Review of Black Narcissus (1947) by Colm M — 25 Apr 2011

Those looking for stoner comedy, scroll on, 'cause us here with cravings for stoic '40s drama have a match made in "Black" Heaven (pun intended.) "Black Narcissus" is a dead-on lampoon in subtlety, a day-in-day-out exploration of a widowed nunnery somewhere atop the Himalayan mountains that resonates like a spaced guru eternally plateaued, no regard for what the kids are watching. It's upon that sort of wowed dedication directors Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger bestow "Black Narcissus", adapted by the two from Rumer Godden's buzzy scripture chasing the lives of five nuns and the handsome English steward (David Farrar) who gives their chaste-bound eyes a run for the money.

As it chugs along, the colorful scenery from cinematographer Jack Cardiff shifts to an atmospheric Hell; Kathleen Byron's Sister Ruth quickly capitalizes on the convent's loose ends by steadily detracting herself from reality (i.e., God's mortal combat). Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr) is none too pleased with Ruth's newfound persistence, either, and "Black Narcissus" surpasses its initial worldly openness with aggressive, almost pornographic levels of dark doubt. If you can manage to stretch past the miniscule evolution that comes on the heels of the former trot, Powell and Pressburger's film gets dizzy on proper come-hither menace, one with just enough technical achievement to avoid the label "Don't Open 'til Christmas", or whenever that Being in the sky again decides to tourist our global black attraction.