After watching 29 nun movies, our intrepid reporter feels certain that everyone associated with these films--producers, directors, writers, stars--will burn in hell for all eternity. Of course, as he also notes, "Everyone who works in the movie business is going to burn in hell for all eternity anyway."
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In every human being's life, there comes a moment when he finds himself trapped in the epicenter of the vortex of the eye of the storm of the most viscerally and emotionally disequilibrating experience he will ever know. For many of us, this will occur when we take our marriage vows; for others, when we make the belated discovery that the person sharing our bed in the Econo Lodge this evening is not of the gender we initially thought he/she/it was. For still others, it is the moment when we agree to spend a night at Michael Jackson's house.
In my own life, the most emotionally discombobulating experience I have ever undergone is watching Mamie Van Doren erupt into tears in the back of a chapel at a Catholic girl's reform school while Paul Anka sings "Ave Maria" to her. This scene occurs toward the end of the acrobatically awful film Girls Town, in which the top-heavy Van Doren, easily pushing 30, perhaps from the other side, plays a wayward teen sent to a Roman Catholic halfway house for alleged psychopaths while the local police investigate charges that she murdered her boyfriend, Chip.
Eventually, we learn that Chip was actually pushed off a cliff by Mamie's kid sister, who ultimately seeks refuge in the same halfway house as Mamie, doubtless hoping that Frankie Avalon will show up and sing "Tantum Ergo" or "Adeste Fidelis." But before anything this sublimely odious can happen, she is kidnapped by aging crooner Mel Torme, one of the strangest-looking people to ever inhabit this planet, who plays a lecherous, hot-rodding teen who finally gets popped in the kisser by Anka, an even uglier actor, an even more annoying singer, and an even shorter human being. At which point, Torme swoons into a velvet fog.
All of this madness is finally brought under control when Mamie gets down on her knees and prays to Saint Jude, the patron saint of hopeless causes. Run to earth by a contingent of vigilantes headed by a nun armed with a large wooden mallet, Mel Tonne's reign of terror finally ends, and everyone else lives happily ever after.
If the preceding plot line sounds completely insane, that's because it is. How then, one wonders, did the people involved in the manufacture of this cultural anomaly ever stray so far from their psychic and cinematic moorings that they could end up filming a scene in a dimly lit chapel in which Paul Anka sings "Ave Maria" to Mamie Van Doren, she of the nuclear bosom, who doesn't give the impression that she actually understands what Anka is singing, and probably thinks he's warbling something like, "My God, you've got amazing tits" in Latin?
The easy answer to this question is: it was 1959, the Russians had recently sent up their first unmanned rocket ship, everyone was zonked out by fear of nuclear war, Castro had just taken over Cuba, Nixon looked like a pretty safe bet to become the next President of the United States, and everybody in America was completely bananas. But this is not an acceptable answer. Elvis Presley playing a youngster whose dad wants him to finish high school so he can become a pharmacist? Stupid. Creatures from another planet invading serene, Middle-American communities and destroying the delicate fabric of society as we know it? Wacky. Charlton Heston cavorting in a loincloth and pretending to be a likable Jewish chariot driver? Definitely peculiar. But Paul Anka singing "Ave Maria" to a lachrymose Mamie Van Doren in a chapel shortly before she gets down on her knees and prays that Saint Jude will give Paul Anka a voice like Neil Sedaka?
Now, that's insanity.
How did all of this mental illness come about? The answer to this question is surprisingly simple: The filmmakers were making a nun movie and all nun movies ultimately descend into a dark abyss of lunacy. Whether the setting is 17th-century France (The Devils), late 20th-century San Francisco (Sister Act), the highest reaches of the Himalayas in the '40s (Black Narcissus), contemporary Madrid (Dark Habits), Belgium in the mid-'60s (The Singing Nun) or 12,000 feet above Salt Lake City circa '74 (Airport 1975), all movies that feature nuns in a prominent role ultimately end in a teeming cesspool of incurable dementia.
Of course, most of them begin in a teeming cesspool of incurable dementia. Shirley MacLaine as a roving, polylingual missionary cantering around on a little burro during a civil war in 19th-century Mexico in Two Mules for Sister Sara? My, that sounds sane. Kathleen Byron as a neurotic nun sequestered in an abandoned harem in the Himalayas who gets her jollies by dolling herself up behind closed doors in a little black cocktail dress she purchased through mail order from Calcutta, then tries to push Sister Superior Deborah Kerr from a bell tower in Black Narcissus? Gee, that sounds plausible. Vanessa Redgrave as a hunchbacked, sex crazed, demon-possessed lunatic in The Devils? What a refreshing change of pace. A bunch of German nuns marooned in the Arizona desert waiting for Sidney Poitier to show up and build them a chapel in Lilies of the Field? Well, we certainly haven't tried filming that one in a while. Whoopi Goldberg as a person that a large group of white people--or anyone--would cheerfully welcome into their midst in Sister Act? Terrific idea. And while we're at it, how about Helen Reddy as a nun who sings to Linda Blair in Australian shortly before an epic aviation disaster in Airport 1975?
Credible.
Believable.
Bankable.
Sane.
The most interesting kernel of truth about nun movies is that throughout the entire history of the genre, there has never been a movie that accurately portrays nuns the way they really are. As a Roman Catholic who has only attended Roman Catholic schools and universities in his lifetime, as a person who has never set foot inside a non-sectarian institution of higher learning, and as a person who has watched 29 nun movies in the last two weeks, I can say with complete confidence that there are no nuns on this planet who look anything like Ingrid Bergman in The Bells of St. Mary's, Audrey Hepburn in The Nun's Story or Deborah Kerr in Black Narcissus.
There are also no convents on this planet that house nuns with names like Sister Manure and Sister Rat, as depicted in Pedro Almodovar's Dark Habits. Nor are there any religious orders I know of that would willingly accept into their community a fruitloop like Meg Tilly in Agnes of God, a bimbo like Mary Tyler Moore in Change of Habit, or a sex-crazed maniac like Vanessa Redgrave in The Devils. The portrayals of nuns in these movies are complete and utter lies, and everyone associated with these products will burn in hell for all eternity. Of course, everyone who works in the movie business is going to burn in hell for all eternity anyway, so this is no big threat.
Interestingly, what makes nun movies so outrageously inaccurate is not the obsession of the directors and screenwriters with the nuns' imagined sexual problems, but the persistent failure of Hollywood to depict nuns as the remorseless terrorists they truly are. In preparing this article, I watched 29 movies in which nuns play a prominent role. In vain did I wait for the truly explosive violence that is an integral feature of all nuns' lives. True, Kathleen Byron did try to push Deborah Kerr off that bell tower at the end of Black Narcissus, Meg Tilly did strangle her newborn baby in Agnes of God, and the surprising twilight arrival of a nun at the end of Vertigo did scare Kim Novak so much that she plunged to her senseless death hundreds of feet below. Yet in not one of the movies I watched was there a single scene in which anyone gets hit with a ruler.
This is preposterous. As anyone who has ever attended parochial school can tell you, a movie that attempts to portray a day in the life of the average nun without including at least one scene in which a recalcitrant student gets worked over with the ruler or yardstick is like a movie about the Mafia in which not a single person gets whacked. The closest any of these 29 movies come to portraying nuns as the remorselessly vindictive papal enforcers that they are is The Devils, in which Vanessa Redgrave's false testimony against Oliver Reed leads to his having his tongue run through with a torture implement, his legs smashed to smithereens by a deranged inquisitor, and his body set ablaze in the public square while his own illegitimate son looks on. Which is, believe me, still a lot less painful than being hit by a nun with a ruler.
Why are nun movies so hopelessly estranged from the reality of religious life? And why do all nun movies eventually plunge into a dark whirlpool of lunacy? The easy answer is: Oliver Reed and Meg Tilly are on the set. But that only applies to a couple of movies. The reason that all the other nun movies go completely off the rails is much simpler. It's the music. Go see virtually any nun movie and at some critical juncture a group of sisters will be spotlighted in a grotesque, stomach-turning musical number, often featuring a lethal stringed instrument intimately associated with Joan Baez. Shortly thereafter, a senseless, horrible tragedy will occur, and the film will spin hopelessly out of control.
For example, in The Sound of Music, not very long after spunky novice Julie Andrews strums a God-awful number on the guitar, the Nazis rise to power in Germany, annex Austria, and wreck the 20th century for everyone except Melanie Griffith, who still gets to infiltrate the Nazi high command in Shining Through. In The Devils, Oliver Reed's misfortunes occur shortly after Vanessa Redgrave and her fellow nuns are seen chanting Vespers in the chapel. And in Airport 1975, it is only after Helen Reddy picks up Linda Blair's guitar and begins to sing a song with the lyrics "I am a best friend to myself"--a statement I have no trouble whatsoever believing--that a private plane crashes into the cockpit of the jet, kills flight engineer Erik Estrada and copilot Roy Thinnes, and blinds pilot Efrem Zimbalist Jr., thus leaving the aircraft in the hands of the cross-eyed stewardess, Karen Black. Only then do the passengers realize that they should have flown United or Delta, rather than Air Bimbo.
The intimate connection between singing nuns and senseless human tragedy is a staple of virtually every nun film ever made. Take The Singing Nun: moments after Debbie Reynolds wreaks carnage with her avenging guitar, a little Belgian boy is hit by a truck, apparently while trying to get out of earshot. In Sister Act, not very long after Whoopi Goldberg induces a group of dowdy, prune-faced nuns to abandon their tired old hymns and sing a bunch of tired, old Motown songs, Harvey Keitel, quite justifiably, attempts to murder her.
And that's not even mentioning Change of Habit, the curious project in which Elvis Presley plays a crusading Johnny Reb physician who has fled the backwoods of Tennessee for the inner city of Detroit. Not long after the King of Kings has taught Mary Tyler Moore how to play the guitar, a local loser shows up and tries to rape her. And while it is true that Kathleen Byron has been gradually slipping over the edge since the very beginning of Black Narcissus--in part because of her obsession with David Farrar, a failed Stewart Granger impersonator who wears a Jolly Green Giant hat throughout the movie, making him look like an Anna-purnan Robin Hood--her final catapult into the abyss of mental illness occurs shortly after Deborah Kerr and her fellow nuns sing a loathsome Irish yule-tide carol called "Lullay My Liking."
What is most troubling about the demented music in nun movies is the staggering variety and styles of horrendous numbers conjured up. In Agnes of God, it's Meg Tilly chanting in Latin. (Apparently, just as Spanish is the loving tongue, Latin is the appropriate patois for nuns who have strangled their illegitimate children.) Nuns with guitars--truly the single most frightening sight in the entire solar system--surface in Change of Habit, Airport 1975, The Sound of Music and The Singing Nun, whereas nuns armed with keyboards appear in Sister Act, Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit and Black Narcissus.
In an especially unnerving sequence in Almodovar's Dark Habits, a nun armed with a pair of bongos begins banging on them in the backyard of the convent. Luckily, she is interrupted mid-bongo by her pet tiger, who reaches out with his paw and forces her to stop. Almodovar's symbolism is clear: the nun with the bongos symbolizes the boundless power of Almighty God, who can fuck around with us as much as He likes, and there's nothing any of us can do about it. The tiger, on the other hand, symbolizes tortured humanity, who would like Almighty God to give us all a break. I admit this pattern of symbolism might be a bit hard to follow.
Dark Habits is worthy of mention in another context, because it is the seminal nun movie of the post-Mamie Van Doren era, the nun movie of which at least two other nun movies are a direct ripoff. Released in 1984, Dark Habits is a film in which a destitute lounge lizardess takes refuge in a convent after her lover o.d.'s on heroin, and then ends up transforming the grim old convent into a veritable isle of Capri with her pep, her personality and her large stash of cocaine. Also bear in mind that the climactic scene in the film features the lounge lizardine performing her cabaret act in the convent itself, in front of a bunch of rapturous communicants, with musical accompaniment provided by three nuns, one even armed with an electric bass guitar. Does this sound a little bit like Sister Act or what?
Or consider Change of Habit, the 1969 film in which Mary Tyler Moore plays a feisty upstart nun who comes to an urban ghetto where she does not exactly blend in and is initially greeted with frosty disdain by her aging, conservative superior, but who ultimately manages to win over her aging, conservative, disdainful religious superior with her gusto and oomph and all-around musical expertise. Does this sound a little bit like Sister Act or what?
Or consider Nuns on the Run, the 1990 British comedy in which Eric Idle and Robbie Coltrane play two people who hide out from the Mob by disguising themselves as nuns in a convent headed by the crusty old Janet Suzman who doesn't actually like them. Does this sound just a teensy-weensy bit like Sister Act or what?
Besides insufferable music and crusty old Mother Superiors played by frosty British actresses, the one other staple of all nun movies is a scene where a heavenly miracle occurs. In Lilies of the Field, there are two miracles: the first, when the bricks needed to make the chapel miraculously appear out of nowhere; the second, when the German-speaking nuns learn to speak English by singing Negro spirituals with Sidney Poitier. In The Bells of St. Mary's, a miracle occurs when the church is saved from demolition by the change of heart of a hardened businessman who takes a shine to Bing Crosby. In The Song of Bernadette, a miracle occurs when the Blessed Virgin appears to a dimwitted peasant girl in a grotto in France in the middle of the 19th century and the town is miraculously turned into a booming tourist attraction, a sort of Niagara Falls for Catholics. And in Airport 1975, a miracle occurs when Helen Reddy picks up Linda Blair's guitar and begins strumming a song, yet none of the other passengers try lynching her. What's more, a second miracle then occurs, when cross eyed actress Karen Black guides the aircraft to safety long enough for Charlton Heston to attempt a daring, mid-air helicopter-to-airplane pilot transfer. This, of course, is just the sort of thing that eventually drove Laker Airways out of business.
Why does Hollywood always go so far awry when it makes movies about nuns? Partially because there are too many people in Los Angeles named Sid and not people enough named Clotilde. But a more pressing reason that the film industry has so much trouble realistically portraying the life of the average nun is because people in Hollywood cannot understand how a woman could voluntarily make the decision to spend her entire life without the benefit of male sexual companionship.
Ironically, the explanation for this puzzling lifelong chastity can be found in two recent movies. The first is Sister Act, in which a group of nuns headed by Maggie Smith seem to manage perfectly well without the services of Harvey Keitel, the male lead. The second film is Bad Lieutenant, in which a young, beautiful nun is raped and sodomized with a crucifix by two young Hispanic men to whom Harvey Keitel, the male lead, eventually gives $30,000 and a pair of bus tickets out of town. When you get right down to it, most men really are a lot like Harvey Keitel--or one of the two rapists--so it isn't hard to understand why women decide not to go out into the real world, where they're only going to end up getting involved with somebody like Harvey Keitel or worse. Incidentally, for all you Abel Ferrara buffs, nuns also get raped in Salvador and The Devils.
As the above makes frighteningly clear, nun movies are basically all the same, following a fixed formula in which the same plots, characters, costumes, wimples and venial sins occur over again and again. Here's a skeletal outline of the all-purpose nun movie:
A bunch of white nuns are stranded in London/San Francisco/the Himalayas/Southern France in a neighborhood where they clearly do not belong. Their tight-lipped, English mother superior is played by Maggie Smith/Vanessa Redgrave/Janet Suzman/Greer Garson/Deborah Kerr, who is always having trouble with a feisty youngster played by Audrey Hepburn/Hayley Mills/Whoopi Goldberg/Mamie Van Doren/Debbie Reynolds/somebody named Gemma. Into their midst comes a dashing ne'er-do-well played by Peter Finch/Sidney Poitier/Elvis Presley/Satan/Oliver Reed, who immediately turns the convent topsy-turvy with his raffish headwear/impressive harmonica/enormous sideburns/huge dick. After an innocuous musical interlude featuring guitars/recorders/bongos/harmoniums, a complete lunatic played by Meg Tilly/Kathleen Byron/Helen Reddy/Mary Tyler Moore commits some unforgivable act such as: getting made up like Alice Cooper and trying to toss Sister Superior off a bell tower; not keeping an eye on Elvis when he goes back into the drug dispensary to prepare a prescription; strangling a newborn infant; befriending Linda Blair; or singing any Motown song.
Obviously, very few people reading this article are going to go out and rent 29 movies that feature nuns in them anytime in the near future, just as very few people reading this article are likely to go out and read the Holy Bible. Still, most of us like to have at least a passing acquaintance with the great stories from the Bible--Salome's Dance for Herod, The Last Nights of Sodom and Gommorah, Balaam's Ass--and in all likelihood most readers would like to have a passing familiarity with the great scenes from The World's Greatest Nun Movies. To fulfill that wish, we have prepared the following list:
Best scene with nuns putting on stockings. Mary Tyler Moore and two colleagues can be seen dressing and undressing as the opening scene credits roll in Change of Habit. Sorry, it's the best we can do.
Best scene of nuns stripped to ravishing black underwear. Towards the end of Nuns on the Run, which features Eric Idle and Robbie Coltrane as gangsters masquerading as nuns, a policeman rips open a very pretty nun's habit to reveal a lacy black garter belt and panty-and-bra set. This is the only good scene in the movie.
Best name for a nun in a conventional nun movie. Mary Tyler Moore as Sister Michelle in Change of Habit.
Best name for a nun in a movie that is a complete ripoff of every Luis Bunuel movie you've ever seen. (Tie) Sister Rat of the Sewers, Sister Manure in Dark Habits.
Dumbest actress to appear in starring role in a dumb nun movie. Jennifer Jones in The Song of Bernadette.
Actress appearing in a nun movie on whom God Almighty is least likely to show mercy at the Last Judgment. Debbie Reynolds in The Singing Nun.
Most convincing infanticidal nun. Meg Tilly in Agnes of God.
Most persuasive performance as a chain-smoking bitch of a nun. Anne Bancroft in Agnes of God.
Most terrifying supporting cast in a nun movie. Ricardo Montalban, Agnes Moorehead, Chad Everett and Katharine Ross in The Singing Nun.
Best appearance by an actress playing a nun riding a very small burro. Deborah Kerr in Black Narcissus.
Best appearance by an actress playing a whore masquerading as a nun riding a very small burro. Shirley MacLaine in Two Mules for Sister Sara.
Worst lyric in a nun movie. "I'm sticking to my God like a stamp to a letter" (Whoopi in Sister Act).
Second worst lyric in a nun movie. "Come praise the Lord, for He is good" (Elvis in Change of Habit).
Second best line in a nun movie. "Buy some coke, too. It would do the convent good," (Mother Superior to the itinerant lounge lizards in Dark Habits).
And, of course, the single greatest line ever uttered in a nun movie occurs in _Girls Town _when Mamie Van Doren asks one of her fellow reform school detainees "What's holy water?" and is told, "It's plain, ordinary water with the hell boiled out of it."
That's what they mean by gospel truth.
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Joe Queenan wrote "See No Evil" for the April Movieline.