BLACK NARCISSUS: Blu-Ray (J. Arthur Rank/Archers 1947) Criterion Collection

Too few movies can justly be labeled as a 'masterpiece'. But Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger's Black Narcissus (1947) fits the bill as a haunting melodrama to pit the unmitigated pleasures of the flesh against those cerebral pursuits of newfound enlightenment within life’s eternal struggle to find spirituality. Ambitious in scope with few equals among its contemporaries – and certainly none in the present day, Black Narcissus is fueled by two bracing performances, the first, sustained by England’s stylish rose, Deborah Kerr, as the devout Sister Clodagh, the other by earthy David Farrar, who as Brit estate manager, Mr. Dean represents a tangibly sensual and manly temptation.  “There’s something in the atmosphere that makes everything seem exaggerated,” Dean suggests. And indeed, what follows becomes sincere and, in its harrowing finale, a death-defying mêlée to maintain spiritual equilibrium in this far-off land, aglow with the torch-lit trompe-l’oeil of hedonism in the Himalayas. Without ever leaving the backlot at Pinewood, Powell and Pressburger have rather extravagantly recreated an eerie locality where baying breezes, cavernous arroyos and a moody ambiance pervade, and, where religious fervor, even at its most entrenched, is threatened by the swagger and sway of mortal sin. Some 70+ years after its release, the theatricality of Black Narcissus remains as bewitching in all its painterly and sex-fraught psycho-religiosity as the full-on flourish and devastatingly expressive salvation of our heroine, narrowly to escape the murderous intent of her fellow postulant.

The central theme of womanhood stifled, agitated even, and, to wild distraction, by the social rigidity of a nun’s order and self-imposed civility threatened by it, typified by Kathleen Byron’s ferocity as the mentally-tortured girl, lacks a certain sparkle of humanity, but is immensely blessed by the visualized sophistication of the piece. This offers incontestable bravura to the exhibition. Exporting the use of 3-strip Technicolor to its finite precision as its own drama, impressive, mighty and paradoxical to the resplendent and seemingly laid-back tropical lushness that surrounds, inspires a rare and atypical concentration; Powell and Pressburger, to build upon each crisis brewing between these sisters. This Forster-ian theme is explored by The Archers at their most knottily erotic and magnificent; the mission, a former house of ill-repute, perilously perched on a precipice, metaphorically speaking, to illustrate the dangerous similarities, rather than differences, between ‘fallen women’ and those yet to succumb to the nature of their time-bomb-ticking sex drives. How best to resist, when thrust into these verdant jungles, where life teems in all manner of renewable burgeoning, and, the unshorn and readily exposed legs and chest of Mr. Dean – seemingly unknowing of the teased menace and arousal it creates, appears to augment the free-wheeling sexual liberation of another festooned fop, Sabu’s Little General and his naughty nose-pierced concubine (affectingly offered up by Jean Simmons). As the embers of sex are stirred, so too do they cause cracks to form in the labors – as well as the loins – uncontrollably, to convulse within Jack Cardiff’s Vermeer-lit oasis, to press this pantheon into rhapsodic tones, as flush and fermenting as the wild peonies that adorn and decorate these mission walls.

At its core, Black Narcissus is a tale of all-too human vexation, besotted in blistered bits and straight-jacketed inhibitions. The picture is owed its reputation primarily for Alfred Junge’s production design, and Cardiff’s sublime use of Technicolor, each amply to transcend the rather pedestrian machinations of the plot into an aficionado's confection of the sexualized macabre. The sets are incredible and Cardiff's color is trained on a finite simplicity, as distinct in its artifice as the palpably visualized pseudo-purity of its mountain air. Very loosely, the picture is based on Rumer Godden's intense novel. In bringing the story to the screen, Powell and Pressburger achieve several coups, not the least of which is condensing the book’s rather sprawling narrative to just a few choice moments of taut carnal tension, gone over, around, under and through the governing boards of censorship, relatively unscathed. Until Powell and Pressburger formed their alliance under 'The Archers' banner, the critical opinion of British cinema was it generally lagged behind Hollywood's more overt trappings, repeatedly to push the marker ahead in permissible behavior, sometimes only in half-inches, yet, ultimately toward the level of artistic freedom enjoyed today. With the advent of WWII, England lost many an artisan both in front of and behind the camera, otherwise to have surely contributed to its own cinema art and give Hollywood proper a real run for its money.

So, the wartime and postwar renaissance in British cinema is largely owed Powell and Pressburger, elevating its universal appeal and artistic merit with pseudo-historical melodramas, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943) and A Matter of Life and Death (1946), each, ever-testing the boundaries in art vs. commerce. While their most easily identifiable movie today, undoubtedly remains The Red Shoes (1948), arguably, the most stunningly progressive (at least for its time) is Black Narcissus. The screenplay by Powell and Pressburger begins in earnest with Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr) being summoned to the office of Mother Dorothea (Nancy Roberts). The old nun informs Clodagh she is to become the youngest Sister Superior of a new order - St. Faith - tucked high in the Himalayas. The residence is offered to this new order by the old General (Esmond Knight) – a former palace harem in search of its own reformation. Perched high atop a Tibetan plateau, it is the old General's express wish the Anglican sisters should establish a school and dispensary. To convince the locals to comply, the General is paying them.

Sister Clodagh is given several nuns as her staff, each handpicked for a specific virtue and task. There is popular Sister Honey (Jenny Laird) whom it has been decided shall ingratiate herself to the locals by virtue of her winning personality as a teacher, prudent Sister Briony (Judith Furse), in charge of administering medical care, stoic Sister Phillipa (Flora Robson), an experienced gardener, to raise herbs and vegetables to sustain the order, and, finally Sister Ruth (Kathleen Byron), whom Mother Dorothea has sent away in the hopes the high altitude will restore her deteriorating mental health. Yet, from the moment this expedition arrives at St. Faith they are greeted with disdain by British agent, Mr. Dean (David Farrar) and Angu Ayah (May Hallatt), a mentally unstable groundskeeper who operated inside the palace while it was a harem. Although Angu merely tests the patience of the new occupants, Mr. Dean challenges the sisters' bodily devotion in God as a virile man of the world - a constant reminder of what they have surrendered to become nuns. At one point, Mr. Dean brings his mute concubine, Kanchi (Jean Simmons) to Clodagh, suggesting her libidinous appetites would be wisely tamed by a residency at St. Faith. Clodagh reluctantly agrees, but finds herself further challenged to keep Kanchi's desire pure after the arrival of the Young General (Sabu) who at first claims he has come to St. Faith to study Christianity - then, is quietly seduced by Kanchi in a fleeting moment of sexual passion.

Dean's influence is particularly felt by Sister Clodagh, who frequently lapses into memories of her life before the convent, and, Con (Shaun Noble) - the man who derailed her fervent hopes of marriage and children when he went away. At one point, Clodagh orders Mr. Dean remove a Tibetan holy man from his perch near St. Faith because she believes his influence is at odds with her agenda. Instead, Dean heartily refuses, condescendingly asking Clodagh, "What would Christ do?" - implying Clodagh's methods are more rudimentary and grounded in personal vanity than Christianity. The point is taken to heart and the holy man is allowed to stay. While the convent unpacks, Sister Ruth narrowly saves the life of a local woman, garnering respect from the locals who regard her healing as magic. Dean sympathizes with Ruth after she is chided for her personal pride by Sister Clodagh, thereby implanting the thought, at least in Ruth's mind, Dean has taken a romantic fancy in her.

From the outset, all is not well at St. Faith. Sister Philippa is seduced by the wonderment of the plateau, planting flowers instead of crops, thereby sabotaging the convent’s ability to become sustainable. Meanwhile, Sister Briony's inability to provide proper medical care to a sick baby results in the child's death, leading to mistrust of the sisters and their work. Abandoning St. Faith to its remote desolation - the sisters are left to fend for themselves. All of these sincere hardships dovetail into what must rank among the most shocking finales in cinema history. Ever at odds with the rigidity of convent life, Sister Ruth suffers a mental relapse and rebels. In an attempt to seduce Mr. Dean, she buys a red dress, paints her lips scarlet and journeys to Dean's home in the valley. Her amorous affections are rebuked however, Dean declaring that he loves no one, least of all Ruth, who now, rather demented with jealousy, assesses Dean is in love with Clodagh. Ruth returns to St. Faith, intent on murdering Clodagh. To this unholy end she nearly succeeds in pushing Clodagh over the edge of St. Faith's precariously perched bell tower, before plummeting to her own death in the valley far below. Having failed in her mission to establish an outpost for disseminating Christianity, Clodagh returns to Calcutta for retribution and reassignment. Dean accompanies the nuns part way on their journey home, pausing at the crossroads to take Clodagh by the hand. For just a moment, we can believe Dean is genuinely disheartened to see her go; Clodagh and her entourage making the turn to Calcutta as monsoon rains darken the skies overhead.

In retrospect, Black Narcissus is a work of inimitable erotic fiction, its cheap and pulpy plot lent a sublime sexual chemistry teeming in insightfulness and Deborah Kerr’s embodiment of that singular failing inherent in all man and womankind – our collective and misguided belief that reality can be willed to conform to our own idealized image as we would wish it to be. In Clodagh's case, her pristine white robes barely conceal an earthy, vane obsession to obtain human perfection but repeatedly tested by Dean's uninhibited masculinity and his refusal to allow her to uphold any false belief in her own propriety that, after all, is only a pretext. It is through Dean's chronic challenge to Clodagh that she unlocks the door to her own sexual past - not begrudgingly so, but rather with fondness for that past-imperfect. Sister Phillipa's suggestion, that Clodagh 'can see too far' only serves to underscore how much of Clodagh remains shrouded in faux piety – a mystery kept from her fellow nuns. It is in this kinetic struggle between outward perfection and inward human fragility that Black Narcissus scores. Deborah Kerr - on loan from MGM - delves deeply into her character’s conflicted emotions. David Ferrar is magnificent as the embittered and tempting, square-jawed/sultry-eyed realist who refuses to allow Clodagh’s hypocrisy to color her genuine judgment about base human desires. In a role of complete silence, Jean Simmons conveys more smoldering sensuality than any amount of dialogue could suggest, while Flora Robson delivers the most subtly nuanced trespass into human clairvoyance. The standout performance, of course, belongs to Kathleen Byron as the mad, sexual neurotic, transformed from placid hypocrite, into venomous viper, before convincingly to cross the line into fledgling femme fatale. In the final analysis, Black Narcissus sports incredible depth of character, offering a rich tapestry of sexual conflict set ablaze by the passions stirred beyond either humanity’s rules or self-control.

After a disastrous DVD release from Criterion in 2000, plagued by chroma bleeding, aliasing and softly focused images, this new Blu-Ray release is a revelation. The 1:33:1 image, restored from the ground up, is handsome and faultless. Mastered on a Spirit HD Datacine with input from Jack Cardiff and Thelma Schoonmaker, the Blu-Ray excels as a showcase to Cardiff’s artistry, extolling every last fine detail. The Technicolor dye transfer yields exceptional saturation, with accurately rendered flesh tones and excellent contrast. Film grain is present and depicted as indigenous to its source. Minor edge enhancement crop ups, but it is extremely intermittent and will surely not distract. The audio is PCM 1.0 mono, leaning just a tad too strident, but otherwise passable. Extras include a video introduction and appreciation (in French) by Bertrand Tavernier, a profile, containing archival and new interviews with Cardiff, Byron and other surviving crew members, historians and filmmakers, a featurette on Cardiff's career, and, an original theatrical trailer. Bottom line: Black Narcissus is exceptionally satisfying entertainment with a capital ‘E’. This Blu-ray belongs on everyone’s top shelf.

FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)

4.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

3.5