Black Narcissus (1947)

Along with "Brief Encounter" and "Kind Heart and Coronets", "Black Narcissus" is my favourite British classic film. Like those two it's uniquely British in feel and subject matter (emotional repression, like "Brief Encounter"). It also has that magnificent cold Technicolor palette so characteristic of this side of the Atlantic which I never could account for (probably the natural light, so different from the Californian sun). A Powell and Pressburger collaboration, beautifully shot by Jack Cardiff and starring Deborah Kerr and Kathleen Byron, it follows a group of nuns settling a convent in a Himalayan hill top, in what used to a harem. The atmosphere of the building, the pure air and the constant wind tear down the nuns' defences and leave them prey of their own desires.
This is a film about repressed desires and dreams and what happens when your present is faced again with past desires. Several times through the film one or the other of nuns mention that they have been thinking of something they had forgotten. In the case of Deborah Kerr's Sister Clodagh we even see that past in flashbacks. She's the young mother superior of the group, the youngest ever. When she is assigned the task of leading this group of nuns at the beginning of the film her face betrays her pride, a rare crack in her perfect façade. Among the nuns under her supervision is Kathleen Byron's Sister Ruth (the de facto second lead despite her 6th or 7th billing). As the film starts she's described as "ill". The two women are the two sides of the same coin - one so repressed that she's almost not human, the other equally repressed but about to explode. The two women actually resemble each other when they are in their habits, and I couldn't left wondering if that was just a coincidence.

Sister Ruth finally explodes when the only white man in sight appears. Clearly treated as a sex-object (he wears shorts that almost look like hot pants and gratuitously exhibits his bare chest to the nuns) he is the catalyst of Sister Ruth's rebellion - giving in to her desires. At this stage we realise that her "illness" has been sexual frustration and now she's ready to give in. And her most daring weapon is lipstick, in one of the best sequences of the film. They reminded of Gene Tierney's red lips in "Leave Her to Heaven".
Key in showing all this is Jack Cardiff's cinematography. With light and colour he manages to show the beauty and remoteness of the hill top and most important the emotions of nuns. In particular, he transfigures Kathleen Byron's face to reveal the beast that possesses her - a quasi-madness in the first great confrontation with Kerr; the black and white contrast in the second and that amazing final sequence. He won a well deserved Oscar, as did Alfred Junge for the amazing art direction. The film was mostly shot at Pinewood but you'd never know, and it's through the work of those two men, along that of matte painter Walter Percy Day, that it doesn't occur to you that you never left the studio set.

The Innocents (1961)

Don’t be fooled by all the gothic thriller trickery of it, this is a film about sex, although you may not notice it at first. To be more precise, it’s about the consequences of either repressing or following your urges.


Based on Henry James’ “The Turn of the Screw”, the film follows the daughter of a vicar, Miss Giddens (Kerr), who is offered a position as governess of two children in an isolated country house. She takes the job half in love with an employer that she isn’t supposed to see again, someone who has a reputation as a charmer. Once in the house she becomes first disturbed and then obsessed with her predecessor, Miss Jessel, and her lover Quint. Both are now dead, and since they both had such strong influence over the children, she comes to believe that they are possessing them.

Kerr’s character is clearly someone whose prospects of marrying are nil, probably like those of her predecessor. Completely frustrated – and to be sure of that just look at her childish enthusiasm at the interview or at the mention of her employer – she becomes fascinated by the discoveries she makes about the lustful, obsessive and ultimately tragic sexual relation between the former governess and Quint. Here lies the wonderfulness of the film – is she imagining it, or is it actually happening? We are never given a clear answer (thankfully!). Her reactions are excessive, and go against her, but the other character’s reactions are vague enough to give us some reason to believe that it may not be her just imagination.

At the core is the issue of Victorian morals where all sex outside marriage and without the purpose of procreation is wrong. Me has a feeling that Henry James didn’t really agree with that. On the surface, the upright, repressed, virginal Miss Giddens seems to be what the children need as an example, but her actions and reactions to events undermine this, despite the fact that you know her heart is in the right place. On the other hand, while not be the best role models, the lustful, “sinning” Miss Jessel and Quint appear to be more satisfying parental figures, and haven’t harmed the children at all. I go as far as suggest that the evidence even suggests otherwise. Furthermore, Kerr’s need to “do good” to others, whether or not they want it, is also clearly under fire, as the audience perhaps goes with the housekeeper’s view that sometimes is worse to wake up a child from a dream.

Enhancing all this is the joint effect of sound, music, décor editing and cinematography. And this is where you get the more atmospheric elements, where these transgressions take more obvious gothic elements. The light as Deborah Kerr arrives at the house contrasting with the darkness of the final shots; that beautiful house that suddenly turns into a nightmare of secrets and the music that tells as much as the actors’ faces. Most of all I love the fact that is a black and white cinemascope film.

I think it was no accident that Deborah Kerr, an actress who had a gift for repressing (e.g. “Separate Tables”, “Black Narcissus”) or exposing sexual urges (e.g. “Tea and Sympathy” and rather more obviously, “From Here to Eternity”) according to the need of her part. She excels in the role, and I have stated here, this is one of my favourite performances of hers. I really can’t think of any other actress who could carry the film so well.

I don’t think either children were that good, but I think Martin Stephens who plays Miles, the young boy, needs a mention under trivia: he seems to have cornered the polite scary kid really well, since in the previous year he was in “The Village of the Damned”.

Tea and Sympathy (1956)

Vincente Minnelli’s Tea and Sympathy is one of the lesser known of the director’s melodramas, and often lost among his films of the late 1950s, which include the far more famous The Cobweb, Lust for Life, Designing Woman, Gigi and Some Came Running. Personally, I prefer it to all of these. The reason, I imagine is that it touches a few raw nerves.

For a long, long time, it topped the list of films I wanted to see. I first knew of it when Deborah Kerr got an honorary Oscar in 1993 – one film critic raved so much about it that I got curious. Then I got to see snippets of it in a couple of documentaries, which seemed very good. Finally I had my dream came true in September 2003 when the Portuguese Cinematheque showed it twice. I fell in love with it at first sight, and couldn’t help going a second time and drag some people along. I knew that another chance would be too far into the future – to be exact just over 5 years, as I caught it on Wednesday at the BFI. And I imagine the next one may be even further away as I see no prospect of a DVD release (although once upon a time there was a VHS release in the US).

Adapted from a stage play by Robert Anderson, it tells the story of a young man (played by John Kerr) being accused by his colleagues of being gay (with the blessing of one of his teachers) and bullied because of it, and the wife of said teacher (Deborah Kerr, no relation) who decides to protect him. The play, it seems, made it clear the young man is in fact gay. I never saw it (would like to, though) so I can’t comment. The film, because of John Kerr’s performance and the Hays code is slightly more ambiguous. For better or worst, I wouldn’t necessarily say it is a gay character, although that’s likely (and I am not even considering the preposterous epilogue added to the film). He can just be someone who differs from standard behaviour just enough to be considered an outsider. The reasons for being tortured by the others are so thin, so vague, that as Deborah Kerr’s character suggests, it is indeed very easy to smear a reputation. In a sense it becomes a bit more a film about bullying and McCarthyism, and less about closet homosexuality. But just a tiny bit – if I doubt the leading man’s preferences, those of his best friend (who defends him constantly and almost seems to be in love with him) and that of the teacher are clearly obvious, despite both being deep down in the closet.
This is one of a handful of films responsible for making Deborah Kerr one of my favourite actresses. And here more than in any other film her hair is so beautifully red – actually, the whole film has a pink glow which I love, although it is possible that this is a fault with both copies I saw.

And to end, this film has one of my favourite lines (which is the final line of play), a gentle request of how one would like to be remembered by our past lovers: years from when you speak about this, and you will, be kind.

Double bill of Shaw and Wendy Hiller

Monday I spent my evening at the BFI (as you do...) - went there to see a double bill of Bernard Shaw adaptations, namely 1938's Pygmalion and 1941's Major Barbara. Both were scripted by George Bernard Shaw himself (in collaboration with others) and both have Wendy Hiller as the heroine.

While I found "Major Barbara" a bit long and at moments a bit dull, I was fascinated by "Pygmalion". It was just marvellous comedy, perfect timing, great performances. I had started with some reservations because I find most british films of the period slightly lacking in sparkle. And although I thought Leslie Howard was a tad too young for Higgins, there isn't any reason other than Rex Harrison why he can't. But the cherry on the cake was a wonderful Eliza from Wendy Hiller. This was a discovery. I knew her name, of course, and her face from a few Hirshfeld caricatures - now I have truly became a fan of her cheekbones.

As for "Major Barbara", despite the wonderful cast (Hiller, Rex Harrison, Deborah Kerr, Robert Morley), it does suffer of Shaw's excess of preachiness and didn't do much for me. Probably it wasn't helped by all the problems in production with the director (who couldn't direct) and his dependences his "assistants to director" (one of them being David Lean). As I'm going to see the current theatrical production at the National quite soon, am quite curious to see how they compare. And to complete another "double bill" of Shaw, Peter Hall's revival of "Pygmalion" is also in my to see list.

Deborah Kerr (1921-2007)

I always loved Deborah Kerr. Here's five reasons why:

1. Tea and Sympathy (Minnelli, 1956)
2. The Innocents (Clayton, 1961)
3. Black Narcissus (Powell and Pressburger, 1947)
4. Heaven knows, Mr Allison (Huston, 1957)
5. Bonjour Tristesse (Preminger, 1958)