Black Narcissus
Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger were probably one of the biggest filmmaker blind spots I had when I first watched “Black Narcissus” in 2020 for the first time. Now, having seen a handful of their films, their imprint on cinema is more apparent. That, in the 1940s, they saw cinema not so much as an extension of the stage, but as a living and breathing medium all its own, feels remarkable for the time. Most of what they do in a film like this, or “The Red Shoes” or “The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp,” was not new by any means, but the way they employed the techniques of cinema in films fashioned as epic biopics; romantic triangles; and psychological dramas gives them a sense of being more alive than a lot of films of the age (and now, if we’re being honest).
In “Black Narcissus,” we follow a group of Anglican sisters whom are invited to establish a school and hospital in the Himalayas. As they try to make their mark with the local population, navigate the challenges of placating the Indian general who owns the palace they’re in, and- in some cases- fight their lustful urges for an Englishman who is their guide to the area, the isolation and challenges lead to psychological changes that make their ability to do their work a greater task than normal.
Adapting the novel by Rumer Godden, this film feels like a dress rehearsal for Powell for his startling 1960 thriller, “Peeping Tom,” and how its final act devolves into something truly terrifying when Sister Ruth (Kathleen Byron) allows her lustful urges towards Mr. Dean (David Farrar) and the sense of feeling trapped at the monastery they have set up take over, leading to a horrific confrontation with Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr) high above the ground. Clodagh was the young sister given the task of establishing this hospital and place of worship, and one of the most compelling things about “Black Narcissus” is how it puts the young Clodagh in charge of this task, compared to one of the older Sisters whom are sent with her. This is an extra challenge for her, because it feels as though she has been set up to fail by the higher ups. She is faced with the environments they are sent to; trying to make peace with the locals, including the young general (Sabu) whom is enthusiastic about learning about Christianity, but isn’t sure of the best way in which to express his thoughts on the teachings. When things begin to go wrong, the trust they have built with the community starts to get lost, putting even more pressure on Clodagh, played by Kerr as someone struggling to exert her authority at times, as well as putting more base emotions at bay (evident as we see flashbacks of her life before sisterhood).
On the outside looking in, one can see that missionary work has always been about ingratiating the natives of an area into Western culture, rather than respecting that culture on its own terms. When I first watched this film in 2020, I found a kinship between it and Scorsese’s “Silence,” in this respect, and the way that Powell and Pressburger leave Clodagh at the end makes me think theirs is intended to be a damning indictment of the practice. Whereas “Silence” was ponderous in its approach, “Black Narcissus” is startlingly, wickedly entertaining, not just in how the characters are drawn and the story is laid out, but in their remarkable film craft. The color cinematography by Jack Cardiff is breathtaking in its depth and how it emphasizes the emotions of the film, and the score by Brian Easdale is thrilling in its impact. This is a living, breathing film even 75-plus years later, which can be said for the Archers’s work in general.
