From Here to Eternity (1953) - Fred Zinnemann

The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor is just around the corner -- two hours into the film, actually -- in this terrific story of Army soldiers stationed at Schofield Barracks. The main protagonist is prideful, hard-headed private Robert E. Lee Prewitt (Montgomery Clift). He's recently transferred into a new outfit, G Company, upset over being replaced as first bugler at his old regiment. A skilled boxer, Prewitt has given up the sweet science because of an unfortunate accident in the ring -- he blinded an opponent. That doesn't sit well with his new captain, Dana Holmes, desperate to win the regimental boxing title. Prewitt soon finds himself the target of the "treatment," harassment from the boxing squad, a bunch of muscular non-coms intent on changing his mind.

Montgomery Clift as Robert E. Lee Prewitt.

Holmes is a sorry officer, who relies on his efficient staff sergeant, Sergeant Warden (Burt Lancaster), to keep the company running smoothly while he focuses his efforts on securing an undeserved promotion. A classic case of the Peter Principle, Holmes has risen above his ability. We learn early that he cheats on his wife, neglecting her as he chases other women and drinks at the officers' club.

The film is based on James Jones' bestselling novel, and director Zinnemann wisely focused on three relationships in transferring the story from page to screen. The most interesting involves Warden's affair with Holmes' wife, Karen (Deborah Kerr). Warden also serves as somewhat of a mentor to Prewitt, giving the stubborn private advice and keeping him off report when he goes AWOL. A second, parallel love affair involves Prewitt and Lorene (Donna Reed), a girl-next-door type he meets at a social club. To appease censors, film-makers changed Lorene's occupation from the novel, where it's clear she's a prostitute. And Zinnemann dropped a subplot from the novel that concerned soldiers and gay locals who frequented the bars, as well as a long section that had Prewitt in the stockade. The final relationship involves Prewitt and Maggio's (Frank Sinatra) friendship. Maggio's short temper and wise-cracking gets him in trouble.

Admirers of the film praise Clift's performance, which is terrific; but for me, the best part of the film are the scenes with Lancaster and Kerr. Both  seem credible and natural, especially Kerr as the adulterous wife, vulnerable and hurt and troubled by rumor and gossip. Their first scene is innocent enough and takes place as Kerr comes to the office looking for her husband. Warden tells Karen he's out, but there's an undercurrent of sexual attraction between the two. Later, he comes to her house in a rain storm under the pretext of official business.  

Warden brings papers to Holmes' house for his signature, knowing that only his wife would be there]
Karen: Are these really important?
Sergeant Warden: Yes, but not important they get signed today. Tomorrow's okay.
[She rips them up]
Warden: I have copies at the office, so it won't be much work to fix 'em up.
Karen: That's what I like about you, Sergeant: you have confidence. It's also what I dislike about you.
Warden: It's not confidence, ma'am; it's honesty. I just hate to see a beautiful woman going all to waste.
Karen: Waste, did you say? There's a subject I might tell you something about. I know several kinds of waste, Sergeant. You're probably not even remotely aware of some of them. Would you like to hear? For instance, what about the house without a child? There's one sort for you. Then there's another... You're doing fine, Sergeant. My husband's off somewhere, and it's raining outside, and we're both drinking now. You've probably only got one thing wrong. The lady herself. The lady's not what she seems. She's a... washout, if you know what I mean... and I'm sure you know what I mean!
Warden: You going to cry?
Karen: Not if I can help it. What are you doing?
Warden: I'm leaving. Isn't that what you want?
Karen: I don't know, Sergeant. I don't know.
[He kisses her]

It's a beautifully acted scene. Kerr captures a complex mix of emotions with nervous glances and body language. This virile man excites her, but we suspect she's been burnt before by men who have used her; she's scared and unsure of herself. Most of all she is achingly lonely and unhappy in her loveless  marriage. Presumably, this encounter leads to their first tryst.

Sergeant Warden and Karen Holmes share a last meeting.

When they later meet on a park bench, she again acts awkwardly. Anxious, she's arrived early and scolds him for having made her wait, though he is on time. She's having a hard time believing this man might love her. She wonders aloud if he thinks he's made a mistake and says she'll go home. But Warden, already smitten, tells her of course he cares for her and that he risks prison dating the wife of a superior officer. Happy, they leave for the famous beach scene and one of the most iconic images in all of film.

The famous kiss.

Here, Warden acts somewhat cruelly, almost taunting her about her past, having heard salacious lies about her being with several other men. She shares her sad story, about her philandering husband, her lost child, and her inability to have another.

There's another scene later in a secluded night club, where they sit quietly together as a band plays tropical music. Karen isn't really listening, just gazing at this wonderful man who promises her a new life, one with love and caring. Zinnemann uses one of the rare closeups in the film to track to Kerr's face. Watch her eyes. She kisses his wrist and buries her face in Lancaster's neck. But the illicit romance is ill-fated, as circumstances are against them. (To emphasize the impermanence of it all, the only time Karen uses the sergeant's given name is in their last meeting.)

A six-time nominee for Best Actress, Kerr never won. Timing has a lot to do with it as each time she was up against some tough competition, but 1953 may have been her best chance. She lost to lovely Audrey Hepburn for Roman Holiday. I'd of voted for Kerr.

Interestingly, Joan Crawford was to play the role until a dispute over who would serve as cameraman got her sent packing. She and Lancaster would have smoldered. But director Zinnemann went with Kerr in an inspired bit of casting against type. Perhaps to enhance the effect, he had her gorgeous red hair dyed blond. She gives a passionate performance and looks great, even in black and white, but here's a photo of her as Karen in color:

This is Lancaster's first big role and he's perfect. One man describes Warden as the best soldier he's ever seen and in early scene Lancaster appears shirtless. Age 39 at time of filming, Lancaster was cut, with a physique any athlete would envy. He'd been acting successfully for seven years, but never had had such a meaty role. Ernest Borgnine is great as "Fatso" Judson, a dangerous sergeant who runs the stockade and dishes out punishment with his fists. He's more sadistic in the novel, but Borgnine makes the character plenty scary in the film. Maggio gets on his wrong side and suffers the consequences. Judson also carries a switch blade, which he is only too happy to unleash. The most exciting scene in the film has him threatening Maggio in an altercation in a bar. Warden breaks it up by smashing a beer bottle and jumping between the two combatants. Maggio isn't so lucky later when he finds himself in the stockade.

O.K. Fatso, if it's killin' ya want, come on.

As good as parts are, the film has problems. The story loses steam any time it returns to Prewitt and Lorene. This is likely the fault of the script and the source novel, which gives the couple a less compelling story. And the actual Japanese attack is not impressive. Viewers expecting lots of explosions and action will be disappointed. There are a few token stock footage shots of the harbor attack on the Naval ships, including the explosion on the battleship Arizona, but most involves just the strafing of Schofield Barracks and Lancaster and crew attempting a feeble return fire. 

Overall, the film received 13 Oscar nominations, and won 8, including Best Film and Best Director. Besides Kerr, Lancaster and Clift were both nominated for Best Actor. They likely cancelled each other out and the award went to William Holden for Stalag 17. Both Sinatra and Reed took home supporting statues, but neither are that impressive. Sinatra in particular did far better work elsewhere. The dramatic role by the singer likely was so unexpected that Academy voters gave him the award. Reed's best scene takes place at the end. She and Karen happen to be on the same ship, headed back to the states. (No one here gets a happy ending except Warden, a career military man who's likely content that the expectant war has finally started.)

Lorene fabricates a story about Prewitt to impress Karen, and as a way to handle her grief -- he's been shot trying to get back to his troop following the bombing. She says he was a pilot, killed while trying to take off during the attack, but Karen knows different, having heard about the private from Warden.  Karen tosses two leis into the water, saying if they float back to shore, you will return to Hawaii some day, and if out to sea, you will never be back. Lorene says she'll never come back, but we are left wondering what will become of Karen. She's opted to remain with Holmes after concluding she and Warden are too different, but it's hard to think her decision as final. After the war, who knows...?

Which way will the leis float? 

The New York Times loved the film, saying: "As a job of editing, emending, re-arranging and purifying a volume bristling with brutality and obscenities, "From Here to Eternity" stands as a shining example of truly professional moviemaking."

Deborah Kerr

Deborah Kerr is my favorite actress. Extremely talented and stunningly beautiful, she appeared in some of my favorite films. Of course, they may be favorites because she was in them. A six-time Best Actress nominee, she never won a competitive Oscar. That's the record for women, surpassed on the men's side by only Peter O'Toole with eight unsuccessful nominations, and Richard Burton with seven.

Kerr was much sought after. She always added prestige to a film, appearing in 7 over the course of her career that were nominated for Best Picture, and several others that could have been. She worked with the best directors and most of the best actors--the lucky ones at least. She never had to rely on just her beauty to get through a performance and could show great expression and emotion with her eyes. Best of all, she just seemed nice. You always left a film of hers with the thought that there is a person I wouldn't mind knowing in real life. And there's that gorgeous red hair.

Deborah Kerr 

I've never paid much attention to Oscars. At the core, the awards are out of the actor's control; and how do you really compare performances across different genres anyway? They're subject to all kinds of influences that shouldn't play in the vote at all, but do. Too political, often reliant on timing or the issue of the day, and maybe most egregiously, too dependent on how the studios try to manipulate the outcome with publicity campaigns and such. That last factor seems especially prevalent during the Classic Film era. Still, you'd like your favorites to get the recognition.

Anyway, here's a review of each of Deborah Kerr's nominated roles.

Already a rising star thanks to terrific work in Black Narcissus (1947), Kerr secured her first nomination in 1949 as Evelyn Voult, the mother of an irresponsible son in George Cukor's Edward, My Son. Her husband is played by Spencer Tracy, an unlikable scoundrel, an adulterer who too easily engages in insurance fraud to finance an operation for their spoiled son. Evelyn soon is unhappy, unloved, and eventually struggles with alcohol as her husband's behaviour grows more nasty.

Of her six nominations, this is easily my least favorite film of the bunch. Her performance seems over-wrought at times, especially when slurring words as a sloppy drunk at the end. She had plenty of far better work in films that were not nominated. Tracy gets the lion's share of screen time here. Overall, the whole thing is too melodramatic and unsatisfying.   

It wouldn't have mattered anyway. Being a first-time nominee is always difficult, but more importantly, Kerr was up against one of the greatest performances in American film history, that year's winner, Olivia de Havilland from The Heiress.

Kerr's second chance for an Oscar--and maybe her best--came in 1953 with one of her signature roles. As Karen Holmes, she is the unloved and ignored wife of a philandering Army officer in Fred Zinnemann's From Here to Eternity. Her scenes with co-star Burt Lancaster are the best in the film. Achingly lonely, beset by nasty rumors, she's suspicious of his motives when he makes a pass in that terrific scene in her kitchen with the rain pelting down outside. She tries to maintain a hard exterior but you know it's a defense mechanism because she's been hurt too much in the past. Yet she admits she isn't sure if she wants him to leave. It's a remarkable display of vulnerability.

And watch her eyes when the couple first dine clandestinely at the restaurant. Captivated by the handsome sergeant, a good man who finally loves her, she's unaware of what he's saying as she stares in wonder. Later, on the boat with Donna Reed's character, she knows the girl is lying about Private Prewitt's death. You can see the sympathy in her face, knowing here's another woman who's been hurt in love.

The male subject matter, reinforced by strong work of Montgomery Cliff and Lancaster, likely lessened appreciation for Kerr's performance. Audrey Hepburn won that year for Roman Holiday. She's delightful, but it hardly requires the subtle acting Kerr displays. Maybe Hepburn was helped by her association with director William Wyler, an Academy favorite. And there's always the chance that voters wanted to spread the love: Kerr's film won 8 Oscars, including Best Picture, Best Director and both supporting awards. None of the three major actors won (Lancaster, Clift, and Kerr).

Next came a three-year run starting with the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical The King and I in 1956. Kerr looks lovely in Irene Sharaff's stunning gowns and gives a nice performance as Anna Owens, a widowed English school teacher who comes to Siam to teach the King's children. They capture her heart, and so does the King. It was Yul Brenner's film all the way. He'd already won a Tony for the Broadway smash. Kerr had replaced Gertrude Lawrence, Brenner's Broadway co-star, who'd also won a Tony. Besides, Kerr's singing was dubbed.    

Ingrid Berman won her second Oscar that year for Anastasia. Hollywood was ready to forgive her for ditching her husband for the Italian director, Roberto Rossellini. In any case, it was a strange year in retrospect. The bloated Around the World in Eighty Days took Best Film.

The next year Kerr appeared as Sister Angela, a Catholic nun, in John Huston's Heaven Knows, Mr. Alison. Shipwrecked with an American soldier, Robert Mitchum, the two must elude the Japanese and resist succumbing to their mutual attraction. The rough and ready Marine soon falls in love and thinks because Sister Angela has not yet taken her final vows, he may have a chance to change her mind. It's fun watching these two interact--they have wonderful chemistry, but the story is a simple one that doesn't require either actor to stretch themselves.
 

Kerr lost to Joanne Woodward that year for her fine work in The Three Faces of Eve, that film's only nomination. It's one of those ground-breaking performances that Academy voters tend to admire, one that features a person with a disability.

Delbert Mann's adaptation of the play Separate Tables came in 1958. Kerr is the repressed and mousy Sibyl Railton-Bell, a naive young woman whose dominating mother (Gladys Cooper) is a pain in the butt. Along with several other vacationers they are on holiday at a seaside hotel in Bournemouth, England. Sibyl is attracted to a dashing retired army officer, Major Angus Pollock (David Niven). But he's a phony whose nasty secret proves to be a crushing embarrassment for the poor girl. An ensemble piece to be sure, Kerr is magnificent. Her near breakdown is painful to watch. Perhaps voters didn't think Kerr had enough screen time on her own. But her co-star, Niven, took home the award for Best Actor, and Wendy Hiller won for Best Supporting Actress. In another year, the beautiful actress might have earned votes for bravely taking on a role that showed her as unattractive. 

She lost to Susan Hayworth that year for I Want to Live. A good performance for a long-time Hollywood actress who had paid her dues. The film was based on a true story, though took some liberties. It shows her character, Barbara Graham, a convicted killer, in a sympathetic light, suggesting perhaps she was even rail-roaded. No doubt seen by many voters as an "important" film, it's clearly a strong statement against capital punishment. The execution scene was shockingly realistic for its day, and likely cinched the award for the actress. I'd of given the award that year to Liz Taylor for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Taylor's omission would come back to haunt Kerr and Shirley MacLaine two years later.

Kerr's final chance came in 1960, again working with Zinnemann and Mitchum; this time in the The Sundowners, the story of a nomadic Australian family. Ida Commody is tired of the constant traveling that comes with her sheep-herding husband. She dreams of settling down and owning a farm. She and Mitchum have great chemistry again, conveying their love for one another through hard times with simple gestures and looks. There's a wonderful shot of Kerr, watching a train pull out of a station. She sees a woman through a window. The camera lingers on her face and you can feel the character's desperate envy.

She lost that year to Elizabeth Taylor for Butterfield 8. Consensus at the time was that Taylor won because she had just survived a life-threatening illness. It was her fourth nomination in successive years. While a better performance than given credit for, she surely captured the sympathy vote. Moreover, some voters likely cast a make-up vote for her loss the three previous seasons. Shirley MacLaine should have won for The Apartment.

I'm surprised that Kerr didn't get a 7th nomination the next year for her highly effective performance in The Innocents, a tense horror classic in which she dominates the screen and captures a woman becoming unhinged wonderfully well. Sophia Loren took the award for Two Women, but Audrey Hepburn was among the less deserving nominees for Breakfast at Tiffany's, an undemanding role in a light comedy, and Piper Laurie, for The Hustler.

The Academy finally made amends to Kerr in 1984 with an Honorary Oscar. The citation read: An artist of impeccable grace and beauty, a dedicated actress whose motion picture career has always stood for perfection, discipline and elegance. Apt words to be sure.

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943) by Powell and Pressburger

Clive Wynne-Candy's dedication and commitment to the British Army is displayed in several incidents over a forty-year career, from the Boer War in Africa in 1902 through the beginning of World War II. Along the way, he befriends a German officer, Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff, whom he meets while on a diplomatic mission to Berlin, and three women who bear an uncanny resemblance to each other.

Directors Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger's warm-hearted ode to the British military is a wonderfully inventive film, bearing their signature style: keen use of vivid color, witty dialog, and memorable, likable characters. Told in flashback, Blimp starts in 1942 as portly, walrus-mustachioed, old Major General Candy (Roger Livesy) is enjoying a nap at his London club. War games are scheduled to commence at midnight as part of a training exercise for the Home Guard, but an ambitious young officer wants to get a jump on things by "capturing" the commanding general beforehand. His unit raids the officers' club that afternoon, catching the old man asleep after a steam bath, wearing nothing but a towel. Candy, red as a boiled lobster and sweating profusely, is flabbergasted at the officer's effrontery. He wrestles the much younger man into the Swedish pool. When Candy emerges at the other end, it is 1902, and the pudgy general is a dashing, young colonel, as clever a use of any flashback you will ever see.

"But the war starts at midnight!"

As the story continues Clive Candy is back in England for some R&R, having seen duty in Africa during the Boer War. When he hears that a German officer he knew there is spreading malicious lies and attributing atrocities against the natives by the British, Candy goes to Berlin to confront the culprit. Here he meets an English schoolteacher, Edith Hunter (Deborah Kerr in the first of three roles). Together they go to a beer house where an amusing confrontation with the propagandist results in Candy insulting the entire German Army. The military code of the day demands satisfaction in the form of a duel. The German officers draw lots and Candy finds himself up against Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff (Anton Walbrook). Both men are wounded fencing, Candy above the lip, causing him to grow a mustache to hide the scar. Over the course of the film it grows bigger and bigger. The two soldiers become friends as they recuperate together in the hospital, attended to by the beautiful Miss Hunter. Theo only knows two phrases in English: "very much," and "not very much."

Clive Candy and Edith Hunter in Berlin.

En garde!

The dueling scene is quite interesting as it reveals the protocol of such engagements: a neutral referee, in this case, a Swiss officer; the seconds; the choice of weapons. All the accompanying participants bear their own dueling scars on their cheeks. The tension builds slowly, then the duelists take their positions. We don't get to see the actual combat; however, as the camera pulls out a window to Edith, waiting patiently in a hansom cab, but we soon learn the results. In fact, there is no on-screen violence at all in the film.

Theo falls in love with Miss Hunter, who stays behind in Berlin to marry him, while Candy returns to England, realizing too late that he too loves the girl. Livesy does a fine job revealing the character's loneliness and distress. He has the army to occupy his thoughts, but he will admit later in the film that he never managed to get over Edith, his ideal woman. It's a poignant reminder to us all that an opportunity not taken, seldom comes around again.

In a clever sequence to connote the passage of time, separate animal trophy heads appear on Candy's wall following gunshots to show how he diverted his attention during this period. Today, organizations like PETA would be aghast at the technique, but circa 1940, it was an acceptable approach in film. We next pick up the story in November 1918, amidst the battle-scarred landscape of the Western Front in World War I. Whereas before, the film's action was bathed in brilliant color, the scenes here are washed in browns and ashen to denote the tragedy and dehumanizing nature of war. 

This sequence better than any other in the film shows Candy's antiquated ideas about war. His is an out-dated code of honor, where soldiers act like gentlemen. He expects prisoners to respond honestly when interrogated. I'm not sure this was ever the case, but the directors get their point across: Candy is fast becoming an anachronistic fool when it comes to modern warfare. His life is about to change when he meets a Red Cross nurse, Barbara Wynne (Kerr, again), who he'll marry upon his return to England after the armistice.

The WWI outdoor scenes are done on a soundstage, with the backdrops and sky clearly paintings. Still, it is cleverly done--a jeep and motor cycle with side car even ride through mud and puddles.

Candy on the Western Front.

The film jumps to World War II. Both men's wives have long since passed away. Theo hopes to emigrate to England to escape the Nazi party, which he abhors. Candy vouches for his friend's character, enabling him to receive asylum. The best acted scene in the film takes place here as Walbrook explains to a government official his reasons for coming to England. The camera doesn't move, and in a long soliloquy, Theo laments his wife's death, and the fate of his children, who have joined the Nazi party. He is a man defeated by life and feeling alone and useless. Walbrook speaks in a low monotone, his eyes vacant and sad. You understand that his mind has taken him somewhere else, far away into past. This sympathetic portrayal by the directors understandably garnered Winston Churchill's ire. Amidst war, and with the terror of the London Blitz still fresh, he wanted no German portrayed favorably.

Theo: You know that, after the war, we had very bad years in Germany. We got poorer and poorer. Every day retired officers or schoolteachers were caught shoplifting. Money lost its value, the price of everything rose except of human beings. We read in the newspapers that the after-war years were bad everywhere, that crime was increasing and that honest citizens were having a hard job to put the gangsters in jail. Well in Germany, the gangsters finally succeeded in putting the honest citizens in jail.

Anton Walbrook as Theo.

Despite Churchill's reservations, the film served as fine propaganda. Theo voices the film's main message to British audiences when in a later scene he gently scolds his old friend, telling Clive he's not realistic about Hitler's intentions. To defeat the Nazis, he says, Britain must fight just as dirty as the enemy. Referring to the First World War:

Theo: I don't think you won it. We lost it--but you lost something, too. You forgot to learn the moral. Because victory was yours, you failed to learn your lesson twenty years ago and now you have to pay the school fees again. Some of you will learn quicker than the others, some of you will never learn it - because you've been educated to be a gentleman and a sportsman, in peace and in war. But Clive!

At this point, Candy, too old to actively serve, keeps his hand in the new war effort in a leadership position in the Home Guard. His driver is Angela Cannon (Kerr, again).

It's easy to see that the camera loves Kerr, and the directors give her plenty of closeups. She is quite lovely. Just 22 at the time of filming, it is a wonderful performance, requiring three different accents. Kerr's first of six Oscar nominations for Best Actress wouldn't come for another six years, but her work here was worthy of consideration for a supporting award, but she was passed over. A greater omission, however, would occur three years later when the Academy neglected her outstanding work in her second Powell and Pressburger film, Black Narcissus.

One of the film's pleasures is its costumes. Kerr as Edith wears elegant Victorian-era attire: colorful dresses with fur collars, hats with exotic plumes and feathers, lace facings; and in one scene her wide-brimmed hat bears a stuffed black bird. Her spectacular red hair is curled and pushed up on her head. As Angela she wears smart khaki. And both Livesy and Walbrook look magnificent in their pre-WWI uniforms, festooned with medals, red piping, epaulets, capes and helmets.

Kerr as Edith Hunter.

Kerr as Barbara Wynne.

Kerr as Angela "Johnny" Cannon.

There script contains several moments of witty dialog, usually involving Candy. Here's just one example:

Candy: The Kaiser spoke - and the Prince of Wales spoke ...
Edith: Spoke about what?
Candy: Nobody could remember.

Livesy would star in two future Powell and Pressberger films: I Know Where I'm Going and A Matter of Life and Death. But the role of Clive Candy would be his career best. Both he and Walbrook "age" wonderfully in the film, capturing the mannerisms and walks of old men. And the transitional makeup for both characters is perfect. 

Powell and Pressberger would do better work later, more challenging and more powerful, but Blimp is a wonderfully fun film, and the first to really showcase the lovely Kerr.

The Home Guard:

The Home Guard was a defense organization of the British Army comprised of nearly 1.5 million volunteers, mostly men unfit or too old for regular military service. It was initially formed to act as a secondary force in case of German invasion to the British Isles.  Following the London Blitz (September 1940 to May 1941), the threat of invasion subsided, allowing The Home Guard to relieve  regular army personnel for duties in France and elsewhere. It took over guarding airfields and factories. Initially ill-equipped, it eventually received arms and uniforms as depicted in the Blimp film. It effectively lasted from about May, 1940 until the end of 1944.

The Innocents (1961) - Jack Clayton

The story begins ordinarily enough. Miss Giddens (Deborah Kerr) is hired by a negligent uncle to act as governess for his orphaned nephew and niece, Miles and Flora, who live in an isolated county estate. Giddens is inexperienced but enthusiastic. The uncle tells her that in accepting the position she assumes full responsibility for their upbringing--he does not want contacted. It's a strange arrangement, and a wiser person might decline, but Giddens does not.

Both children initially are precocious and sweet, if a little odd; they speak well beyond their years. The job takes an ominous turn when Miles is expelled from school for bringing "injury to others." Soon, the children begin to act peculiarly, and strange apparitions of supposedly dead people and whispered voices have Giddens wondering if the place is haunted.

She learns more from Mrs. Grose, the housekeeper. The previous governess committed suicide after her abusive lover Quint, the valet, was found dead. Miles had worshiped the man.  

Miss Giddens slowly becomes unhinged.

Based on Henry James' novella The Turn of the Screw, Clayton fashioned one of the best ghost stories ever filmed. More psychologically disturbing than frightening, it is a finely crafted film that leaves the viewer confused as to what is actually happening. Is the mansion haunted, or is it all in Giddens' head? Are the children some times possessed by the spirits of the family's previous caretakers, or are they just having devilish fun with the woman? Kerr called it her finest performance, and that's saying something. 

Miss Giddens is a strange woman in her own right, perhaps unstable. In the first scene she seems overly infatuated with the uncle, and we learn that she is the daughter of a parson, so likely has led a repressed life. We also learn that she has an imagination. Maybe she is susceptible to the power of suggestion. In any case, she seems too attached to the children for just having met them, especially the boy Miles. In one mildly disturbing scene the boy gives her a hug and an extended kiss on the lips. She recoils, feeling that someone other than Miles was kissing her. In perhaps the scariest scene Giddens plays hide and seek with the children. As she stands behind a curtain, a man suddenly appears outside the window staring at her. By her description, he is Quint. 

There is another scene that quickens your pulse, an extended journey by Giddens through the mansion in the dark, with just candles to light the way. Giddens has heard something: disturbing whispers and laughter. Director Clayton leaves most of scene without background music. You hear the occasional creaky floorboard, an un-oiled hinge, and just Kerr's footsteps. Kerr was an actress who used her eyes to great effect. Here and elsewhere in the film she registers real terror.  

Giddens eventually comes to believe that the dead couple may be trying to possess the children to continue their relationship. At times the children laugh almost maniacally and can't be relied upon to tell the truth; sometimes saying they make things up. It seems all too much for Miss Giddens, who is desperately trying to protect the children.     

Freddie Francis was cinematographer and his sharp black and white camerawork is often eerily lit and full of oppressive shadows. The set decoration is also terrific, the big Victorian mansion has a Gothic appearance. 

Miles with Quint's face looking hauntingly over his shoulder.

Clayton was fresh off a big hit with the 1959 film Room at the Top. This film is 180 degrees different. He adds little touches to enhance the atmosphere of creepiness: weird bird calls, a garden statue with a beetle in its mouth (perhaps influencing Silence of the Lambs), and an appropriately spooky score. His pacing is highly effective, with the tension building until the unsettling climax, which stills leaves the viewer asking questions. Truman Capote and William Archibald wrote the screenplay.

What Makes The Innocents Special:

The uncertainty of the film is wonderful. This is an adult horror story that makes you think.

The performances of the two children, Martin Stephens as Miles and Pamela Franklin as Flora are excellent, considerably better than what child actors typically manage. It was Franklin's first role. She would go on to play a key role in the 1969's The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.

A ghost in the weeds?

Major Awards:

Director Clayton won Best Director from the National Board of Review, and was nominated by the Directors Guild of America and the Cannes Film Festival. The film was nominated for a BAFTA best film.  Kerr, whose performance is outstanding lost out in that year's Oscar nominations, but she did receive one for another 1961 film, The Sundowners.

The British magazine The Guardian recently named it the 11th best horror film of all time.  

Similar films of interest:

• The Shining (1980) by Stanley Kubrick
• The Haunting (1963) by Robert Wise
• The Uninvited (1944) by Lewis Allen

Other films by Jack Clayton:

• Room at the Top (1959) by Jack Clayton

      

Black Narcissus (1947) - Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger

Deborah Kerr as Sister Clodagh.

Five Anglican nuns arrive at an isolated palace, perched nine thousand feet up in the Himalayas, to establish a convent with a school and hospital. They are led by Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr), the youngest Sister Superior in the order. Once the site of a maharajah's harem, there is something seductive about the location, leading one character to say it "makes everything exaggerated."  The winds are constant, the air is crystal clear and thick with the scent of intoxicating flowers, there are fantastic colors, and Mr. Dean (David Farrar), the British agent. He's the only white man in the area and keeps them supplied, and acts as an interpreter of sorts with the local population.    

Weighed down by responsibility, and going up against native suspicions, Sister Clodagh's mind begins to wander in the exotic surroundings. In her reverie, she thinks back to her life in Ireland before she decided to pursue a religious life. Shown in flashback, we see she was in love and leading a full life. It's only time we see Kerr's glorious auburn hair. As she begins to doubt her commitment to God, one wonders if her decision to enter the order was a wise one. Is she trying to escape a lost love? All the nuns experience some kind of malaise, one rips up the vegetable garden to plant more flowers, but it is Sister Ruth (Kathleen Byron), the youngest, who faces a crisis. Perhaps unhinged before they even arrive—Clodagh tried to dissuade the Mother Superior from including Ruth in the group—Sister Ruth becomes obsessed with Mr. Dean, convinced she is in love. She becomes unglued and increasingly jealous of Sister Clodagh, whom she believes has her own designs on the man.  

The British director/writer team of Powell and  Pressburger had already produced several highly successful films. But in theme, this was their most ambitious. Previous work dealt with patriotism and secular love. Black Narcissus is infused with religious overtones, leaving the audience to ponder how ordinary human beings can expect to eschew normal temptations to pursue a godly commitment. Do they ever, entirely? Does it make sense to impose a formal, man-made religious institution in a place and setting with its own spirituality and values?    

An interesting aspect of the film is the relationship between Sister Clodagh and Mr. Dean. His reactions in a few scenes give you the impression he may have developed something beyond mere respect for the woman: innuendos that may not be so innocent, the way he holds a look or takes her hand.  After-all, she is beautiful, even in a habit, and intelligent and obviously compassionate. But his affection is uncertain; he never verbally expresses anything to her that one could take as proof. For her part, it is even more ambiguous, but Kerr's character is made of stern stuff. In one famous scene the shadow of a cross flashes across her face, hinting at her ultimate choice.  

Kathleen Bryon gives a chilling performance as the mentally disturbed nun. The directors have built suspense by showing her slow dissolve into psychosis and they create a wonderfully moody scene for her final appearance. She appears with blood red lipstick and a crazed stare, having renounced her vows. Dramatic music and a shadowy, wet, and windy convent courtyard give it a Gothic horror atmosphere. At this point, Mr. Dean has spurned her advances and she focuses her rage on Sister Clodagh. It leads to an exciting confrontation at the bell tower, high above the verdant jungle below.   

Sister Ruth becomes unhinged.

The film is a spectacular technical achievement. Alfred Junge created much of the Himalayan scenery in the studio using glass shots and hanging miniatures. And the backdrops were blown-up black and white photographs layered with pastel chalks. Like all Powell /Pressburger films it is beautiful to look at. Cinematographer Jack Cardiff's made the colors pop to enhance the exotic feel of the story. He'd win an Oscar for the film.    

Jean Simmons plays an Indian girl of low caste, described in the source novel as a "basket of fruit, piled high and luscious and ready to eat." She has infatuated an Indian prince and serves in sharp contrast to the nuns as their alter-ego. Sister Ruth aspires to her sexual freedom.   

What Makes Narcissus Special:

The color scheme and costumes are fantastic, with clearly separate motifs designed for each class of character. Nuns always appear in white habits of a medieval type. The chief native characters (the old king and his son) wear brilliantly colored robes, decorated  in jewels and rich silks. Other locals are clad in more somber colors, with the usual native dress of the Nepalese, Bhutanese and Tibetan peoples toned down to prevent overloading the eye with brilliance.

Kathleen Byron as Sister Ruth.

One of the most luscious uses of color is with Sister Ruth. Without habit her red hair appears Medusa-like when wet. Her red lips and crimson dress symbolize her suppressed lust. Earlier, when in the hospital, her gown is splattered with blood.  

Inside Story:

Michael Powell's thought this his most erotic film, saying, "It is all done by suggestion, but eroticism is in every frame and image from beginning to end. It is a film full of wonderful performances and passion just below the surface, which finally, at the end of the film, erupts."

The New York Times described the film as "a curiously fascinating psychological study of the physical and spiritual tribulations that overwhelm" the five nuns.

    

Major Awards:

Won Oscars for Best Art Direction-Set Direction (Alfred Junge) and Best Cinematography (Jack Cardiff). Kerr won Best Actress from the New York Film Critics. And the BFI named it as the 44rd greatest British film.

Other Films of Interest by P&P:

• The Invaders (AKA: 49th Parallel) 1941
• The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp 1943
• I Know Where I'm Going 1945
• A Matter of Life and Death 1946
• The Red Shoes 1948