Directors: Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger
Writers: Rumer Godden, Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger
Photography: Jack Cardiff
Music: Brian Easdale
Editor: Reginald Mills
Cast: Deborah Kerr, David Farrar, Kathleen Byron, May Hallatt, Sabu, Jean Simmons, Judith Furse, Flora Robson, Jenny Laird, Nancy Roberts, Eddie Whaley Jr.
Black Narcissus was filmed entirely in Ireland and the UK, which is somewhat unexpected for a movie so determined to be about its location in the remote Himalayas. Watching closely, it’s not hard to make out the various matte paintings decorating the cinematic mise en scene unto the mountainous horizon—that is, if you’re not already distracted by the spectacular glowing technicolor of cinematographer Jack Cardiff. All I took from this movie the first time I saw it many years ago was that it is amazingly vibrant with color, and has something to do with nuns.
Both IMDb and Wikipedia classify this Archers team picture—codirectors and cowriters Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, based on a 1939 novel by Rumer Godde—as “psychological drama.” In a sense that’s true—Sister Ruth (Kathleen Byron skillfully gobbling everything in sight) is having a heck of a spiritual crisis, which being sent to this unlikely site in the Himalayas only exacerbates. The picture is about setting up a convent from scratch with a small team of nuns, in a building that once housed the harem of an Indian royal, poised on the precipice of the edge of a deep valley. I mean like literally on a cliff, with minimal protective fencing. It’s a wonder there is not a parade of Vertigo-like falls.
Black Narcissus was filmed entirely in Ireland and the UK, which is somewhat unexpected for a movie so determined to be about its location in the remote Himalayas. Watching closely, it’s not hard to make out the various matte paintings decorating the cinematic mise en scene unto the mountainous horizon—that is, if you’re not already distracted by the spectacular glowing technicolor of cinematographer Jack Cardiff. All I took from this movie the first time I saw it many years ago was that it is amazingly vibrant with color, and has something to do with nuns.
Both IMDb and Wikipedia classify this Archers team picture—codirectors and cowriters Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, based on a 1939 novel by Rumer Godde—as “psychological drama.” In a sense that’s true—Sister Ruth (Kathleen Byron skillfully gobbling everything in sight) is having a heck of a spiritual crisis, which being sent to this unlikely site in the Himalayas only exacerbates. The picture is about setting up a convent from scratch with a small team of nuns, in a building that once housed the harem of an Indian royal, poised on the precipice of the edge of a deep valley. I mean like literally on a cliff, with minimal protective fencing. It’s a wonder there is not a parade of Vertigo-like falls.
The narrative arc of Black Narcissus, the psychological drama, is arguably Sister Ruth’s crisis, along with a leadership crisis of Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr, sterling silver as usual), who is the youngest Mother Superior in the org but unfortunately prone to pride. Or perhaps Sister Clodagh has the A story—she certainly gets all the flashbacks that clutter up the proceedings. In many ways Black Narcissus is a kind of movie I’m inclined to like already, full of small aimless episodes, problems, and solutions in the daily life of an ongoing community of developing characters. The cast listing is big for a picture under two hours because there are so many of them and most of them are distinct and interesting.
It adds up to a good deal of variety and texture going on in this picture. David Farrar plays Mr. Dean, some kind of British official stationed there for the dimming empire, who smugly struts around in ridiculous short pants. He comes already filled with a kind of creepy undifferentiated sexual tension, of which both Sister Clodagh and Sister Ruth get their doses. I think he’s supposed to be a good guy. One of the nuns, Sister Philippa (Flora Robson), sent to create a kitchen garden for the convent, instead cracks up and plants flowers. It seems to be a case of extreme homesickness. The wonderful Sabu (The Thief of Bagdad, The Jungle Book) plays the “Young General” (or “Prince”), who shows up at the convent for lessons. The Young General says he’s very interested in understanding more about Christianity, but he is soon involved with a beggar maid, Kanchi (a luminous and very young Jean Simmons).
Eventually the picture comes round to the Sister Ruth story, where I feel like “melodrama” is more accurate than “psychological drama.” It just doesn’t seem that psychologically real to me, particularly in the scenes where Sister Clodagh confronts the former Sister Ruth in civilian clothes, a sensational form-fitting purple dress. The moment when Ruth puts on lipstick, shot in extreme close-up, is treated like she’s cutting someone’s throat in a movie by Dario Argento (surely under some influence of the Archers). It’s honestly pretty ridiculous—maybe it still resonates with devout Catholics? Any way you slice it, Byron is great at being done with being a nun, playing right at the edge of hysterics, which you can hear in the rasp in her voice and see in the curl of her lips. So delightful—not since Margaret Hamilton, perhaps.
For me that’s how a melodrama works, when it does work. And I’m not entirely sure it does work here, in general, beyond a few specific and amazing moments. For example, “Black Narcissus” in this movie is a cologne worn by the Young General, obtained from “the Army-Navy Stores in London.” Sister Ruth objects to it and he says, “Oh, Sister, don't you think it's rather common to smell of ourselves?” This Black Narcissus cologne is some kind of symbol of something to be sure but it’s complicated and ambiguous and otherwise only a negligible element in the story. It sounds grand and mysterious in the hothouse environment of a lushly exuberant picture but that seems to be about all.
The dramas of Sister Clodagh and Sister Ruth are there more for the empty effect of nuns with problems. The film’s real intent, at least for marketing purposes, is all in the tagline: “Exquisite Yearning! ... Exotic Living! High in a hidden mountain village of a strange land and extravagant dreams and desires become exciting realities!”
In short, it’s dated—but often in interesting ways, say I. And so much care went into the details, in the screenplay and casting and production, everywhere, as timebound as its elements may or may not be. Note that it was released within months of India’s formal independence from Britain. Black Narcissus is more an old-fashioned Big Movie. It doesn’t have to make sense or move you that much, beyond gaping in awe at how well it is working on the level of sensation and surprise. It’s not the best from the Archers—I guess I’m in the Red Shoes camp on that one—but it’s up there. It’s full of small, delightful touches that add up to a nice time at the movies. Make it a nun night and look at it on the biggest screen possible in a double feature with The Sound of Music.
It adds up to a good deal of variety and texture going on in this picture. David Farrar plays Mr. Dean, some kind of British official stationed there for the dimming empire, who smugly struts around in ridiculous short pants. He comes already filled with a kind of creepy undifferentiated sexual tension, of which both Sister Clodagh and Sister Ruth get their doses. I think he’s supposed to be a good guy. One of the nuns, Sister Philippa (Flora Robson), sent to create a kitchen garden for the convent, instead cracks up and plants flowers. It seems to be a case of extreme homesickness. The wonderful Sabu (The Thief of Bagdad, The Jungle Book) plays the “Young General” (or “Prince”), who shows up at the convent for lessons. The Young General says he’s very interested in understanding more about Christianity, but he is soon involved with a beggar maid, Kanchi (a luminous and very young Jean Simmons).
Eventually the picture comes round to the Sister Ruth story, where I feel like “melodrama” is more accurate than “psychological drama.” It just doesn’t seem that psychologically real to me, particularly in the scenes where Sister Clodagh confronts the former Sister Ruth in civilian clothes, a sensational form-fitting purple dress. The moment when Ruth puts on lipstick, shot in extreme close-up, is treated like she’s cutting someone’s throat in a movie by Dario Argento (surely under some influence of the Archers). It’s honestly pretty ridiculous—maybe it still resonates with devout Catholics? Any way you slice it, Byron is great at being done with being a nun, playing right at the edge of hysterics, which you can hear in the rasp in her voice and see in the curl of her lips. So delightful—not since Margaret Hamilton, perhaps.
For me that’s how a melodrama works, when it does work. And I’m not entirely sure it does work here, in general, beyond a few specific and amazing moments. For example, “Black Narcissus” in this movie is a cologne worn by the Young General, obtained from “the Army-Navy Stores in London.” Sister Ruth objects to it and he says, “Oh, Sister, don't you think it's rather common to smell of ourselves?” This Black Narcissus cologne is some kind of symbol of something to be sure but it’s complicated and ambiguous and otherwise only a negligible element in the story. It sounds grand and mysterious in the hothouse environment of a lushly exuberant picture but that seems to be about all.
The dramas of Sister Clodagh and Sister Ruth are there more for the empty effect of nuns with problems. The film’s real intent, at least for marketing purposes, is all in the tagline: “Exquisite Yearning! ... Exotic Living! High in a hidden mountain village of a strange land and extravagant dreams and desires become exciting realities!”
In short, it’s dated—but often in interesting ways, say I. And so much care went into the details, in the screenplay and casting and production, everywhere, as timebound as its elements may or may not be. Note that it was released within months of India’s formal independence from Britain. Black Narcissus is more an old-fashioned Big Movie. It doesn’t have to make sense or move you that much, beyond gaping in awe at how well it is working on the level of sensation and surprise. It’s not the best from the Archers—I guess I’m in the Red Shoes camp on that one—but it’s up there. It’s full of small, delightful touches that add up to a nice time at the movies. Make it a nun night and look at it on the biggest screen possible in a double feature with The Sound of Music.
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