It has been a very busy film season in Glasgow over the past two months, with what has seemed like a never-ending stream of idiosyncratic screenings celebrating unorthodox viewing experiences. Now that Glasgow Film’s feature and short film festivals have wrapped, the cinematic calendar is on the wane (for now). In the final flush of high profile screenings, however, local audiences were gifted with a rare cinematic treat: Carl Theodor Dreyer’s masterpiece The Passion of Joan of Arc, screened alongside a live performance by The Orlando Consort as part of the Old Fruitmarket’s Classic Silent Movies series.

Dreyer’s 1928 silent courtroom drama has been consistently considered a high water mark of early 20th century filmmaking. The film is revelatory in its use of lighting, editing and performance, and has aged incredibly well; despite its 87 years, the film’s politics and depiction of an oppressive regime are still just as harrowing and heartbreaking. Renée Jeanne Falconetti’s exquisite face is a tormented study in the human condition, her interrogators indicative of the twisted logic and pride in regimes still in power around the world. When the film reaches its final moments – as Joan is consumed by flames at the stake – the townspeople riot against her pro-English sentencers; it is a flourish of sudden, frenetic catharsis, standing in such stark contrast to the plethora of static closeups for which the film is famous.

On Sunday evening, the moral quandaries and political backstabbing that form the heart of the narrative were heightened by an impeccable soundtrack curated by the Orlando Consort. World renowned interpreters of choral music from 1000 to 1500, the Consort performed a selection of music that had been written during the lifetime of the Maid of Orleans (1412 – 1431). The official name given to the arrangement of pieces is “Voices Appeared” – a deft reference to Joan’s explanation for her visions, as noted by the Consort’s own Donald Greig.

The Passion of Joan of Arc never had an official score and apparently Dreyer was never happy with any of the music he heard during his lifetime. Of course, it’s ridiculous to try to assume what the Danish filmmaker would have made of Sunday’s whole affair; often with events like these there is an element of forcing cohesion. In his introduction, the programmer for the Old Fruitmarket noted that modern audiences may find the harmonies of the renaissance era music discordant, as if our modern dispositions don’t have the patience. I would argue that, in isolation, the verses may come off as obtuse to ears weaned on pop music – in conjunction with Dreyer’s photography, however, the combination was exquisite; a juxtaposition paired for substance, rather than shallow opportunity.