was never to attain again. Whether she portrayed a convincing Joan of Arc may be debated. Physically she did, in the scene in which she appears haggard and tormented before the executioners. But her mood throughout is one of suffering; there is nothing here of the optimism or of the insolence of the real Joan that Madame Pitoëff revealed in the trial scene. Here she is only a young, martyred saint and this arbitrary limitation of the character cannot be denied. Once it has been admitted, her performance provides some prodigious moments--the childish gesture by which Joan reminds her executioners that justice exists, her glance at a tuft of daisies trembling in the breeze, her expression as they crown her, like Jesus, with thorns and arm her with a mock scepter and, above everything else, the moment at the stake when she stoops to pick up the rope which has fallen and offers it with divine complaisance to the executioner.
This extraordinary film was extremely daring; it could probably not be repeated. It offers a fine contrast to Gance Napoleon, as a spiritual epic opposed to a physical epic. No doubt it was a dead end, an oversimplification of drama, but it was one of those magnificent failures which provide much food for thought.
AFTER the inevitable years of experimentation, Russia succeeded in organizing her industry and created in 1925 the big central organization of Sovkino. Two masterpieces had already been made, Eisenstein Potemkin and Pudovkin Mother.
In his essay on the Soviet film in which he seems more interested in economic conditions than in films, Léon Moussinac explains clearly why production was quite quickly organized in Russia. Each year a scheme of film production is drawn up by