Dreyer’s first love is the voice. For silent film, the voice is heard through the lyricism of movement, the dance that forms from the interplay of staging, the shifting of light and perspective, the tempo of quick editing, the choice of when or whether to include the narrative as written text, etc. When sound broke through the 2D barrier, these earlier techniques were quickly discarded by the mature Dreyer and fell out of favor. He had mastered a whole set of silent film techniques only to abandon them on principle. After all, it would only add an unnecessary complication, interfere with the true voice carried by the lyrical performance of the actors. Why protrude or impose your own artistic stamp as a Director when a single shot allows the actors to express so much unimpeded by the conventions of film?

It was a move many critics condemned in his later works, the experience equated to watching paint dry or furniture rearranged. Gertrud, his last film, was panned for that reason. “I mean, they’re not even making eye contact half the time!” In Venice, half the audience walked out. Those that stayed gave him a standing ovation. Godard proclaimed it the best film of 1964. Had it been around at the time, it is conceivable that a Razzie nomination would have been forthcoming. True, films can polarize us, but the contrasting views don’t reside in the same filmic universe. It’s a small sample size of “genius or revolting, contrived self-indulgence” which I include the films India Song and Last Year at Marienbad.*

Already in the 1960s we see the clear emergence of a “modern film audience” well-versed and raised on the conventions and techniques of film, only to have those expectations dashed at every turn. A steady shot = boredom. Nothing is happening because something must happen within a film. It’s the Action Rule, something described by a tentative mathematical formula (A=MT), Action = Motion x Temperament. “Don’t show me the inner lives of ordinary people. Film must be about something extraordinary. Otherwise, it’s just people talking, not doing.” But this is only a matter of positioning and artistic choice. The Action Rule is often evoked when the voice stands in for the collective id of the audience and, for that reason, often becomes formulaic in its expression. A good guy beating a bad guy is an immensely satisfying experience, and better still when it is sped up in unnatural time (e.g., a John Wick fight scene). The Action Rule can often be used as a substitute for the voice or to disguise a film’s hidden ideology or secret wish-fulfillment.

Regardless, the voice is never a single unitary object, but a qualitative multiplicity. Where does the voice come from? Or better still, who is entitled to wrestle it in their vanity and pride? Much like a hot potato, perhaps, a playful dance back and forth exists between performers, the director as auteur, and the audience projecting themselves and their desires into the luminous space.

* To clear up any misconception, I rate all three films as exceptional.