Operatőr:
Jack CardiffZeneszerző:
Brian EasdaleSzereplők:
Deborah Kerr, Flora Robson, David Farrar, Sabu, Esmond Knight, Jean Simmons, Kathleen Byron, Judith Furse, Jenny Laird, Margaret Scudamore, May HallattTartalmak(1)
A Himalája magas csúcsai között lévő palotát a hely bennszülött ura egy apácarendnek ajándékozza. Az anyakolostorból egy kis csapat apáca érkezik, Clodagh nővér vezetésével. Iskolát nyitnak, gyógyítanak a helyi bennszülöttek között. Mint kiderül, itt már egy szerzetesrend is próbált gyökeret verni, de nem sikerült nekik. A kolostor szomszédságában egy helyi szentember ül, akinek a jelenléte zavarja a rendfőnöknőt, és el akarja küldeni. Ám a fehérek helyi összekötője, Mr. Dean ezt nem támogatja. Lassan mindenki megváltozik. Coldagh nővér, a vezetőnő emlékei között felbukkannak régi életének mozaikjai, zárdába vonulásának története, viszonzatlan szerelme. Ruth nővér beleszeret Mr. Deanbe, és ez az érzés megrontja a lelkét, megőrül. Egy csecsemő meghal, amiért Blanche apácát vádolják a helyiek. Minden összezavarodik... (MTVA)
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Recenziók (4)
Powell and Pressburger were simply film geniuses of their time, and it's almost unbelievable how successful they were together, making so many successful films. There aren't many similar duos today who have the strength to consistently create truly authorial films like they did. It doesn't matter if it's satire, criticism, drama, or a fantasy story - they simply managed to excel at everything. Black Narcissus is a beautiful example of a compassionate yet harsh story with great characters.
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I have no love for Technicolor. I was intrigued by the theme, but the naive presentation of the Himalayas together with the absurd ending didn't convince me that Deborah Kerr had any meaning for me other than as Anna Leonowens. ;) In addition, making a color film full of pastel colors and not overdoing it has been possible since at least The Garden of Allah (1936). However, I do understand that a big film with the Indian boy Sabu called for a different approach.
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Veiled Deborah Karr as a walking commercial for the whitening power of Persil and pony rider David Farrar in a hat and tropical khaki drill shorts (how could something so tasteless ever have occurred to anybody), painted in Technicolor, on a par with the work of the Dutch Masters. All this in the shape of an exotic melodrama about suppressed desire and holy duties conducted in a former harem. Exactly as expected, precise in Powell-Pressburger style. Well, all apart from the shorts which are prime candidates for the most horrific costume in cinema history.
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I don’t know why, but I had set astronomically high expectations for this film, which it probably could never reach, but it ended up delivering something completely different than what I had hoped. It’s a slow psychological anabasis extremely free from the truly oppressive atmosphere that calls to be set in a remote mountain monastery. The oft-mentioned cinematography of Jack Cardiff is beautiful, of course, and the shot by the bell is one of the best ever made, but that eye-candy didn’t let me get into the surprisingly tender and sad skeleton of a story – what bothered me the most was the static theatrical style and I didn’t feel the suppressed emotions that were supposed to be key. I would certainly love to see it on the big screen in a dark theatre, but for the time being, what prevails is lack of understanding and an ironic smirk at the menacing circus costume of the otherwise charismatic David Farrar. 70%
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