Motion picture moguls have always known that to be successful, a film must avoid plot and dialogue with an intellectual content higher than that found in the platitudes of Pa Kettle. At best, drama must be light-weight, with much false emotion and conflict of typed personalities. But the lines of patient people waiting to see Martin Luther prove that picture executives have at least as great a share of fallibility as Luther claimed for the Rope.

The picture does not reduce Luther to a stock hero, or make his break from the Church into a simple tale of right and wrong. It follows Luther through the days of his early doubt about the right of his religion, tracing his compelling feeling of sin with graphic scenes of self-scourging and confession to the Vicar General of his monastic order. Then, without being pedantic, Luther expounds his theories of salvation through faith, and of a popular interpretation of Scripture.

In a tense representation of Luther's famous debate with Doctor Eck and in a fairly lengthy scene between the reformer and his Church superior, Martin Luther hits at the audience's intellect rather than emotion. Luther spells out his doctrine with force and drama, but his fervor is always under control, and his heated voice never tries to add potency to his words. Rather is Niall MacGinnis, as Luther, remarkable for his restraint. At the scene of Luther's trial before Emperor Charles V, when Luther is offered safety if he will recant his theses, MacGinnis is superb. His voice and mouth tremble as he seems on the verge of tears, so passionate is his devotion to his religion and his anger at the corruption and venality of the Church he loved. By a lesser actor, this performance would be false with the mock-heroics that generally pass for conviction; MacGinnis makes it quite reasonable, and even subdued.

It is MacGinnis's performance, in fact, that makes Martin Luther more than just a good picture. He achieves a sense of realism with almost impressionistic, acting. By unusual inflection in his sentences, MacGinnis's voice underscores the lines written by Allan Sloane and Lothar Wolff, giving them tremendous emphasis when needed.

The master hand of Louis de Rochemont is obvious in such touches as market place scenes and the ceric effect of coweled monks sitting, mummy-like in their stalls, singing Gregorian chants. And director Irving Pichel controls the pace, never allowing the action to falter or interfere with the film's message.

Besides being a collection of uniformly fine acting bits, and the most consistently challenging motion picture story for years, Martin Luther is supreme entertainment. One need not be particularly interested in the picture's points of theological dispute to be swept up in the surge of MacGinnis's acting. Whether as a declaration of faith, or a commercial production this picture rates as the best film, foreign or domestic, for quite a while.