"The times I most give a shit about Antonin Artaud are the handful of moments he's onscreen in Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc. I think, here's somebody who was born to be a monk. The movie is full of fat, loutish, warty supporting characters, and Dreyer's eye makes them all look like sweating, rotting pumpkins. Artaud's character-- the monk Massieu-- and Maria Falconetti's Joan look like they're filmed on a completely separate plane, immanent and exhausted at the venal, polyp-y travesties torturing their corporeal forms below. Artaud, insofar as he plays one of Joan's persecutors, looks almost totally emaciated and overdrawn. There's nothing left to him but a paper caul of skin over a freakish cinematographic light, a slight slackness in the jaw, a horrifyingly convincing look of hunger and the abnegation thereof shooting out from his weirdly cavernous eye-sockets."