The
Messenger
Rated R
Now showing
As the millennium approaches, people seem to be in a wavering
state of faith. The uneasiness inherent in the coexistence
of fact and faith has surfaced recently in media ranging from
newly unearthed gospels to biographies of God--and to film,
one of the century's most pervasive forms of communication.
Within this climate, it is wholly appropriate that cinema
would offer another version of the life of Joan of Arc--a
life of faith, sacrifice and love...or was she just nuts?
It's a story that has been explored since the beginning
of cinema, and now flashy Frenchie Luc Besson (The Fifth
Element, La Femme Nikita) has re-created Joan in his
own contemporary image. The result? An aggressively French,
ridiculously anachronistic, historically skewed and often
hilarious portrait of the teenage saint as some kind of
Girl, Interrupted. Christians, scholars, feminists
and film critics will be offended, which would have
been interesting had the subject been exalted to territory
Besson can surely reach: high camp.
The picture begins with some of the facts straight. At
Joan's birth in Domremy around 1412, while the French and
English are still raging through the Hundred Years' War,
the region is split, with the duchy of Burgundy allied with
England. Charles the Dauphin wishes to be crowned king in
Reims, but the city has to be liberated from English control
first, which will take a miracle. And then along comes Joan
(Milla Jovovich). Fervently religious and devout as ever,
Joan convinces Charles (John Malkovich) to let her command
an army. Though the film neglects to chronicle her ascension
to such notoriety, Joan is already renowned as the girl
who is told, via the voice of God, to destroy all invading
enemies. Charles gives her the army, and soon she valiantly
fights to victory. But following her bravery, the newly
crowned (thanks to her) King Charles, sick of all the bloodshed
and sick of Joan, betrays her.
The rest of the film follows the final days before Joan's
inquisition and infamous burning at the stake, taking liberal
poetic license to explore Joan's psyche. Besson clearly
believes Joan was insane, and he strongly hints that she
was guided by the devil. He's not necessarily siding with
her inquisitors, but he's not giving her much credit, either.
To Besson (and screenwriter Andrew Birkin), Joan's voices
confused her (which, according to the trial documentation,
was never the case; she was clear about why she was
chosen) and even scared her, suggesting she was some kind
of paranoid schizophrenic. Jovovich quakes and quivers not
with divine power, but with sick panic and self-loathing.
To present Joan in this light is interesting, but the movie
never goes far enough with its Joan-as-Sylvia-Plath position.
Regardless of her sanity, Joan, a girl, led an army of men
to battle, so something had to be powerful or charismatic
about her. Jovovich--who, to be fair, is given lousy lines
("I am the drum which God is beating on, beating and beating
until it hurts my head")--simply acts all adither.
Was Besson's point to not make Joan smart or compelling?
You wonder when, near the film's end, Joan hallucinates
a conversation with a satanic grand-inquisitor figure representing
her own conscience (Dustin Hoffman). What does he do? In
his distinct Hoffman voice, he debunks her faith! Furthermore,
the story that young Joan found her God-given sword in a
field is strongly implied to be mere circumstance. Besson
hilariously shows the variables that could have led
to her finding that sword (one has a soldier simply walking
by and chucking it) and then mocks the idea that it descended
from heaven--cheesy music and all. No doubt this will enrage
people, but it is The Messenger's finest moment.
Yet, held against the rest of the picture, this scene further
proves where Besson went wrong: He wasn't consistently outrageous
enough.
Just what is Besson doing here? Working with the constantly
hyperventilating supermodel Jovovich, the hammy Malkovich
and the stone-faced Hoffman, surely Besson was not intending
this movie to be taken straight. Surely he was attempting
to mix melodrama with comedy for a potent purpose. Instead,
the film is too much like its heroine--crazy, but not crazy
enough. Had Besson been clearer about his intentions, The
Messenger could have been some kind of irreverent masterpiece.
Instead it's just an irrational mess.
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Willamette Week | originally
published November 23,
1999
|
