Film Mad Nun Bell

I'm organazizing my plot notes for M5 and the M4 CE materials (although there's no guarantee of the CE award but we have to be prepared), and compiling a style guide and 'mood and reference' library for my art elves.
I won't give too much away, but we're off to the Alps and there will be snow and ghosts and lots more tears. The mood is also darkening; be prepared for some sinister experiments.

I had a vague recollection of some film I watched years ago - the kind of thing that would nestle snugly into the style guide, like a tapeworm in a kidney. All I could remember was a mad nun ringing a bell high in the mountains.
Name that film!

Here's the denouement.

*** Spoiler alert ***
If you've not seen this film and don't want the climax ruined, either don't watch the vid, or stop it around 4 mins 30 secs.

What an absolutely staggering feat: the nunnery was filmed entirely on set, and at a time when Technicolor was still in its experimental stages.
The sunrise over the mountains - the calm before the storm! Little Joseph tugging Sister Clodagh's sleeve (NVC), failing at first to rouse her from her troubled contemplation. (Little Joseph can even tell the time without consulting his Auntie's watch.) He hands her a drink (a gift), and delivers a little pre-denouement charm and humour. Then into Sister Ruth's pov. She's one crazy nun! Check out the XCU - the red raw skin about her eyes, the sweat, the wet hair. Sister Clodagh heads to the chapel to pray for help. Great dual colour palette! She means business - she rolls up her sleeves. The strain takes its toll and she all but collapses into prayer. Back into pov as we sneak up on her through the door. Are we crazy Ruth again? Clodagh is drenched with sweat. A creaky floorboard - Clodagh looks up; Ruth hurries away. There's a showdown coming! Behind you! Too late - she's gone. Into pov again, watching down over Clodagh as she refreshes herself from blood-red water. It is time! An amazing, languid shot of Clodagh walking along the rain-wet edge of the precipice - any protective walls have been lost; the wind dances in her habit. She steadies herself as she walks alongside the crumbling wall, looking about her. Then, straight from the fires of Hell, Ruth scurries back down the steps. At the bell, on the edge of the world, Clodagh grips the rope and rings... mad eye Ruth flings the door open, her wild hair writhing like Medusan snakes. Clodagh is weak - drained - as she prays for absolution. Too late? Ruth stalks her prey, slows, tenses...

Enjoy!

How Nuns Walk

I was watching a pair of nuns walking the other day. (It was a slow day for spiders' webs.)
I watched them for ages and was struck by how out of step they were with each other: they never once fell into step, and their walking patterns showed complete and capricious disregard for each other.
This is curious, for most people when walking together fall into step. Often this pattern is mirrored across the walkers, but the patterns invariably reveal an awareness and bonding with each other. You might remember Mr. Keating making such a comment in Dead Poets Society.
I wonder if it's a holy thing; I wonder if their minds are so at peace and so independent and free of psychological shackles that their subconsciouses take no nourishment from such conformities.
This is of interest to me because I believe that characters are predominantly defined by their movement, by the way they carry themselves. Movement, if you will, is a crucial part of that all important essence. A little way behind the nuns, I noticed a thirty-something woman wearing a cardigan (on a hot day) and walking with her shoulders hunched and her eyes down. Dowdy and stiff and defensive were the words that immediately sprang to mind.
I wonder if attire and appearance typically tally with movement when forming an impression, or whether they might work against each other? I was certainly struck, too, by the grimy greyness of the nuns' clothing.
Anyhoo, more food for thought.

The mirrored step pattern demonstrates the connection between the walkers, with strides compensating to alleviate differences such as leg lengths.