Day of Wrath (Carl Theodor Dreyer, 1943)

Predating Arthur Miller's The Crucible by a decade, Carl Theodor Dreyer's own witch hunt allegory is not only politically braver—he managed to get away with making it under Denmark's Nazi occupation—but more morally complex. Its scathing view of institutions goes beyond any one target, even one as pervasively evil as the Third Reich, to indict the pettiness and paranoia not overcome by objective rule but given a focal point for the mob. By the same token, Dreyer also visualizes the presence of unfathomable evil (a redundancy, as all true evil is on some level insoluble) and how our understandably fearful reaction to such evil leads us to create such harsh, inhuman institutions. Nevertheless, as the first shots of the film move down an illuminated text of the titular hymn, its portentous, almost bloodthirsty revelry in Judgment Day matching the force of the score. The shadow of a cross descending with the camera only makes the moment more uncomfortable, and for those who found Dreyer's tribute to Joan of Arc religiously uplifting, here he makes clear his disdain for organized religion.

Then, he complicates matters. The signing of a glorified execution notice of a suspected witch moves to the woman in question, Herlof's Marte (Anna Svierkier), giving concoctions to a village woman. The old crone claims the herbs she used for her drought have power because she picked them under the gallows. "There is power in evil," she tells her suspicious customer. But just as Dreyer inserts the possibility of actual witchcraft, the sound of an encroaching mob brings back the fear of witch hunts as the old woman flees out her pig trough. Then she makes the mistake of hiding out in the home of the local, persecuting pastor. Or is it a mistake after all?

Ordet

If Carl Th. Dreyer was not already immortalized in film with his 1928 silent masterpiece The Passion of Joan of Arc, he certainly earned it by the time 1955's Ordet rolled around. As a study of the spiritual, it surpasses even his terrifying ode to the patron saint of France, though it is perhaps not as powerful. One of the most existential and metaphysical films I've ever seen, if not the outright best, it both tears down religion and asks if we can attain true spiritual enlightenment in this material world.

Now, when I say "tears down" religion, I do not mean an attack on the Church. Dreyer is much too good for that sort of thing, which generally works best with satire anyway. Instead, he crafts a character study concerning two families, the Borgens and the Petersons. Members of these two families will try to link, to the strong objections of other members, and through it all we learn a profound lesson on faith.

The Borgen clan consists of the stern patriarch Morten; Mikkel, the eldest son, an atheist married to a woman named Inger; Anders, who proposed to Anne Petersen; and Johannes, the most devout character in the film. Johannes has gone mad and shuffles around the farm, claiming to be Jesus Christ. Dreyer spends nearly a third of the film letting us get acquainted with these characters. We do not move between them rapidly in a handful of early scenes; rather, we spend time with each, learning about what motivates them before we even learn their names.

When Anders proposes marriage to Anne, he meets opposition from both sides; Morten and the Petersen patriarch, Peter (no, really) both refuse based on their dislike for each other and their unwillingness to link themselves to each other, even if it means denying their children happiness. Why do the two hate each other so? Religion, of course. Peter comes from a more orthodox background, while Morten believes in a God who offers more freedom and joy. When the two butt heads over the matter, Morten slams his rival with the line, "My faith is the warmth of life, yours is the coldness of death." But Dreyer doesn't play to expectations: the truth of the matter is that Morten is every bit as dogmatic as Peter.

What the director seeks to illustrate through these characters is how dogma and faith, though fundamentally unrelated, bleed into one another and dilute faith in the process. Dreyer lets the characters prove this over the course of two hours without ever seeming rushed; just the opposite, it has all the depth of a much longer film. We see all the extremes of faith, dogma and their role in the modern world: Johannes, the most faithful of the bunch, exists totally outside of the world to the point of insanity. Morten and Mikkel have been broken by tragedies and, though Morten still prays, the two suffer from a lack of faith. Only the seemingly minor characters of Inger and her daughter Maren can bridge the gap between Morten and Mikkel's worldly caring and compassion and Johannes' faith.

Tragedy befalls the characters in the film, and it throws the already struggling Borgens into even more chaos. Johannes leaves for a time, shocked into sanity and thus, ironically, forcing him to deal with the greater horrors of existence. Eventually he returns and, though he no longer believes himself to be Christ, one cannot help but think of a second coming. A miracle occurs, yet it seems completely plausible thanks to Dreyer's unflinching realism. This miracle certainly gives the film an upbeat bent, but thankfully it does not presume to contain all the answers.

What makes Ordet stand out as perhaps the finest film to ever deal with the subject of religion is that it treats the subject of the supernatural as a normal part of existence. Dreyer, who never claimed to be that big a believer, crafts a world in which faith and spirituality are not shuffled into facile psychology. He does not mock these characters for their faith, nor does he exalt them. He presents it all so perfectly that, even though Johannes is the only character who still believes in miracles, we are not at all fazed when one does occur.

Christian groups complain that no one makes movies that cater to them. Sadly, they want one that adheres totally to their "morals" and they end up with offensive drivel like Fireproof. But films like The Last Temptation of Christ and this, which deconstruct the facets of religion and find that nugget of faith more beautiful than anything man or nature could ever create fall by the wayside. I would strongly recommend this film to any church group, and not just Christians, though Dreyer uses the word Christian at every turn to describe these faithless characters (I don't find this to be his way of attacking Christianity, though); it's one of the few films that will make someone truly stop and think about his faith and walk away with renewed vigor. Plain and simple, this is an existential masterpiece.

The Passion of Joan of Arc

Has there ever been an acting performance like Renée Jeanne Falconetti's in The Passion of Joan of Arc. Quite possibly the best and most landmark acting ever captured on film, her role as Joan is the standard by which all performances, silent or sonorized, will be judged. Her face, soft yet ravaged and wild, looks less like a person's and more like a portrait come to life.

Indeed, the weight of the film rests on Falconetti's face. Though Dreyer constructed a large set to use for Joan's trial, you'll never see it in the film. There are no establishing shots (and very few long shots, for that matter). Instead, he uses chiefly close-ups, low angle shots of the intimidating judges and guards and high angle ones that cast Joan as both intimidated and eternally genuflecting for God.

Dreyer used the actual texts of Joan's trial for the film, condensing her 29 cross-examinations and torture into a single inquisition. The judges, Frenchmen loyal to the British cause, angrily demand she explain herself and attempt to shame her. But Falconetti's often blank expressions convey a woman beyond caring. I'm always a bit wary about people who claim to speak with God, especially those who claim God told them to kill people, but if ever I believed anyone it'd be Joan.

Whether or not she really did communicate with the Lord is more or less irrelevant. The point is she transcended faith and entered the realm of pure conviction. And it terrified her judges. These sanctimonious hypocrites, cast in stark blacks and whites, shout from their pulpits that Joan is a heretic, but they simply cannot believe that God would manifest Himself to a mere girl. They claim to speak for God, but they do so for political and personal gain. Yet here kneels a woman who has certainly been used as a rallying cry for the cause of others, but who cares only for the message she's been sent.

Dreyer meanwhile casts Falconetti in softer shades of gray. Her face captures a rage of emotions from fear to righteous anger to a Zen-like forgiveness of her persecutors. Dreyer made great use of recent breakthroughs in photography that could capture the image better, allowing photography that did not require great deals of makeup for clarity. Thus, he forced Falconetti to kneel for hours, without any makeup to assist her, and shot take after take.

He drove her to a nervous breakdown in order to capture her with expressions that conveyed inner turmoil without letting it bleed into outward expressions. I cannot say I condone driving an actor mad for your own gain, but I also cannot deny that he succeeded. Falconetti, who had only starred in a minor film before this and never acted on screen again, is eternally enshrined in the annals of film history for her work here.

But equally as important as Falconetti's performance is Dreyer's incredible camera work. Even though it works mainly in close-ups, Dreyer tracks, zooms, tilts, pans; it's almost like watching a silent Scorsese movie. He keeps the camera ever-moving in order to add to the sense of unsettlement that Falconetti's haunting face conjures. Dreyer mixes the realism of his actors' natural faces with dashes of expressionism here and there with his lighting and movements and creates a wholly unique film that conveys the spiritual in ways I've never seen any other movie do as successfully.

I'm surprised more Christian groups don't show this on a regular basis. I remember my pastor (back when I had to go to church) encouraging families to go see that awful, exploitative Passion of the Christ years ago, but no one's ever brought up this gem. Joan's story has more than a few parallels with Christ's, and Dreyer captures the pure faith of a true believer better than anyone. Only Martin Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ, which tackles spirituality from the opposite angle (of a man torn and unsure of his faith) comes remotely close to the haunting poignancy of this silent masterpiece.