From the moment she first caught the imagination of her people in war-sundered France, Joan of Arc has been the subject of wild controversy. Was she a visionary or a witch? Did she seek personal glory, or was her only concern for king and country? Did she really hear voices, or did she just make it all up for attention? And if she did hear voices, was she delusional? Or could it be that she was truly touched by God?
At our great distance of half a millennium, we can offer no definitive answers for these questions. Each of us who confronts the facts about this extraordinary young woman must choose what to believe about her motivations, her mission, and her sanctity. As we stand at the end of the most technologically innovative, scientifically advanced century in mankind's history, it becomes more difficult to accept any thought of a divine connection. We live in an age of intellect and psychiatry, where those who hear voices or see visions are considered mentally unstable.
It is this view that Luc Besson takes in his film The Messenger. From the very beginning, Joan is portrayed as psychologically warped. Hyperkinetic, wild-eyed and breathless, she seeks confession for the second time that day, exasperating even the priest with her excessive piety. At a time when religion was so deeply ingrained in the lifestyle of nearly everyone in Europe (which was not known as "Europe" but as "Christendom"), finding someone too religious is a difficult concept to wrap your mind around.
But The Messenger is a difficult film to watch. While the superb cast renders powerful performances and the surreal vision sequences are dazzling, the film is violently disturbing on several levels. This theme is initiated with the single most appalling rape scene it has ever been my misfortune to witness.
Alas, it is this crime on which Joan's psychological makeup hangs; she too witnesses this hideous event, which pushes her already-fragile psyche over the edge. She demands of the priest why God would spare her and let her sister die so horribly, and the answer seems inevitable. God always has reasons for what He does; perhaps there is a reason why Joan must live. The rationale behind Joan's future actions is therefore set: she is chosen by God and must see to it that the brutal English army who so viciously wronged her family are driven out of France.
From a historical point of view, this is utter nonsense. There is no hint in all the records of Joan or testimony of those who knew her that she suffered any such horrifying experience. And to portray her as a delusional psychotic driven by revenge also denies the recorded history and what we know about her. To be sure, Joan grew up with the horrors of an extended war all around her, and was not blind to the suffering of others. She was undoubtedly exasperating at times in her absolute sense of the truth of her mission. Yet she was noted for her calm strength and resolve, her kindness, her gentleness, and her generosity.
But Luc Besson's Joan is mad--mad as in insane, and mad as in totally ticked off.
One cannot fault Milla Jovovich too harshly for her portrayal. In fact I was quite impressed with her intensity throughout the film, her vibrant presence on the battlefield, and her tortuous journey through psychosis once she is captured. The psychological exegesis that occurs while she is alone in the cell with her conscience (Dustin Hoffman), while highly unlikely for a medieval psyche, is nevertheless an intriguing idea and well-played out. All in all it might have made for an acceptable modern interpretation of Joan's motivations and experience, were it not for the fact that it rests entirely on a fictitious event.
This is a shame, for although the excessive violence makes the film unsuitable for younger viewers--or anyone who abhors bloodshed on screen--it is mostly historically accurate and would have made a fine window to medieval France. I would have to watch it again to check some details (and I'm certainly not prepared to pay money to do so), but the armor, the weapons, even the trebuchet one French soldier so gleefully confiscates are fairly close to those used in the early 15th century; and the costuming and sets are largely accurate as well.
The only notable inaccuracy is Joan herself.
Besson wanted to address Joan's humanity, but by focusing so relentlessly on her madness it is that very humanity he denies the audience. Whether the real Joan's mission was commanded by God, a bid for personal glory, or a manifestation of insanity, there was much more to the Maid of Orléans than her drive to save France. Yet in The Messenger, every sign of care and concern for her fellow human beings, every tender moment of human interaction with those who admired or followed her, every spark of wit and fire and intelligence she displayed in her trial are either ignored completely or overshadowed by her rage and her psychosis.
The message is madness, and there is no saintliness to be found.
