Review of Black Narcissus (1947) by Kiernan M — 28 Feb 2014

The first thing Powell and Pressburger fans tend to note is the intelligence of the script, and the lush cinematography of Powell's Cinematographer, Jack Cardiff. I think what's most moving about Black Narcissus specifically, though, is the central theme of the unexpected visit of iterations of yourself that you'd sooner forget. It's the iteration of a self that was much more vulnerable, naive, and hopeful for the ambiguity of the future.

The Nuns of the newly appointed St. Faith, a convent established in an old Indian brothel placed high in the Himalayas, become all too entranced by the ecstasy of the environment around them: high in altitude, and ancient. It's both of these things that first distract the nuns from their everyday tasks, before sinking into a deeply existential crisis that have them question their oneness with God, even though the very thought is never outwardly spoken.

The most dramatic example, of course, is Sister Ruth (in a furious performance delivered by Kathleen Byron) whose transformation from a troubled nun into a bitter, hyper-sexual and murderous woman underline the nature of the work of God: suppression. Suppression of the past, suppression of desire, and suppression of sex. It reminds us that our facades can only hold out for so long until our real selves force their way out of isolation, destroying the image we try to make of ourselves and revealing our darkest secrets.

It might be easy to liken the actions of these nuns to the English colonies in India; attempting to "whitewash" the cultural landscape with Catholicism in the film might be a less-than-subtle acknowledgement to the attempted assimilation of the Indian nation to English culture.

Eventually, after so much suppression, the culture will push back against its oppressors to break down the facade, only to reveal what it was originally.

This is a beautiful film with a deeply psychological and intelligent story. Deborah Kerr is brutal and cold as the Sister Superior Clodagh, all in the attempt to hold herself up as a serious woman of God, rather than a jilted twenty-something who buried her heartbreak under a lifetime of armor. This flick is practically perfect.