To continue reading this article, which appeared online on Sept. 20, 2011, continue to Variety.com.

The reason a lot of people make a big deal of its 1947 release is because a major theme of Black Narcissus is the inability of the British heart and mind to penetrate the mysteries of the Indian subcontinent. Deborah Kerr plays a young Anglican nun, Sister Clodagh, who is appointed Sister Superior of the Convent of the Order of the Servants of Mary, Calcutta. Not only does the convent occupy an abandoned harem high in the Himalaya mountains, but Sister Clodagh will be the youngest Sister Superior in the history of her order.

The plot of Black Narcissus isn’t as important as the mood the film creates, its scenery, or its overwhelming sense of lush sensuality.

Michael Powell wrote of Black Narcissus that it was the most erotic film he ever made. “It is all done by suggestion, but eroticism is in every frame and image, from the beginning to the end.”

None of this is to say that the eroticism of Black Narcissus is the only thing that makes it worth watching. It’s a fine character study and a well-acted story of the clash between fantasy and reality. But its visual textures, breathtaking scenery, and exquisite attention to detail are overwhelming.

Remarkably, Powell and Pressburger — who produced films together under the name “The Archers” — created all of their majestic Himalaya settings on the soundstages of Pinewood Studios. Usually matte paintings call attention to themselves and fool no one. In Black Narcissus they are seamlessly integrated into the rest of the film and are good enough to create a sense of vertigo in the scenes in which Sister Clodagh rings the enormous bell that hangs near the precipice on one side of the convent.

Black Narcissus is not a perfect film. While the performances are generally good, especially from Kerr as Sister Clodagh, David Farrar as the insouciant and charming British agent Mr. Dean, and Kathleen Byron as the unhinged Sister Ruth, the native characters are mostly played by British actors, which doesn’t always work. The 18-year-old English actress Jean Simmons is beautiful and beguiling as the dancing girl, Kanchi, but her light-colored eyes clash with her brown face makeup. Much less effective is May Hallatt as the deranged Angu Ayah, a servant inherited by the convent. Her screeching Cockney line delivery was so confusing that for most of the picture I wasn’t sure where her character was supposed to be from. (The only Indian actor in the film, Sabu, who plays the Young General, is from southern India, not northern India, where the film takes place.)

But these are minor quibbles. Black Narcissus is a stunningly beautiful film that I look forward to seeing again some day. Despite its sometimes outlandish story and its melodramatic elements, it’s a meticulously crafted piece of art from the greatest British directors of all time.

Mitchell Leisens’ 1955 effort BEDEVILLED is not without it’s problems but, being his penultimate film before going into television, presents an accommodating audience with enough to at least make it interesting.

There’s little written about this film, IMDb have only a dusting of reviews, all bad, and the normally thorough database people have even neglected to mention the involvement of Art Director Alfred Junge who dealt with the art department on Hitchcock’s original version of THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH and on King Vidor’s THE CITADEL.

Steve Forrest stars as Gregory Fitzgerald, a highly unlikely looking priest to be. One can only assume that this casting choice was deliberate as the conflict between religious destiny and temptation is the central theme of the film. Accompanied by a fellow apprentice, he flies to France for a 3 day stopover before heading to the seminary which will see him robed. The plane journey provides Fitzgerald with his first test. Leaving his friend to deal with air sickness, the chiseled padre heads into the planes’ bowels for a bite to eat. Within seconds he’s met a beautiful French fashion type named Francesca (played hilariously by Simone Renant) who only seems to be in the story to occasionally progress the plot. The woman immediately feels drawn to Fitzgerald, he does, after all, have “a face like a man”. And so, after a short discussion, she slips a card into his hand which is both an invite to her fashion show, and the phone number to her Paris apartment. This man, who is on the final journey to becoming a fully fledged man of the cloth, chooses not to reveal his profession, even when pressed. Is he ashamed? Does he doubt his path? This, of course is what we’re supposed to think.

A feast of priests

Once in Paris and dropped of by the delectable Francesca (she won’t be seen again until we need her) the guys meet their host for the short stay and a dinner meeting is arranged for that evening.

Enter the siren.

Jumping into a taxi to meet his host, his ride is hijacked by Monica Johnson, played by Anne Baxter of THE TEN COMMANDMENTS and I CONFESS fame. This devil in a red dress will seriously put a spanner in the works of what was supposed to be a relaxing few days in gay Paris before Fitzgerald fully gets in league with the boss upstairs.

And this is where the film really starts to unravel….

It transpires that the girl is on the run, fingered for a murder she supposedly didn’t commit but villains like the villain chasing her aren’t the kind of villains who will take a girl at her word. That much we get, that much is ok.

In helping this dame out and going beyond the call of duty to keep her safe, the film tells us they come together. The problem is we don’t SEE it. There is a lot of running about. a lot of serious looks, a car chase, a lot of dramatic arm grabs and a serious expository scene at Napolean’s tomb……

……. There’s not an ounce of chemistry, however, not anything that would lead us to believe that this guy is doing anything other than helping her out. Fitzgerald repeatedly keeps his impending priest-dom under wraps but this does nothing to prepare us for the scene later in the flick when she goes in for a kiss ….. And yet we know it’s coming because we’ve seen it so many times before. Now I’m all for the subtlety in the delivery of that information. Leisen should be commended, it’s a neat idea and says so much without words. It can only really work when there is chemistry between to the two leads and we don’t have that here. The acting actually makes William Alwyns’ score seem heavy handed as we come to rely on it for emotional injection.

After lots more running about…. Across some nice roofs, good job Alfred, in fact let’s have a look:

…. And

After lots more running about we inevitably end up in a church where truths are told, secrets revealed and decisions made.

This flick doesn’t have the bite of NO MAN OF HER OWN, made only 5 years earlier, but is essential viewing for those of us who love Leisen’s work.

Here’s something else I love about it:

The film features the most blatant “waking up in bed with flawless make up and perfect hair” scene in cinema.

And possibly the most sexist line:

Francesca: “I made a fantastic mistake!”

Trevelle: “Well of course, you’re a woman”

The film has an unique visual texture, due to its revolutionary (at the time) use of Technicolor and the great vibrancy of Alfred Junge’s sets (which seem to make their own statement about the lust and dreams of the collective past).  At the end the set is turned into a claustophobic emotional space of violent desire with expressionistic lighting, all tense reds and sickening greens.

The camera style sets up a compositional dichotomy between the great shots of the Himalayan landscape and old palace to some of the most dramatically potent facial close-ups I’ve seen, the lighting beautifully sculpting the character’s face as she recognizes the implications of a previous action or dialogue with an interiorized horror.  And then there are times when dramatically one would think a close-up would occur but the camera is kept at a full shot; when Sister Ruth runs in covered in blood it is not there is no close-up but the vibrant red of the blood seems to suddenly make itself part of the rest of the bold mise-en scene, pulling everything into a chillingly coherent and theatrical whole.

The film is not without its problems: some dialogue exchanges seem rough, almost like the adaptation of Rumer Godden’s novel needed to skip over multiple lines; some of the scene structuring seems dated; and we won’t get into the colonial politics (especially the one ethnographic montage near the beginning).

But overall Black Narcissus is a very engrossing film.

The film’s story–nuns in the Himalayas–is probably impossible to describe. So much of the film depends feeling, on little things. Describing the film, also, would cheapen it. I’ve had Black Narcissus to watch for quite a while and kept putting it off. I don’t know why, probably because the Archers made such great films, my expectations were incredibly high. The film met those expectations and even surpassed them, since it had me off-guard throughout, even when what I assumed was going to happen did. Black Narcissus doesn’t “give” the audience a lot, it expects them to take a lot from it. I can’t imagine what my response to this film would have been ten years ago, when I was first getting into Criterion laserdiscs and might have come across it for the Martin Scorsese commentary. (I could get Goodfellas at seventeen, but Goodfellas isn’t all that quiet).

There’s so much to look at in Black Narcissus, so many things one could talk about, I’ve mostly run out of ideas. The acting is great–the supporting cast has a lot to do and they’re all wonderful. You know these characters, even though there are quite a few, right away. Jack Cardiff’s cinematography is famous on this film and it is amazing–even more, I suppose, since it was all shot with miniatures and matte paintings–but the editing is fantastic too. The editing makes a lot of the film.

I can’t recommend this film highly enough… certainly don’t wait around to see it like I did.

CREDITS

Directed and produced by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger; screenplay by Powell and Pressburger, from the novel by Rumer Godden; director of photography, Jack Cardiff; edited by Reginald Mills; music by Brian Easdale; production designer, Alfred Junge; released by General Film Distributors.

Starring Deborah Kerr (Sister Clodagh), Sabu (Young Prince), David Farrar (Mr. Dean), Kathleen Byron (Sister Ruth), Esmond Knight (Old General), Flora Robson (Sister Philippa) and Jean Simmons (Kanchi).

Related posts:

• Black Narcissus (1947, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger) / Cobra (1986, George P. Cosmatos), An Alan Smithee Podcast episode

• The Red Shoes (1948, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger)
• The Tales of Hoffmann (1951, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger)
• They’re a Weird Mob (1966, Michael Powell)
• Age of Consent (1969, Michael Powell)
• Death on the Nile (1978, John Guillermin)