Black Narcissus

This spellbinding movie from that spellbinding film-making team (Powell and Pressburger) is another entry in the long line of literary and film stories that revolve around British restraint and repression unraveling under the force of mysterious foreign cultures (usually Eastern and frequently Indian), and it's one of the best.

A group of nuns travel to the Himalayas to do missionary work among the natives, but instead find themselves coming under the mystical spell of the place and people around them. Deborah Kerr is stunning as the head nun, who's determined to maintain order and British civility at all costs. I still can't decide whether this or "The Innocents" (1961) gave her her best role. At the other extreme is Kathleen Byron's Sister Ruth, who renounces her vows, paints her lips bright red, and engages in a fierce battle of wills with Kerr. What follows is a film that is surprisingly sexual, erotic and wild.

Powell and Pressburger are experts at using color. Instead of employing their Technicolor to simply make their film look pretty, the color almost becomes a character in itself, creating a feverish, hyper-realistic glow to the film. Legendary cameraman Jack Cardiff is responsible for the sterling and Oscar-winning cinematography. Equally stunning is the art direction, which created very realistic mountains out of papier-mache.

A simply sensational film, one that holds up completely and could be watched again and again. This and "Out of the Past" vie in my esteem for best film released in 1947.

Grade: A+

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.

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 ****

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.

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.