We didn't need words...we had faces.

The lights went down, except for a lone bulb behind the screen. The film began and a man with Viola in hand started to play from behind the movie screen. His shadow mesmorizing upon the wall behind him - illuminated by the glow of the single rudimentary bulb left on. But no matter how much his viola-shaped elongated shadow stole my eyes, they quickly averted to the screen, where the face of Maria Falconetti engorged the frame and her sublime eyes engulfed you completely.

I am - of course - talking about Carl Dreyer's 1928 masterpiece (and I cannot emphasize that word enough), La Passion de Jeanne d'arc (#2 on my personal Top 10 List). It played at Dickinson College tonight, and I trudged through the snow (on a twenty-five minute voyage from Harrisburg to Carlisle) to see this icon of silent film mastery. Also among the audience were Albert H. Muth, Cinematheque correspondent, and Caleb Smith, experimental filmmaker and originator of Moviate.

I had these grandiose ideas of writing a review/critique of the film, but thought better of it once I sat down at my desk. The film is pure visual poetry. There is nothing more I can add, save for a few fawning sentences. So I leave it at that.