Die schwarze Narzisse

This was a film released in the U.K. just after World War 2 when those of us living there, in a rather battered and sometimes depressing post war environment, had become used to a long series of gritty B/W wartime films, and were more than ready to be blown away by the atmosphere and colour in this film. It has been a treasured memory ever since, and I watch it quite regularly; but I have never commented on it here in case this background might have distorted my artistic appreciation. Now, more than 60 years after its release, I am an octogenarian and believe I can put this concern aside.

I find it sad to think that the vast majority of the people I know today were born long after this film was released and, if they have heard of it at all, they think of it as one of the old classics which are virtually never watched today - like for example "Gone with the Wind" or even "Intolerance" or "Hypocrites". Unfortunately many lesser 'classic films' achieved this status because they pioneered some technological innovation which was quickly accepted by the entire movie industry - the films themselves were often little better than garbage, so movie fans who hired copies from rental outlets often developed an aversion to such classics. This has seriously affected public interest in what I would term the true classics - films where the viewing experience itself was sufficiently intense and memorable to warrant their designation as a classic.

If I were asked to identify one feature which alone marks a film as a true classic, it would be a visual experience that transports the viewer into the world portrayed in the film so convincingly that he or she becomes oblivious to faults, whether in the costumes, the acting, the sets, the camera work, the editing, the dialogue, or the remainder of the sound track including (if any) the score. With such films the viewer undergoes a memorable experience. Books and stage plays can occasionally provide a similar experience, but the greater realism of the cinema usually makes it much more intense. Throughout the history of movies this has remained characteristic of films that carry the mark of a true classic. Laurence Olivier's Henry V was the first film of this type which I ever saw and Black Narcissus was the second.

BN is a film about an Anglican community of nuns serving in a remote area of the Himalayas in Northern India. Both the Mission building and the scenery providing the background to it were shown with a hard edged realism that quickly made one realize the enormous stresses to which the characters soon became subject. Much later, when I read that this was in fact not location filming but a very polished Pinewood Studio production, I found it almost impossible to believe. Even with today's technological advances, including such recent developments as computerised visuals, there are few if any films that can surpass the visual imagery Jack Cardiff achieved here. The photography was superb for its time, and continues to provide a lesson for modern film makers who have so many more resources to play with. But the film did not achieve it greatness from this alone. Acting is always controversial, but critics were almost united in their praise for the acting in this film - I have watched it many times and have still not experienced any sequences which seriously jar my appreciation of it. The last time I played my well used copy was just after Jean Simmon's recent death, which brought this film back to mind again and indirectly has probably led me to pen these comments. Jean was superb in a small part as Kanchi, a local girl who caught the eye of one of the local Indian Princes, played by Sabu in what was probably his finest role. It's star was Deborah Kerr who excelled in an award winning part as Sister Clodagh the leader of the mission, strongly backed up by Kathleen Byron with a superb performance as Sister Ruth whose sanity was gradually undermined by the surroundings - ultimately with disastrous results for the entire community.

Films of this quality released so long ago make it is very difficult to view most modern films without a feeling of disappointment, and impossible to even watch much of the rubbish which is promoted as the latest and the best today. For me, we are rapidly approaching a stage where there are a few hundred films readily available on DVD that completely surpass almost everything which is currently produced. I have just read reviews of the half dozen new films that are being released in my area this week, and cannot but question why I should watch any of these new offerings when I have copies of several films which will provide a far better viewing experience sitting on my shelf? This viewpoint is becomes increasingly common among serious film-goers. Before long the industry will be forced to face the choice of whether to abandon any pretense to artistic merit and concentrate solely on productions that have their maximum appeal for an increasingly limited audience, or to stop its mad rush to produce more such rubbish and re-think the role it should play in providing artistic entertainment in a 21st century world. Hopefully there are signs that an increasing number of independent film makers are beginning to do just this.

I rate Black Narcissus at a very solid 9 stars and cannot recommend it too strongly. DVD's are still readily available, I doubt if this will be true of Avatar in 60 years time.

Wind is always blowing throughout the monastery the Servants of God nuns have inherited in a remote part of India. In accepting being in charge of the new place, Sister Clodagh will question her faith as she faces one of the greatest challenges of her life.

Michael Powell, working with his usual collaborator, Emeric Pressburger, on the Rumer Godden's novel, created a film that stands the test of time. His achievement is even more incredible as he shot this film in an English studio. The film, brilliantly photographed by Jack Cardiff, one of the best men in the business, and a frequent ally of Mr. Powell, is one of the best pictures of the English cinema. The glorious Technicolor still looks great.

"Black Narcissus" questions how some Christians, in this case, nuns of a religious order, can be so blind about things that deviate from what it deems is the right way. When the young General wants to be part of the school the nuns are creating, they reject him, yet, he asks about how would a God, made human in the form of Christ, would respond to his petition.

Sister Clodagh is also put in a spot when she wants to get rid of the old man who day after day sits staring at the distant mountains. It's Mr. Dean who challenges her in asking how would her God deal with the old man. Sister Clodagh's past is revealed in flashbacks when she was a young woman and in love with a young man who wanted to emigrate to America and she wasn't ready to follow him.

Also, Sister Ruth, who is a rebel, decides to abandon the order because she is in love with Mr. Dean. The highlight of the film is the scene in which Ruth begins applying the deep red lipstick, which makes quite a contrast with her beautiful reddish hair to the horror of Sister Clodagh, who clearly is not prepared for the desertion.

There is also an undercurrent between Sister Clodagh and Mr. Dean, who one feels loves her. The nun is too loyal to the principles that made her take the vows. She realizes at the end that while she had the best intentions to transform the place, she is only a human being who suffers a defeat because of her surroundings.

Deborah Kerr enjoyed one of the best triumphs of her career with the role of Sister Clodagh. She is seen as a young woman of great beauty and the austere nun she became later in her life. David Farrar is Mr. Dean, the Englishman who is now living in that remote part of India and knows the people well. Kathleen Byron makes an excellent contribution as the rebel Sister Ruth. Flora Robson plays the kind Sister Philippa. Jean Simmons appears as a cruel Indian girl, and Sabu has some interesting moments in the film.

This is one of Mr. Powell's best movies in his influential film career. He was one of the most innovative film makers of his generation and it shows well in "Black Narcissus".

Having enjoyed the recent release of Jean Renoir's "The River" on the Criterion Collection DVD, I was looking forward to seeing this film adaptation of yet another exotically set Rumer Godden book. As it turns out, this 1947 classic is far more enthralling thanks to the visionary film-making team of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, an intriguing plot line focused on the conflict between devotion and desire and a sterling cast headed by 26-year old Deborah Kerr as Sister Clodagh, a precursor to her similarly themed work in "Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison" ten years later.

The beautifully photographed movie tells an unusual tale of Anglican nuns who establish a convent in an extremely remote region of the Himalayas called Mopu. Chosen in Calcutta by her Mother Superior, Sister Clodagh becomes the Sister Superior, one of the youngest ever chosen, of the convent. Her primary task is a daunting one, to convert a donated sultan's palace into a convent, transforming it from a residence for concubines to a school and a hospital. The terrain, 9,000-foot elevation and climate all prove challenging, and physical problems are compounded by ensuing health issues and the decline in overall morale, the result of the invariable conflict between the sensuality of the environment and the regimented order of the nuns' lives.

Each sister reacts differently and manages their inner turmoil in different ways. Matters come to a head with the arrival of three outsiders - a cynical, agnostic Brit, Mr. Dean, who sparks unholy feelings among the sisters; the son of the General who bestowed the gift of the palace, hungry for education from the nuns; and Kanchi, an exotic native girl who is unruly and in need of male attention. The film's title refers to an exotic perfume, worn by the General's son, which clouds the air around their mission and consequently redirects the thoughts of the sisters to the world they were supposed to leave behind. All their lives collide in ways that lead to tragic consequences.

The hallmark of this movie is the lush cinematography by Jack Cardiff, who did similar duties on "The African Queen". Amazingly, the film makes extensive use of matte paintings and large scale landscape paintings (the artwork is by Peter Ellenshaw) to suggest the mountainous environment of the Himalayas. The cast is mostly quite effective. In one of her first starring roles, Kerr is superb as Sister Clodagh, providing the right shadings to her conflict-ridden character. However, it is Kathleen Byron (who looks eerily like Cate Blanchett) as the deranged Sister Ruth and a 17-year old Jean Simmons as Kanchi, who threaten to steal the picture. The suspenseful climax will remind you a bit of Hitchcock's "Vertigo" made 11 years later. This is a fascinating, subtly erotic film about repression and duty, sometimes melodramatic but constantly affecting, and quite worthy of viewing.

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 ****

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.