Black Narcissus DVD > Reviews > No Place For a Nunnery!

Author's product rating:   

Did you enjoy it?	Loved it
Story	Outstanding
Characters / Performances	Outstanding
Special Effects	Outstanding
How does it compare to similar films?	Outstanding

Advantages:	Deborah Kerr and costars, fine adaptation of source, rich and dramatic use of technicolour sans garishness .
Disadvantages:	Nil .

Recommend to potential buyers:

yes

Full review

Where, oh where, are the Powells and Pressburgers of today? At the present time, we should all consider ourselves so lucky that the producing-writing-directing team of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger (also known as 'The Archers') left us a legacy of well-crafted, visually arresting, intelligent, and just all-around stunningly beautiful and engrossing films. We should also thank the tireless Martin Scorsese for bringing the works of The Archers to DVD in the excellent Criterion Collection series. Their 'Black Narcissus' (1947) release is one of these cinematic treasures.

Adapted rather faithfully, in spirit if not in complete form, from the fascinating novel by Rumer Godden, 'Black Narcissus' relates the many challenges faced by a small group of Anglo-Catholic nuns attempting to set up a mission (named St Faith) with a convent, a school and a dispensary, at the edge of the world - virtually. It's actually on a distant mountain village called Mopu, north of Darjeeling in the Himalayas. Despite her youth, the stern Sister Clodagh has been chosen to be the mission's Mother Superior. She is told to take with her the friendly Sister 'Honey'/Blanche, the garden-loving Sister Philippa, the unflappable and practical Sister Briony, and finally, the troubled and volatile Sister Ruth as a true test of her leadership ability. For their quarters the Old General of Mopu gives the nuns his empty 'House of Women', a solid stone palace reminiscent of the Tibetan monks' buildings in Lhasa, that happens to be a former harem of his, with the walls still bearing erotic decorations.

What the Sisters soon encounter in this village will test the nuns' character and resolve in nearly every way. There's the Agent, the abrasive and overtly masculine Mr Dean. He's a Briton-gone-native who uses shorts and wears his shirts open, and even dares to come to the convent bare-chested at one point. He becomes the sole source of help for the nuns, to the deep chagrin of Sister Clodagh. There's the young General, Dilip, younger son of the Old General, whose naivete and sincere eagerness as a student contrasts with his fabulous assortment of stone-encrusted, feather- and jewellery-bedecked, rich and multicoloured outfits. Then there's the caretaker, Ayah, who merely tolerates the new group of women who've come to inhabit the General's House, as she longs for the old days of gaiety and fun with a decidedly different set of women in the palace. There's the young and adorable Joseph, son of the cook who joins the sisters at St Faith as their interpreter, who tells Sister Clodagh he is 'between six and eleven' years of age (he soon explains why). And finally, thanks to Mr Dean, the nuns are forced to take in a young, sensuous teenaged orphan named Kanchi, who will catch the eye of Dilip.

In their attempt to do their work introducing, well, British ideas and ways to the villagers while still observing their religious vows, the nuns soon find themselves in danger of accomplishing neither. Distractions of all kinds, internal and external, plague the small religious community. Sister Clodagh mentally drifts to her distant days of youth with her long-lost fiancé, Con, at moments when she should be devoted to prayer and contemplation. Sister Philippa finds herself filling the garden with flowers instead of the vegetables she should be planting. The temptations of the flesh will make themselves known, in 'l'affair Kanchi', as well as in the crisis involving Sister Ruth (and in a subliminal manner, Sister Clodagh, too). The socio-cultural clash between the West and this remote corner of the East will emerge in the case of the very ill baby from the village, with disastrous consequences for the nuns. All these, plus the chilling effects of the constant cold mountain winds that sweep through the palace corridors like ghosts of the past, may just prove to be a bit much for the Sisters, and Mr Dean's initial comment about 'giving [them] till the rains come' will soon echo like the clanging mission bells in Sister Clodagh's thoughts. The story comes to a head in scenes of taut suspense that finally end in tragedy.

Several things make 'Black Narcissus' a hauntingly beautiful, gripping and moving film. The casting could not have been better, starting with the marvelously understated Deborah Kerr in the role of Sister Clodagh. Clad in a concealing nun's habit, she is left with just her face with which to act, and her eyes, brow, mouth and chin register every small and large emotion with such effect and economy. One spies a deep well of passion seething dangerously beneath her Sister Clodagh's controlled exterior. David Farrar as Mr Dean has a wicked twinkle in his eye that suggests a barely hidden contempt for the nuns that matches his brash and rude manner - and he softens only much later on in the film. As Sister Ruth, the nun who later snaps, Kathleen Byron is equally persuasive as someone slowly losing her grip on reality as the film unfolds, until the longish climactic sequences during which she warrants a tranquilizer dart for her out-of-control behaviour. Flora Robson's confused Sister Philippa, Jenny Laird's sunny and kind-hearted Sister Honey and Judith Furse as dependable and strong Sister Briony are no less exceptional in their respective roles. The young Eddie Whaley, Jr is unforgettable, charming and authentic as the little boy Joseph Anthony, and Nancy Roberts' brief but effective turn as Mother Dorothea, Sister Clodagh's superior, exudes the wisdom of an older nun well-acquainted with the cares and responsibilities of her senior position.

As was common then, Mssrs Powell and Pressburger cast white actors in many non-white roles here. A very young Jean Simmons, fresh from playing Ophelia in Sir Laurence Olivier's 'Hamlet', is Kanchi, wearing tons of skin-darkening lotion. Hers is a wordless part, but she gets to do a sensual Indian dance in one scene, and doesn't hurt the role one whit. Esmond Knight playing the Old General came as a real surprise, so thoroughly convincing were his accent and bearing, as were his colourful uniform, turban, even his eye injury. The third white 'native' is May Hallat, who portrays the loud kookiness of the Chinese(?)-Indian(?)-Nepalese(?) caretaker, Ayah, with gleeful abandon. One exception to this casting trend of white-as-other is Mr Powell's decision to have Sabu play the Young General, Dilip. Sabu does not let the film or the audience (or for that matter, the novel) down with his limning of the good-natured and extravagantly-dressed Dilip.

With the exquisite care put into the set designs and matte painted backdrops, you'd never guess that the film was shot almost entirely on a Pinewood Studios backlot! There's a ravishing beauty in nearly every frame in 'Black Narcissus' that takes one's breath away, and many images remain imprinted in my brain for their striking visual impact. To wit: the white-clad nuns sitting at a cross-shaped dining table set against blue walls and floor; the close-ups of Sisters Clodagh and Ruth's faces in many taut scenes; the apparently shocking scene with Sister Ruth and the red, red lipstick filmed in extreme close-up (which was cut from the film version shown to US audiences at the time!); the shots of the bell rung by the nuns set at the edge of the precipice; the sequence with the now-mad Sister Ruth dashing about the stone steps silhouetted against dimly lit palace walls; the golden late afternoon sunlight illuminating Sister Clodagh who pauses to take a drink in the palace, glimpsed between stair steps from above; the nuns riding on ponies making their way through the forest trail in the background as large drops of rain spatter upon the bright green, large-leafed plants in the foreground; and more.

The use of technicolour in this, another Archers film, is not gratuitous at all. As described in the included documentary, 'Painting with Light', the filmmakers took great pains to ensure that the colours on-screen would not appear garish and shocking (unless intentionally so), and enhance the tense and enigmatic atmosphere of the troubled Himalayan mission. Thanks to cinematographer Jack Cardiff's efforts, each shot becomes a work of art that pleases the visual sense, even stimulates and startles when necessary - and yet none of it radiates the slightest hint of self-conscious prettiness. There might be bold and dramatic strokes of colour, action and idea here, but one finds neither waste or extravagance (as befits the Spartan life of the nuns); you feel that every element in it is just as it should be.

I can only urge you to see for yourself why 'Black Narcissus' has been hailed as another cinematic masterpiece among those created by the Powell-Pressburger team. It brings satisfaction to the viewer on so many levels and in all the senses, while staying remarkably true to the original source. It also renders the craft of filmmaking into a genuine art form.