Brief review of The Messenger: The story of Joan of Arc:
Sucked.
Expanded review:
Sucked ass.
Longish review:
Marked by frequent, unfunny, inappropriate humor. Glaring
example: Woman is murdered and then raped (in that order); rape
of corpse shown as graphically as possible in R-Rated movie.
Rapists' compatriots exchange comic looks during rape of corpse,
like "Do you believe this crap?" Then rapist ejaculates
into cooling body and says, Who's next? Compatriots give each
other another funny look. That's the worst offender, but the film
is peppered throughout with cheap unfunny mood-breaking jokes
that even Mel Brooks would discard.
Mila Jovavich is cute, but most of performance is panting,
manic, shrill one-note delivery.
Malkovich wasted. Huge minutes wasted with Malkovich.
Problem: If film is accurate, Joan of Arc did very little. She
urged on the French at the siege of Orleans and the siege was
lifted. That's it. That's all. After that, she led two very
unsuccessful actions and was captured by the Bourbons.
Battle-scenes suck ass. Do not think you're going to see
Braveheart-quality medieval action. Editing is shoddy and keeps
you from following the action, which I believe is a deliberate
trick used when the action is really quite lame and boring and
the director wishes to conceal that fact from you; frantic,
ineptly edited confusion is chosen over coherent boredom. There's
over-the-top gore, but no drama, no excitement. Imagine the inept
action scenes from Fifth Element. Now imagine the Fifth Element
with morningstars and plate-mail.
And then we come to the Hoffman scenes. Hooooooo boy. This is
where the film shifts out of the second-gear it had been grinding
in and lurches backwards and sideways and upside-down. Once Joan
is captured, she is tried for witch-craft and heresy. Since she
won't answer the Church Court's questions, the film postulates a
mental construct-- "The Conscience," embodied by Dustin
Hoffman, snoozing -- who grills Joan instead.
The Hoffman scenes-- which go on for the last forty-five
minutes or so-- are an internal monologue of sorts probing Joan
of Arc's psyche. Hoffman asks obvious questions-- "Were you
really fighting for His glory, or for your own?"-- and Joan
is predictably tongue-tied in answering them. Hoffman suggests--
with more inappropriate humor-- that Joan's visions might have
been, in fact, hallucinatory, and Joan is stunned.
Let me tell you: We in the audience were fucking stunned, too.
Who could have possibly imagined that a girl who claims to get
messages from Jesus Christ himself might have been HALLUCINATING?
It's pure Luc Besson to leave no obvious stone unturned. I
wouldn't mind it so much if he didn't take forty-five minutes
exploring the obvious.
And then Joan is burned at the stake. FINALLY. The audience
yes, applauds, if only on the inside. Torch the bitch, we scream
in delight, for her damnable internal dialogue with Hoffman has
made us late for dinner.
The film is an abomination.
The film is inept in so many other ways, but I'll spare you.
Let me just say the dialogue sounds thrice translated, first from
the original French, thence into Japanese, and then finally
translated into English by a computer program. I've read Japanese
video-game instructions with more punch.
Oh. One more thing:
When Joan comes to take over the French army at Orleans, the
French commander is of course a bit upset. Guess what he says to
her:
"You-- an ignorant peasant, and a girl besides, you think
you are capable of leading an army?"
"I'll be god-damned before I follow a woman into battle."
"You must understand. You think we do not have manly
pride? We are men. We have trouble submitting to a woman's
authority."
Yes, the fifteenth century man-at-arms does indeed give the
introspective, self-searching Alan Alda/Phil Donahue style
answer, Number Three.
Ace's Rating:
Zero.
