Black Narcissus (1947)

Directed and produced by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger

A group of nuns are given the chance to open a school and hospital in a remote corner of the Indian Himalayas. Led by resolute Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr), the women will have to battle the elements, local prejudices and their own personalities in order to succeed.

Having watched and reviewed The Small Back Room three weeks ago, I decided to view another of Powell and Pressburger’s movies, one that I had not before seen, and the cast of which included the stars of The Small Back Room (David Farrar and Kathleen Byron) , which was filmed two years after Black Narcissus. Based on the novel by Rumer Godden, this movie is a dark psychological drama. Like many that centre on religious people, it has almost nothing to do with religion: the order of nuns is chosen to provide characters for their cloistered life in an isolated setting. As such, it is adequate but contrived.

The direction and production are excellent, as might be expected from Powell and Pressburger (‘The Archers’). The difficulties the sisters encounter in their new location are piled on with ever greater weight and urgency, and one can sense a climax coming. This creates tension which can be felt.

Visually, the movie is a success. The brilliance of the colour photography makes the setting exotic, and the views obtained, especially with the superbly executed matte paintings – often as good or even superior to computer generated scenes now – make Mapu, the fictional district in which the story is set, truly a place out of the ordinary. The costumes must be mentioned: the nuns’ habits are voluminous and accentuate both the impracticality of the women’s labours in this remote corner of the globe, and the severe climate: the wind always blows at Mapu, and the robes and headdresses the sisters wear are always moving in the breeze. Even as heavily garbed as they are, the nuns feel the cold of the place, and that is well-conveyed.

The acting is very good, with several players having parts in other Powell and Pressburger movies. These include Kerr, Farrar, Byron, and Esmond Knight. Jean Simmons has a small but significant rôle as a young Indian girl.

Despite Byron’s stand-out performance as Sister Ruth, the character illustrates the main flaw of Black Narcissus. Ruth has emotional problems, to say the least. I found it hard to believe that she would have been accepted into a religious order in the first place, never mind allowed to remain. Such organisations are not refuges or rescue-groups, taking in all the flawed people no one else wants. The fictional order portrayed here is a working order, not a meditative one, and Ruth gives no indication that she has ever followed commands or done anything that she didn’t want to do without immense complaint. And the decision to send her to an isolated location with people she neither likes nor respects is incredible.

One character’s unlikelihood seems a small thing to hurt a movie, but Sister Ruth figures prominently in the plot, and contributes to the interactions of other characters, as well. In fact, Sister Clodagh’s selection as head of the group at Mapu is almost as improbable, given her inexperience and, again, the loneliness of the location, leaving her to her own resources and without support. The characters, however well portrayed, come across as contrivances to further, or even to make, the plot.

Even so, for its visual brilliance (both in looks and concept), direction and acting, Black Narcissus should be viewed. It is essential for the film student, and interesting, if not quite entertaining, to watch.

Act of Violence (1948)

Directed by Fred Zinnemann; produced by William H Wright

Frank Enley (Van Heflin) has a fine life in a small southern California town, where he lives with his wife, Edith (Janet Leigh) and baby son. But he’s disturbed by the arrival of Joe Parkson (Robert Ryan), a man from his past with an intense grievance, and an equally intense desire for vengeance. What Enley will do to erase his past, and what Parkson will do to settle it, depends on what each man has become because of that past.

A suspenseful film noir, Act of Violence takes a good story, puts it together with excellent direction and acting, to make a highly commendable movie. The story is not complex, but it deals with complex issues, especially what can cause good men to do bad things: deprivation, desperation, obsession are the catalysts for actions that, under normal circumstances, no one would undertake. Enley’s increasing frantic attempts to escape what might happen may seem far-fetched in the last third of the movie. But people have done strange things to avoid consequences, and the dark world in which he finds himself is as much symbolic of his frame of mind as a real expression of criminality.

The characters are realistic. The motives of Enley and Parkson are obvious; those of Pat (Mary Astor) are less clear. Probably a prostitute, she appoints herself at one point Enley’s protector, of sorts. The reasons for her assistance seem at first no more than boredom, or perhaps the possibility of a little money. But her status as a mere hanger-on changes as she comes to see Enley as someone she might genuinely help.

Both Heflin and Ryan are first-rate. Ryan’s tall, harder impression lends itself to the brooding menace he needs to exude, yet both actors have portrayed good and bad characters. This ability to be both hero and villain fits perfectly with the story-line. It is easily understood that at one time, both Enley and Parkson were ordinary, easy-going men, much more good than evil; it is as easily understood how both could arrive at the point we meet them.

Leigh does well as the young wife almost overwhelmed by events, but determined to help her husband. Phyllis Thaxter provides a tougher, though corresponding version of Leigh’s character, as Parkson’s girlfriend. She’s a little older than Edith, has seen more of life and, further, has had to deal with Parkson’s obsession.

While Act of Violence was filmed only seven years after The Maltese Falcon, Astor looks to have aged double that number of years, though I would not be surprised if that was due to make-up and lighting (the latter especially is effective); she was, after all, only 43 in 1949. As with the other actors and their performances, Astor’s look, the look of someone whom life had treated unkindly, is perfect for the part.

The direction is spot-on, though otherwise would have been surprising from Zinnemann, who went on to direct High Noon, From Here to Eternity, Oklahoma!, A Man For All Seasons, The Day of the Jackal. It is particularly felt during Enley’s late night flight through a nearly deserted Los Angeles, highlighting both the sinister environment, and the man’s solitude in it. Though he is running to escape his past, he is, at that moment, alone, and therefore running from himself. The symbolism is indicative of Zinnemann’s European origins.

A taut film of both psychology and action, featuring two often overlooked dramatic actors, Act of Violence is worth both watching and remembering.

The Small Back Room (1949)

Directed and produced by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger

In 1943, the Germans are dropping booby-trapped bombs over Britain; small and looking like anything but bombs, they are a new type of danger. Unexploded-bomb experts, led by Sammy Rice (David Farrar), are rushing to find a way to defuse them. But embittered alcoholic Rice finds that his battle with the bomb is complicated by the battles he wages with his own demons.

A typically detailed movie from The Archers – Powell and Pressburger – The Small Back Room does not have quite the involvement as do other films from that prestigious team. The principal problem is not the off-putting personality of the protagonist but, rather, the amount of time devoted to his problems. In particular, there is an extended nightmare scene, perhaps indicative of addiction-withdrawal, that, while atmospheric and powerful, nonetheless seems out of place in the context of the rest of the story.

The plot that deals with the bombs is exciting and tense. There are some good scenes included, such as when a Royal Engineer captain (Michael Gough) bullies a dying man in a desperate bid for information on a bomb, and when a character’s death occurs off-screen and is treated in a casual yet affecting way by others.

The title refers to the stereotypical location of the ‘boffins’, the thinkers and planners who, for the first time in warfare, received their due in the Second World War. The title suggests that the film was intended as a tribute to ‘the back-room boys’, but it doesn’t quite succeed in that case. It might have been better had there been a more ensemble approach to the characters in the story.

The best aspects are the acting and the direction. Farrar, a performer who rose above second-string (though he was quite above second-rate) only in a few decent films, does very well in the lead. Kathleen Byron, an equally forgotten leading lady, does just as well as Rice’s girlfriend.

The cast is full of good players, the usual Archer care being taken in the small rôles as well as the large. Some of the minor parts are filled by men and women who would go on to greater fame than the principals: the previously mentioned Gough; Renée Asherson and Cyril Cusack have substantial supporting parts; Jack Hawkins plays against his later type as an oily advertising executive put in charge of a research unit; Geoffrey Keene appears as a politically-minded bureaucrat, Robert Morley as a government minister, and Sidney James as a bartender. Look very quickly for Patrick Macnee at a committee meeting. Also included is veteran actor Leslie Banks, in one of his last rôles; he is almost unrecognizable as a one-eyed colonel who, while seeming to be the Colonel Blimp type, has great common sense.

Though not one of Powell and Pressburger’s best – its smaller perspective seems manifest in its black-and-white filming, following the brilliant colour of the previous three movies created by the duo, The Small Back Room has enough draw to hold the viewer, even if the mind may wander during certain portions.

The Big Clock (1948)

Directed by John Farrow; produced by Richard Maibaum.

Earl Janoth (Charles Laughton) controls his publishing empire with an iron hand, knowing everything that goes on, from who left an electric bulb burning in a supply closet (and whose pay will be docked accordingly) to how to manipulate his star magazine manager, George Stroud (Ray Milland). When, however, in a fit of rage, Janoth murders his mistress, Pauline York (Rita Johnson), he seeks to blame a man he saw obscurely near the woman’s apartment. Little does he know that the man is Stroud, who was approached by Pauline with a scheme to blackmail Janoth. The latter assigns Stroud to track down the killer, in a hunt that puts a noose more and more tightly around Stroud’s own neck – though only Stroud knows it.

This complicated-sounding plot is the premise behind an entertaining and clever crime-movie; not quite a film noir, but directed in that style, aided by an intelligent script (by Jonathan Latimer, who also wrote above-par screenplays for Alias Nick Beal, Night Has a Thousand Eyes and The Glass Key, among other movies). There is a heavy dose of humour in the film, though the humour itself is not heavy. It is, in fact, provided in a light manner, though the story is taken seriously: it would have been a disaster for the film to become comedy.

The performances are very good. Milland could play good or bad, swinging from the Devil in Alias Nick Beal (reprising the rôle, at least with his voice, in King of Kings) to bemused and unwitting romantic lead (The Major and the Minor) to unabashed yet under-stated hero (The Uninvited). Here, he’s not quite an ‘everyman’, as he has too sharp a tongue and too ready a wit; these qualities make George Stroud the perfect character for such a story, and Milland the perfect actor to play him.

Laughton, too, could play good and bad. In The Big Clock, he’s an insufferable tyrant who thinks the world should run – on time - just for his needs and desires. Janoth’s vanity and fastidiousness, combined with a certain oiliness, make it clear that he could have a mistress only for money (her ‘music lessons’). His overall personality, from cruelty to arrogance and, ultimately, to cowardice, squeezes out any sympathy the viewer may have for him, and Laughton plays the part very well.

Surprisingly, there are three dimensions to Johnson’s character, too, though writers usually don’t waste time or effort on the victim in a murder-story. Johnson provides enough heft to the part to make York’s killing a regret to audiences, as well as to herself.

The direction heightens the tension as Stroud’s world shrinks: witnesses who have seen him as Janoth’s suspect are brought in, the building where he works is sealed off. Farrow creates a thriller in the early Hitchcockian mold, making the atmosphere work, despite – or perhaps aided by - the periodic light-heartedness of the dialogue. In fact, the sinister aspects are strengthened by pitting them against humour (eg. when Stroud knows that Janoth’s masseur (Henry Morgan) has been brought in to kill the suspect ‘when he tries to escape’), and Stroud’s drunken escapades with Pauline, though amusing, are just creating trouble for the man later on.

The versatile and talented Elsa Lanchester has a typically amusing part as an abstract painter; this is one of her many appearances with husband Laughton. (Maureen O’Sullivan, who plays Stroud’s wife, was the real-life wife of director Farrow; they were the parents of Mia Farrow). Ruth Roman has an uncredited bit as a secretary, and Noel Neill, Lois Lane in the 1950s tv series Superman, plays an elevator operator.

All together, cast, director and writer bring together an absorbing, fun, suspenseful tale of a man hunting for himself, while trying to bring a killer to justice: a difficult feat pulled off successfully by all concerned.

Twelve O'Clock High (1949)

Directed by Henry King; produced by Darryl F Zanuck

The U.S. Army Air Force’s 918th Bomber Group has become known as a ‘hard luck’ unit for its continuing disasters during missions over occupied Europe. Tough Brigadier General Frank Savage (Gregory Peck) is sent to take over command; despite his predecessor (Gary Merrill) being his friend, Savage blames him for being too soft in driving the officers and men under his command, for becoming too involved in their problems. By ruthless but fair methods, Savage slowly turns the group around – but at what cost to his men, and to himself?

One of the most significant of war movies, Twelve O’Clock High found favour with audiences, critics and veterans of the European bombing campaign. It may be one of the first American films of the ‘40s to depict the war as a soul-damaging, character-crushing experience, yet it offers a highly complimentary picture of the men involved.

The story-line is reportedly very realistic; it certainly comes across that way. The events are an amalgam of real experiences, and the characters are either based on single individuals or composites. The casting of Peck as Savage was inspired, I think: tall, broad-shouldered, physically strong Peck is perfect for the unbending, almost unforgiving commander, and makes what happens to him as the film progresses all the more startling.

The other actors are all very good. They convey, with ease, so it seems, their characters’ personalities. Especially good are Dean Jagger as Stovall, a First World War veteran serving as the group’s adjutant; his unashamed drunkenness at certain times ironically shows strength and independence toward authority, while the man serves as a subordinate desk-bound officer. Merrill, as a former group commander, who tries to warn Savage of what might happen with his methods; Millard Mitchell as General Pritchard, VIII Bomber Command’s leader, and Robert Patten, whose youth contrasts with his casual acceptance of danger and death, should also be noted. Kenneth Tobey has a bit part as a military policeman who draws Savage’s wrath.

The writing is also exceptional. There is a moment when Savage confronts Pritchard with objections to yet another high-risk raid: it shows how far the former has come to being little different than his predecessor. Yet the interest lies not just in that scene but in the realization that the change in Savage has been building all along. The script works in demonstrating the correctness of Savage’s unpleasant driving of the men, as well as understanding the men’s resentfulness at being ordered always to do more, always better. There are other aspects of the story that fit well together, as in Stovall’s gradual comprehension of Savage’s character and what he is trying to accomplish, and Stovall’s subsequent, and secret, assistance in that goal.

There is surprisingly little action in the film, though this is not to be regretted. Such action is not missed, as the writing, acting and direction creates enough drama and suspense to relieve action of its duties. Henry King first sat in the director’s chair in 1916, and left it 46 years later. He worked with Peck half a dozen times, and Tyrone Power almost as often. He directed films as diverse as The Song of Benadette, The Black Swan (reviewed on this blog in September, 2021) and Wait Till the Sunshines, Nellie. Not a name that is famous now, King seemingly could direct successful movies whether dramatic, epic, actionful or musical.

There are parallels between Twelve O’Clock High and Appointment in London (reviewed in November, 2023), about another bombing unit commander, this one in the Royal Air Force. Though both cover aspects of conflict within hierarchy, intense stress, expectations and relationships, Appointment in London showed a bit more of the technical elements of the job, while Twelve O’clock High was harder-hitting.

An excellent film, an important war-movie, Twelve O’clock High should be seen for its story, acting, direction and everything else it has to offer.

The Weapon (1956)

Directed by Val Guest; produced by Frank Bevis

Little Erik Jenner (Jon Whitely), playing with his friends amid an old bomb-site in London, finds a pistol in the debris. A scuffle ensues among the boys over possession of the prize and the pistol, still loaded, goes off, seriously injuring a child. Erik, terrified of being in trouble for the incident, runs away. Though he tries to return home to his anxious mother, Elsa (Lizabeth Scott), he is scared off by the presence of police, and is then pursued across the Metropolis by American army investigator Mark Andrews (Steve Cochrane), as well as the gun’s original owner (George Cole), intent on keeping his ownership secret.

The Weapon is an adequate suspense movie that gives the impression that it could have been much better. Though its 77-minute running time should have given plenty of opportunity for the story to tell more, most of it is spent in dead-end character development and scenic sequences of Erik roaming London.

At fault, I think, is the writing. The story seems half-made. We are told that the pistol was used in a murder from ten years before (the police are initially led to suspect a connection because both the bullet that strikes the little boy, and that used in the homicide, were of the unusual .27 calibre), but learn almost nothing about that crime. We meet an acquaintance (Nicole Maurey) of the earlier victim, but her involvement isn’t really relevant. Motive, victim, suspects: none of those is elaborated upon.

Indeed, Andrews’s half-hearted renewal of the investigation into that old case is without an object, especially since the police detective (Herbert Marshall) who headed the earlier inquiry is fully involved in the hunt for Erik. Andrews himself is an annoying character, rather unpleasant, though he is seen to change through the film. This change, however, isn’t realistic, given the events, and when we are provided clues as to why he is the way he is, they are not explained or followed up.

The screenplay creates a minor problem in the finding of the pistol. It is discovered embedded in a brick (or some other building block) of a ruined structure. This means that it had to have been hidden there when the structure was raised, even though that structure had to have been destroyed in the war (it’s called ‘the bomb-site’); at the latest, 1945. Yet the murder the gun caused is ten years old in the movie’s present, which is not indicated to be anything other than 1956. This problem could have been avoided by having the gun simply buried under rubble.

Aside from this small quibble, the story-line seems undecided on what it wants to do, or where it wants to go. It would have been preferable to avoid the American angle and have it written in the semi-documentary style that British films mastered in the late 1940s and early ‘50s. A police hunt for Erik, led by Marshall’s character, who might suspect that the original murderer is also searching for the boy, would have made for more suspense, and a tighter film.

In The Weapon’s favour is the direction, which makes good use of London locations, and the acting, from a range of performances of different styles, nationalities and ages. Neither of these qualities, however, make up for the lackluster script, and the poor results of its use.