Carl Theodor Dreyer and Ordet: My Summer with the Danish Filmmaker

Chapter 1. Pastries at Rungsted

When I arrived, the day was shining. The Dreyers were staying at a modest painted house on a low hill surrounded by a yellow-green, abundant, leafy garden. I went up the round stone steps to ring the bell. Carl Theodor Dreyer opened the door himself, remarking gently, “The sun has come to light your visit.” In the hallway he informed me that his wife, Ebba, was absent, buying cakes and cookies for us at the bakery, and would soon be back; perhaps we could wait for her in the parlor. He led me in. Nowhere in the house did I find the signs of movie preparation one might expect. No paper, pens, ink, typewriter. I saw nothing of model sets or sketches or books. The house was spotless, filled with fresh flowers. The windows and the Pastries at Rungsted 1 Carl Theodor Dreyer and Ordet 8 back door were open. “I am busy at work,” Dreyer said smiling , tapping his forehead. We sat in the parlor. Herr Dreyer offered a cigarette, then looked at me eagerly. “Did you see Limelight?” he asked. I answered yes; the film had played in Copenhagen for six months. “I learned much about poetic unity from Chaplin. As you might move in a museum, from one Rembrandt to another , seeing the essential harmony but having the sense of exploring depths that were unknown to you before, I could see both The Kid and Limelight on the same afternoon. Like Paul Klee too, he invents all the time. Shoulder Arms and The Great Dictator, I think, are the best documents we have against war. It was wonderful to have the war in the trenches in Shoulder Arms represented as a bad dream the Tramp was having.” Dreyer said he could still hum the theme from Monsieur Verdoux and did so. It was a sinister, satirical Viennese waltz. I proceeded to whistle the irresistible dance of the shadow people from Vampyr; the German composer Wolfgang Zeller had written the score for Dreyer’s film. “Yes, I am fond of it also,” he admitted. Then he suggested that we carry two lawn chairs out into the garden. “In Denmark we learn to drink up every bit of the sunshine.” Once we were sitting outside, he said: “Now I want to ask what you think of Poul Schierbeck’s music in Day of Wrath.” Day of Wrath deals with religious hypocrisy and witchburning in the seventeenth century. The opening is direct and ominous—with no titles but the unrolling of a decree of death for Herlof’s Marte, a foolish, harmless old woman who Pastries at Rungsted 9 brews herbs. When a large number of farm sheep die, she is suspected and judged to be a witch. As the scroll unwinds, a massive organ-like orchestration of “Dies Irae” is played. The music ceases. Next we are shown two women in a hut, bent over a steaming kettle; one of them mutters, “Water from the gallow ’s bank.” Suddenly in the distance a witch-bell is heard, and a crowd chants the name of Herlof’s Marte. She stands up stiffly, with a kind of fatalistic dignity. The bell rings incessantly , coming closer—it keeps on tolling. The music, used sparingly in Day of Wrath, is powerful and somber, rather Bach-like. I replied that I found the music extremely suitable. “You know,” Dreyer mused, “I promised Poul Schierbeck after we finished Day of Wrath if I ever did another film in Denmark he must again write the music. And so he is indeed, for The Word.” “Isn’t that impossible?” I protested. “Schierbeck is dead.” “Yes. But I shall still keep the promise. His widow is giving me his unpublished manuscripts. From them I’ll fit a score together. His music is just right for The Word.” I asked Dreyer if he planned to make The Word a contemporary piece. “Well, I shall keep it in the time in which Kaj Munk wrote it; in other words, 1925. However, since it occurs out in the country, which is always touched less by the whim of fashion, its people will wear those dresses or suits which are timeless and rustic.” Then Dreyer’s wife appeared. At the door she made a Carl Theodor Dreyer and Ordet 10 signal with her hand. Dreyer rose from his chair. “It’s the telephone,” he explained. “It must have...