Black Narcissus

In Black Narcissus, a group of nuns, headed by Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr) are sent to the Himalayas to start a school. As Criterion states it, the film is a "fascinating study of the age-old conflict between the spirit and the flesh," which is, naturally, simplifying things a bit. It is true, though, that the premise encourages the audience to think directly along those lines as the hard-edged spiritual nuns are thrown headlong into a den of hedonistic sin, led by Mr. Dean (David Farrar). The new environment incites a deeply personal struggle for each of them. Black Narcissus surprised me. I was expecting something more dark. It was, at parts, but more often, it was playful and dreamy. Although the whole set-up is pretty surreal, it really seems to touch on something inherently human, although it is hard to describe exactly how. Through its dream walk atmosphere, the film explores a constant battle within ourselves between what we want ourselves to be, and what we are.

There's some imperialism thrown into the mix, as well, which i don't feel entirely equipped to deal with. In a manner that is reminiscent of the jungle in Heart of Darkness, it is the very atmosphere of the place that seems to drive the inhabitants to madness. For the most part, the treatment of the natives is similar, too. With several exceptions, they are presented en mass, always on the periphery. Simultaneously, they seem to be at the center of the narrative and outside of it.

In a stark building, perched on top of desolate mountains, surrounded by drumming natives, the nuns attempt to do their work. The imagery on top of the mountains suggests something between Eden and Mount Olympus, but it is made ominous by frequent, exaggerated high angles, which show the land below disappearing into fog. Often, the place seems to be outside of reality. It is totally isolated, and the wind is constantly blowing with a steady drone underneath the action, causing the nun's habits to be in constant motion. The Saris of the natives, particularly the sultry Kanchi (Jean Simmons) move in a similar way as if drawing a comparison between these polar opposites.

In one of my favorite scenes, Sister Clodagh confronts Sister Briony (Judith Furse) about her waning spirituality. Briony is troubled by the atmosphere; she can see too far. It causes her to forget why she is planting potatoes, and then to question why she is doing it at all. I especially like this reflection on the space of the place; it's like the environment reflects or causes a void to open within the characters. Later, Con (Shaun Noble) teaches the Indian children English by marching them around the gardens, chanting the words for the objects they see. The almost musical rhythm of various flower names inter-cut with Sister Clodagh, who, while listening discovers that Sister Briony has indeed abandoned her potato planting, and has diverged totally from the strict plot of vegetables she was assigned. She rejects true sustenance for a kind of soul-sustenance. The same disintegration occurs in all of the nuns, including Clodagh, herself, who becomes plagued by memories of her past.

Most striking is the descent of Sister Ruth (Kathleen Byron) into psycho-sexual madness. This can only really be described in images:

This is a haunting film, and I keep finding myself running certain scenes over and over in my mind. To say that this is just a parable about sexual repression would be far too reductive. Black Narcissus is the kind of film that is almost too good for this kind of analysis. It leaves you with something you can't explain; you have to just see it for yourself.

Serendipity

I picked Das Himmel Uber Berlin by accident, not knowing how timely I was. But since it is the anniversary of the falling of the Berlin wall, this film is everywhere. Check around on some of the blog links I have and there are myriad articles to read.

Only if you're interested, o'course.

Das Himmel Uber Berlin

I don't understand why the German and English versions of the title of this film vary so much. The German title, Das Himmel uber Berlin translates to "the heaven" or "the sky over Berlin," which is a far cry from Wings of Desire, the English title. As I said, I don't see the reason for the discrepancy. I prefer the German title. The terrible American version of this film adapts its title from the German, as well. But if you haven't yet subjected yourself to that travesty, don't bother. See this film instead.

This is the most gorgeous film I have seen in a very long while. There is no better lens for the human condition than through the eyes of an immortal being. The angels spend their days in the enviable occupation of people-watching. Being angelic, they are privy to peoples' internal thoughts, and streams of consciousness. Luckily for us, the central humans in this plot have remarkably poetic minds, consistently spouting tightly perfected existential meditations. There are a few humans that appear multiple times, and their separate stories are different threads making up the fabric of the film. I love this image, where Homer, an aging poet (Curt Bois) sits amongst the replicas of heavenly bodies, laughing quietly to himself:

Another of these is Marion (Solveig Dommartin), a trapeze artist who has just lost her job, because the circus is going under. When we first see her, she is donning angel wings and swinging high above the ground. Damien comes to love Marion after quietly observing her. Like Homer, Marion seems to be prone to questioning the nature of things. Like the intelligently prophetic Homer, there is something serene and eternal about her, as if she really is an angel on earth, or at least conscious of her position in the universal scheme. She is similar to Damien (Bruno Ganz), the angel who voices discontent at his inability to experience the immediacy of mortal life.

The third human is actor Peter Falk, as himself. The angels observe him taking part in a film-shoot in the city. The angels, who, unseen follow their quarries, are sort of reminiscent of the viewers as unseen tag-a-longs and viewers of a hermetic filmed universe. This parallel is drawn by Wenders, not just by me. It is an apt choice that Peter Falk, an actor, should be a former angel, and therefore, cognizant of the invisible boundaries that separate one world from the next. "I can't see you, but I know you're there," he says, looking through an invisible Damien. Some of my favorite moments in the film take place during the shoot, as the camera pans up and down in an abandoned building. There is a visual divide that seems to create a heaven/earth dichotomy.

There is a gradual scission in Damien's world. As he begins to relinquish his immortality to embrace humanity, there are sudden moments where the film erupts in color. When he becomes human, the world remains in color. The viewers experience becomes disrupted, as well. First we will see the human perspective, then a sudden jump cut to the angel's. They are rarely taken from the same angle and are, thus jarring.


The Berlin wall is a central element in this film. The angels are often walking along it. When Damien becomes human, he identifies colors by using the graffiti on the wall as an example. Other moments of German history spring up in archival footage throughout the film. Using the omniscient immortality of the angels as a lens allows glimpses towards the past as well as the present. This film comments beautifully on the human condition. It does this mostly by poetic observation. It is very touching.