Die schwarze Narzisse

This is a spellbinding movie that has haunted me for years. No other film in my sixty- odd years of viewing has so affected me. There is, beyond the obvious tangibles of superb artistry, an intangible quality that continues to elude me. Maybe it's that last scene of departure - the man framed against the mountain, the raindrops evanescing from the leaves, the procession passing into the mist. I know something has passed, yet something remains. But what? I know now that the movie is to be experienced, not decoded, a case where the figurative whole becomes a sum greater than any of its truly astonishing parts. The result projects that rarest of film qualities—an aesthetic that transcends artistry. Someone once observed that strange things happen when the practical mind of the English encounters traditional mysticism of the East. Strange and sometimes wonderful things, it should be added.

The story concerns a group of nuns opening a new convent school/health clinic high in the Indian Himalayas. The high altitude, the native people, and the mountain vistas, have profound effects on the woman, and each, in their own way, begins to question their commitment to their chosen life. The performances are good, though somewhat typical in that rather dry, post-war kind of way. Kathleen Byron makes a very modern attempt to create a startling and unusually frank image of female sexuality. Her quick kiss of Mr. Dean's hand as he evicts her from his home is part childish defiance, part serpent's bite, and is just one of the many highlights of her performance. The 70-year-old May Hallat is also note-worthy, creating a bizarre and thoroughly original character in the form of the servant Angu Ayah.

The movie's true stars however are production designer Alfred Junger and cinematographer, the legendary Jack Cardiff. Junger manages to create a vivid and hallucinatory vision of northern India on an English sound stage. The interiors of the crumbling palace, with their intricately carved screens and painted murals, are beautiful, and the courtyards, full of goats and chickens caught in the howling winds, convey an incredible air of authenticity. With a Technicolor camera, nobody ever really knew exactly how the developed film would look. All you could hope for was that a gifted cinematographer and a Technicolor consultant could twiddle those little dials in just the right way so as to alter the light spectrum and burn vibrant reds and haunting indigo onto the film forever. The virtual alchemy of the process, the unexpected serendipity, is what lends this film its excitement, and Cardiff's Oscar win is one of the most deserved in the Academy's history.

An amazing visual feast, that while lacking in strong performances, teaches us much of the bravery, science, craft and artistry of vintage cinema.

Deborah Kerr is designated to establish a convent in the Himalayas at a remote cliffside dwelling, a palace of dubious origin. She takes her assignment seriously and faces strange customs and unfamiliar peoples as well as a harsh climate. There are inner struggles as well, and Kerr is excellent at revealing these. Huge closeups reveal what her character is supposedly thinking as she peers at others, often in unspoken disapproval of their actions, particularly David Farrar, Jean Simmons (as an Indian girl), and Kathleen Byron--who gives the film's most urgent performance as the distraught nun with worldly pleasures on her mind. Kerr gives a faultless performance, the mainstay of the film, since most of the story is seen from her viewpoint.

The striking color photography and set decoration were rightfully awarded Oscars. A haunting, powerful study of the effects of loneliness and isolation on a group of nuns--and what happens when one of them goes beserk. The struggle between the two nuns at the bell tower is one of the most gripping climaxes ever. A richly detailed British film with a windswept atmosphere all its own.

Black Narcissus is a whirlwind of a film, and a milestone in cinematography. I mean, this film looks amazing. The set of the mountain village is a great pleasure to watch. It's a built set, not the actual Himalayas, and the set decoration and lush design are wonderful and always intriguing. The cinematography itself is seamless, beautiful strokes of a rigid, expressive painting. Each closeup is so grand and overpowering. The lighting is moody but in such an overt manor. Each shot itself is interesting, not only because of the set but because the pure look of the film, especially for 1947, is almost alien. One hardly hears about Powell and Pressburger films, and here on IMDb, they are rated highly but never on the Top 250, yet their ratings and votes are equal to the amounts of many on that list. There is something completely offbeat about their films, and I love it. Seeing The Red Shoes caused me to admire them, but Black Narcissus makes me fascinated with them. Their collaboration blends very personal visions into something much different. This film makes you desperately want to see more.

Group of Anglican nuns are sent to the Himalayans to start a convent/school/hospital in an old palace which used to be a House of Ill Repute. Quickly, the strange locale, the constant winds, and the appearances of a strapping handyman sends two of the sisters to distraction. Gripping drama from Powell and Pressburger has moments of sly humor, incredible beauty. Some of the close-ups (as when Sister Superior Deborah Kerr remembers fox-hunting in her youth, or when Sister Ruth discloses her desires of the flesh) are fascinating, almost surreal, and the finale is a wind-whipping frenzy of emotional overload. A few characters--such as Sabu's General and Jean Simmons' young tart--are not expanded upon and simply evaporate, but the film is still a stunner, depicting need and survival with colorful, melodramatic flourish. ***1/2 from ****