Instead, everything we already know about Joan is checked off by Anderson, who also puts some familiar family dynamics into play as the rustic Arc family tries to comprehend the otherworldly transformation of Joan into a savior of, then martyr for, France. This interest-holding if not very illuminating drama gives the Arcs a crassly contemporary vernacular to stand in for what Anderson thinks would be their lower-class French. However, exchanges like this one from Act I steer the play into unfunny sitcom territory:  

ISABELLE: Is it the Bonheur boy? You feeling something for him?

JOAN: Gah no.

ISABELLE: He’s sweet on you. I seen him looking at you.

JOAN: If he’s getting ideas about me, not my fault.

ISABELLE: Not anyone’s fault. It’s natural for a boy to be looking at you. You’re a good-looking

girl. Nothing wrong with it, if he’s having a look.

JOAN: Let him look. Nothing to me.

ISABELLE: He’ll grow on you. He’s decent. Works hard. And not so bad on the eyes. You think

he’s all serious business, then he smiles and gets that little dimple on his cheek. I like a man with a dimple don’t you?

JOAN: You marry him then.

Later, when Isabelle and husband Jacques visit the opulent castle Joan stays at (her older brother Pierre is also there, as a sort of bodyguard), Anderson can’t resist some easy country bumpkin jokes, which quickly wear out their welcome.

Matthew Penn’s straightforward staging is assisted by John Lee Beatty’s canny sets—which become the Arc family farm, the Dauphin’s elaborate court and an English prison—and Lap Chi Chu’s inventive lighting, in which a single shaft of the sun can speak more eloquently than Anderson’s dialogue. The sturdy cast features Grace Van Patten’s amiable Joan; as the eponymous Isabelle, Glenn Close brings the tough-minded but soft-hearted woman to such powerful life you wish she’d been given a better vehicle for her talents.