The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc (1999)

There ought to be a compulsory warning for all films that are over the standard two-hour limit. Actually, all directors who are tempted to produce such films ought to be reminded of the letter that started, 'I didn't have time to write a short letter to you, so here is a long one'. Joan of Arc could be vastly improved by heavy cutting - about an hour would be pretty good and an hour and a half better.

Though the film does borrow much from George Bernard Shaw's magnificent play 'St. Joan', it doesn't borrow enough. Much of the dialogue is leaden and completely anachronistic - if the film didn't take itself so seriously and was supposed to be Monty Python and the Holy Grail or Men in tights, these jarring anachronisms wouldn't be too bad, as it is, they jar horribly.

I thought that things were not looking good in the first few minutes. Not only did we have a potted history of France at the time - al la the opening of 'Star Wars' - but we also had shots of the young Joan [carefully called Jean by all the actors] running through fields of flowers. First she ran through a field of red poppies, fair enough, I thought, maybe something symbolic about blood to come or something. Then it was a field of yellow flowers, rape maybe, again some possible imagery. Then we had her running through a field of blue Lavender - I began to fear that I had walked into a French version of 'Run, Lola, Run'.

It did get better then, it certainly didn't plumb the depths of the ghastly 'Titanic' bore! The battle shots were nicely realistic and gory. Siege engines were shown in use very effectively and the Dauphin was every inch the one portrayed by GBS - if you could describe such a wimp as being 'every inch' of anything!

Probably the most tedious of the film was a long series of scenes where Joan chats to a Yank in a hooded cloak with a deep voice who was obviously supposed to be deeply profound and impressive. If a five year old had the patience to sit through all these scenes, then he might have understood a little more about the moral dilemma involved in being against the killing of people, whilst being keen on leading huge armies into battle. It was an insult to anybody else to suggest that such trite moralizing was interesting, useful or informative.

The film made it clear that the director was as against the church as he was against the English. This is fair enough, given the subject matter. However, the ham fisted way in which this message was rammed home again and again was enough to make the most hardened anglophobe atheist see something laudable in the English Cardinal getting tired of the hysterical girl. Though a measure of the plot rested on Joan wishing to have a last confession, the reason why the Cardinal couldn't give it to her was never explained - it seemed that it was enough for us to be informed that her ecclesiastical prosecutor was not a nice chap. Clearly we were not supposed to imagine that he had to go through any moral, or other, thought to decide to betray her. This poor exposition was particularly unfortunate given the fine acting that brought the Cardinal to life - it certainly wasn't forgivable on the grounds that there wasn't enough time to make this point clear.

So if, one day, a short version of this film comes out, with the tedious and unhelpful stuff removed, it might be worth watching on a wet evening. If I were you, though, I would rather wait until a local Amateur Dramatics Society puts on a production of St. Joan. You will find it a far more uplifting, entertaining and well-balanced experience.