Ordet (1955, Denmark, Carl-Theodore Dreyer) 

Also: check out our review of Carlos Reygadas's Silent Light for more discussion of Ordet.

Dan Gets the Ball Rolling:

Ordet ("The Word") is, of course, a masterpiece, and all the praise it has received over the years is well-deserved. The film is based rather loosely (Dreyer only used a fraction of the original's dialogue) on a stage play written in the 20s by Kaj Munk, a Danish pastor killed by the Nazi's, and rather than shy away from the story's theatrical origins, Dreyer embraces them. The film is clearly "stagey" in its extensive use of interior sets and pointed blocking which allowed Dreyer to employ a number of long takes, as well as some exquisite deep focus black and white photography to highlight a series of terrific performances, and cast the differences of outlook in starkest relief. The conflicts, both internal and external, focus largely upon matters of faith, as characters struggle to deal with their differences of belief (one is an atheist, another believes he is Jesus of Nazareth) when an impending marriage forces them to assess their relationship to the metaphysical. Also, the film's deliberate pace encourages immersion in the conversation and develop thoughtful responses to the issues raised.

The Danish setting is brought effectively to bear on the story, as the ragged countryside has an alien and wretched feel to it. Characters and sheep make their way through the dunes, while we catch only snatches of conversation, never clear on where they are coming from or where they going. The community is likewise hostile and vaguely exclusionary, drawing metaphysical lines in the sand based largely upon their religious beliefs (or lack thereof.) And it isn't just that divisions occur along religious or class lines; the central family is rent from within by their conflicting values. Father (Morten) is at odds with son, brother with brother; Ordet distills the religious conflicts of a nation to that of a single family. On the one hand, we have Johannes, the deranged son who believes he is Jesus Christ, driven mad by his study of Kierkegaard, the philosopher whose derision towards ye of little faith Johannes clearly took to heart. On the other, we have Mikkel, who is devoid of faith of any sort, despite being married to Inger, a woman whose faith is unquestionable, and whose daughter, Maren, shares her mother's passionate beliefs. The third son, Anders, loves the daughter of the local tailor Peter, whose beliefs are opposed by Morten, putting the union of the young couple in doubt, even as Anders contends that their love should transcend all differences.

Denmark has a long history of religious struggle, as traditional Christianity has waned in the face of secular thinkers while fundamentalist sects have arisen to fill the void. While not necessarily unique to Denmark, there is something about watching these characters on their restless journey for answers in this inhospitable landscape that has an appropriately austere and angst-ridden appeal. Some of Lars Von Trier's films, such as Breaking the Waves and Dogville (set in America, true, but it is clearly informed by Danish xenophobia as well) confirm that things have not necessarily changed all that much. In Ordet, the characters struggle to express their faith by contrasting it with others; in this context, the exclusionary nature of religious belief, the us versus them-ness of this pursuit, is carefully divined. Further, many who use their beliefs to divide us from one another, such as Morten and Peter, are ultimately shown to be lacking, Morten being essentially faithless and Peter both venomous and intolerant. The film's interesting shadings are also expressed in the character of Mikkel, the agnostic, who is also  one of the most morally ethical characters in the drama.

The Word of the film's title is that of God. And, to be more specific, God's word is Faith. So naturally, it is the one character of real faith whose fate must test the beliefs of the others. It is about as clean as a Christian resurrection fable can get, really, but no less potent for it. The film's many conversations, debates and arguments have us weighing our own beliefs, encouraging us to clarify where we sit on the faith-doubt continuum, but there is no waivering by Dreyer at the film's climax. Ordet is a film of absolute conviction, a work of real belief. In this era of irony, cynicism and existential anomie, Ordet's faithfulness is both old fashioned and invigorating. Even to your humble narrator, a leery sceptic from way back, Ordet is something of a cinematic miracle. While I no more believe in the flm's resurrection than I believe in the Biblical one, Ordet manages to replenish my belief in something. Through the power of its convictions and the brilliance of the filmmaking, Ordet rejuvenates my faith in the power of film.

Then Ben:

"The conflicts, both internal and external, focus largely upon matters of faith." Largely? Was there a fight in this film over something else that I missed? As far as I could tell, all of the anguish coming down the pipe was flowing from the tap turned by Kierkegaard. Some of the social contests may seem to fall a drop removed from this source, although hardly, but all of the psycho-dynamics are dripping directly into the well of Protestantism-in-crisis.

This essential orientation in Ordet is crucial to grasping the commonality of all the various approximations to faith in the community. I have no religious faith myself. Nevertheless, the message of transcendence delivered by the film only makes conceptual sense, in my view, when we depart from any sort of secular, literally mundane notion of community and enter instead into a genuinely spiritualist take on the social totality. Let's call this the "true church."

With all due respect, I find that your approach to this lacks clarity when you say, for example, that "Ordet distills the religious conflicts of a nation to that of a single family." In the first place, this is simply not the case. The distilled unit is actually the village. But the deeper issue is not this or that geographic entity or class-stratified societal structure or even local personal divisions. What is at stake is the brotherhood of believers as the Platonic highest reality.

The abstract, absolute and universal bond of faith is served up by Ordet on a concrete, limited, particular plate; as any Christian theology must be, what with all of it being microcosmic recapitulations of the necessity of immanent God becoming Jesus incarnate, with the proof of this being The Resurrection. Weighed on the scales of drama, the first four Gospels of The New Testament are no slight documents. Resurrection is one hell of a third act magic show. The remarkable thing about Ordet is that it not only re-stages this old play upon which the true church was founded, it does so in the face of modern empiricism and it wins the staring contest.

The resurrection in Ordet is not one hell of a third act magic show. It's a miracle! A real-for-true miracle. And it is witnessed by all collectively. It instantaneously removes all individualistic doubt, all Protestantism-in-crisis separation from others and from God. Not a private conversion no better than a UFO sighting. This is a complete public or genuinely (small "c") catholic transformation. Not a matter of inner soul-searching, meditative contemplation, a-rational intuition or hyper-rational idealism. The pure faith of the people is restored by way of their common sense. This is the great power that charges Ordet - sense so common, it belongs as much to fools as to wise men, as much to children as to adults, even as much to crazy suspects as to cool calculators. A miracle levels the playing field. Damn straight.

At this level, Ordet is a "progressive" film compared to Dryer's Joan. The pinpoint concentration of Joan resides on her being a quasi-divine Saint whose passion is a pretty fair surrogate for that of The Christ going into The Crucifixion. The strength of Ordet has to do with it being based on an authentically human scale, with all the diversity and frailties this entails. The sheer existential force of Joan is downright terrifying and as a work of cinematic art its power is beyond compare. But the force of Ordet cannot be denied exactly because its metaphysical mandate is achieved by way of a miraculous empirical demonstration that any skeptic would have to register with his own eyes and by way of a community reunification that even a cynic would want to call home. Born again indeed.
 
And Dan:
 
To clarify, when I say the religious conflicts of a nation are distilled down to that of a family, it passes THROUGH the village on the way down to the family, if you get my drift. The family is the FINAL level of microcosmic distillation, so to speak. The buck stops there.

Finally, for those who are interested in connecting the dots review-wise, here is where you'll find our discussion of Carlos Reygadas's riff on Ordet,  2008's Silent Light.