows Joan to have incredible native intelligence. The film is based on a true “story” but actually takes great care only focusing on known facts and the words as transcribed. Carl Theodor Dreyer spent long months studying Joan and those transcripts ending up with a deceptively minimalist story that packs one of the mightiest punches in cinematic history.

Rudolph Maté’s camera sweeps around the court room focusing on faces from acute angles showing snatches of emotion from the conflicted priests trying Joan for heresy. Silent film rarely had faces as fascinating as this bunch as Dreyer cast for grotesque reality with no make-up allowed to distract from the unforgiving lens nor the gaze of an audience passing their own judgement on these traitors of France and their own faith.

But the camera always looks straight on at Falconetti who is beyond mesmerising but not our sympathy: you cannot watch a human being undergo such raw emotion without wanting to cry yourself… Here is a young woman in a rapture of innocent belief and, as fellow cinemutophile Amanda R pointed out, this could be a very contemporary story: someone condemned for the inconvenience of their faith.

Joan of Arc was always intended to lose the trial and the English and their Burgundian allies fixed the process to ensure her defeat and yet she still emerges in triumph as a martyr rewarded with death’s release and inspiring her countrymen to continue their fight.

By focusing on the minutiae Dreyer humanises this history in a way that few others ever match: we are inside Joan’s desperation, her tear-filled eyes darting from face to face hoping for something more than a false friend but never losing her trust in divine support.

In the end she does affect those around her, chiefly Jean Massieu, the Dean of Rouen (Antonin Artaud) and maybe even Canon Nicolas Loyseleur (Maurice Schutz) who tries to trick her into believing her royal protector, Charles VII, wants her to accept guilt. Both actors are superb but no one stands against Falconetti’s endless well of open despair and her uncanny ability to express depth of belief in the face of fear and humiliation.

The images and tone are simple and consistently powerful and yet all could be unbalanced by the two dozen musicians on stage. But even the squalling of Portishead-ian guitar cannot overwhelm Dreyer’s passion and Mr Hazelwood kept excellent order throughout.

As the last notes of the choir escaped into the metropolitan sky the audience paused just that little bit too long before enthusiastic applause broke out around the Globe: we were all a little stunned, heads full of images and sounds that will stay with us for days. Hold onto what you believe and please… be kind. Be true.

All my colours... Cyrano de Bergerac (1925)

This is a lovely looking film employing the “Pathé Stencil Process” – over its three-year gestation to produce an astonishingly colourful 113 minutes – the Avatar of its day complete with projected thought…

Edmond Rostand’s 1897 play has done the rounds and watching the narrative unfold you realise that you’ve absorbed the story almost  by cinematic osmosis… repeated viewings with fragments of Ferrer, dollops of Depardieu and a morsel of Steve Martin. On the face of it (no pun intended) a love story featuring a man with an impossibly large nose – dramatically unnecessary I've always thought – making love to a beautiful woman by channeling his poetry through a handsome but less eloquent man, should have little appeal. Yet, there’s something compelling about this scenario – a universal truth in our inability to tell all to those we most want to touch. Cyrano is a very brave man but he is constrained by both self-doubt and an immense sense of honour.

Linda Moglia and Angelo Ferrari

The story is set in 1640 during the reign of Louise XIII when France was on the verge of war with Spain.

We see some of the main players arriving at the Hôtel Burgundy Theatre to watch a performance by the actor Montfleury. There’s the beautiful Roxane (Linda Moglia) who is admired from afar by the youthful cadet Baron Christian de Neuvillette (Angelo Ferrari) and who is hardly in the running as the Count De Guiche (Umberto Casilini) has plans to marry her off to a noble ally.

The plumes of vengeance

The theatre fills and the colours are superb as the play begins and, Montfleury who has been banned by another noble cadet, Cyrano de Bergerac (Pierre Magnier ) after making “sheep eyes” at Roxane, bravely ventures forth to the centre of the stage.

There is movement in the crowd and two white plumes are seen passing through the throng, eventually revealing themselves atop the hat of Cyrano - a man revered as much for his poetry as his swordsmanship - Montfleury pulls back in alarm and, after a volley of rhyming couplets retreats as fast as his legs can carry. One of De Guiche’s party challenges Cyrano and is swiftly despatched by a combination of his words and blade…

Cyrano is challenged

It’s an audacious opening and all the more difficult to pull off in a silent film, yet director Augusto Genina paces things well and allows his lead the time to use his expressiveness to good effect with his prosthetic proboscis somehow drawing the viewer’s focus to his eyes. There is the odd jolting quick-cut but that may be down to missing film… a minor quibble.

Roxanne looks on

Cyrano’s cousin Roxane is more than impressed with his display – no one seems that bothered about the play - and his eyes reveal his depth of affection as the two agree to meet the next day. He accompanies his pals Le Bret (Maurice Schutz) and the pastry chef-cum-poet Ragueneau (Alex Bernard) to the latter’s home were his heroism is celebrated en masse: who needs a stage play when you have the best improv in France?

Roxane reveals that she is in love and, his hopes flickering, Cyrano is crushed to discover that it is with another, the youthful Baron Christian who, like so many in this film, looks like a refugee from an early seventies progressive rock band (the guitarist in Jethro Tull or Gentle Giant’s bass player? Can’t decide…).

Cyrano promises to do his best to protect his fellow cadet and he is soon bound by an additional duty after meeting the fellow and discovering his tongue-tied reciprocation of Roxane’s infatuation (oops, drifting into verse myself…).

The Baron and the King

Now this is going to get complicated and the story’s most famous scene is soon played out as Christian tries to woo Roxane by repeating words of love fed to him by Cyrano. As he stands below her balcony Roxane melts at the sweet phrasing as if words meant more than looks ever could… and here is the universal appeal, as truth is found in expression not necessarily in beauty. albeit via deception (there I go again…).

But war is coming and the men must away… how will this pan out and will the course of ventriloquent love ever run smoothly?

Cyrano has the brains and Christian's got the looks...

There are so many ways in which this could not work and yet it does and I found the film rather more engaging than I expected. Yes, I’m a sucker for tints and it does look gorgeous, but the story draws you in until the very last whilst the acting is so strong especially from Linda Moglia and Pierre Magnier. I’ve never had this high a regard for Cyrano before and that’s probably because it appears closer to the play than other versions I’ve seen.

Stunning set pieces: so much ink!!

The cinematography by Ottavio De Matteis is of the lush variety and you really have to take your plumed hat off to those colourists: the film was followed by a mass outbreak of carpel tunnel syndrome which was only alleviated by the advent of technicolour… probably!

The song and the singer

I watched the Lobster Films restoration which features a stirring score from Kurt Kuenne and performed by the Olympia Chamber Orchestra with Timothy Brock waving the stick. It’s occasionally a little too stirring but that mostly fits well with this all round exercise in panache!

Just don't say a thing Christian.

 The film is available from The Amazons of Avoidance or direct from those lovely Lobsters.

Seemingly there was a real Cyrano de Bergerac, I bet he didn’t really have the nose.

There is a dream sequence I forgot to mention...