Summary
A hush of incense unfurls above the river’s bend, where alabaster-robed acolytes trace mandalas in lotus-dust; into this breath of prayer bursts the iron clatter of empire—red-coated phalanxes, bayonets flashing like teeth, Sir Percy Grenville at their fore, gauntlet already coveting the ruby that crowns the temple Buddha’s gaze. One violent tug and the jewel—iris of the god—slides free; the sanctuary’s gasp is almost human. Metta, lotus-dancer and voice of the shrine, swears by every petal that the relic will return; beside her, Kassapa, silk-merchant turned conspirator, bankrolls the vow with fire. Yet the sea is a fickle conspirator: the same steamer that ferries the colonel home to fog-bound England ferries the two avengers, now disguised in crinoline and top-hat, through squalls of unspoken desire. Below decks, Metta’s resolve softens like camphor in the hold; she who once bowed only to bronze now kneels to the pulse beneath Percy’s khaki. In ballrooms of crystal gaslight the diamond lies locked in steel; every waltz is a skirmish, every whispered confession a step toward treason. When the cup of poison trembles at Percy’s lip, love betrays mission: the dancer’s hand smites the chalice away, amber wine bleeding across parquet like monsoon rain. The Thames will witness one last tableau—moonlit deck, a cry, a splash—and Metta, white sari unfurling like a comet’s tail, hurls herself after the drowning soldier, salvaging the very life she was sent to forfeit. Jewel restored, she sails eastward, lungs salt-scoured, heart split like silk; in the temple’s half-light she dances the final offering, limbs flickering like prayer-flames until the last drumbeat and the hush that swallows it.
Synopsis
The first scenes take us to a temple beside the shores of a sacred river where virgins, clad in white, directed by solemn gray-bearded priests, go through the ritual of the worship of the lotus flower. While the sweet rites of worship are being observed in the temple, a troop of English soldiers, led by Sir Percy Grenville, their commander, approaches the temple. The English party is in pursuit of native hostiles, who have taken a trail leading to the temple. The worship is rudely interrupted by the coming of the English soldiers. Their commander, attracted by a glittering sacred jewel in the head of Buddha, ignores the protests of the priestess and wails of the priest, tears the precious stone from the sockets of the eyeball. Metta, the priestess, and Kassapa, a rich Brahmin, resolve, before the altar of Buddha to recover the diamond of their God at all costs. Sir Percy is recalled to England, and Metta and Kassapa embark on the same vessel. A silent but determined struggle for the possession of the diamond ensues. Sir Percy keeps the sacred jewel in spite of all, and landing in England, promises to give it to his bride on their wedding day. Metta and Kassapa, in various disguises, try to get possession of the diamond, but the precious stone is safely stowed away in the safe of Sir Percy's father-in-law. Metta has now fallen in love with the handsome English officer, and opposes the plan of Kassapa to kill him in order to obtain the diamond. Just as the goblet is taken up by the British officer, and he is about to touch his lips to the rim of the cup, Metta dashes it from his hands. She still however, is determined to recover the diamond, and when on a sailing trip with Sir Percy and his fiancée, the former falls overboard and cannot swim. Forgetful of her love and devotion to the cause of Buddha and at the risk of her life, she jumps overboard and brings Sir Percy safely to the shore. The last attempt is made to get possession of the sacred jewel. Metta and Kassapa, in the dead of night, steal into the room of Sir Percy, and are about to open the safe when Ethel, fiancée of Sir Percy, surprises them. The whole truth now comes out. Metta and Kassapa declare that they have come to recover their god's jewel, and point to the ill-luck that it has so far brought to Sir Percy. Ethel and her father decide to restore the jewel to the possession of the priestess and her companion. Metta, however, bears back with her to far off India, not only the sacred jewel, but a deathly wound in her heart. She cannot forget Sir Percy, and when she is once more within the hollow shades of the temple, she dances with a devotion and fervor which she has never displayed before, for her beating heart tells her that this is to be her last dance before the altar of her God. As she completes the dance her heart fails and she dies.
Review Excerpt
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A jewel torn from the brow of Buddha becomes the mirror in which empire and ecstasy regard their own bruised faces.
There are films you watch and films that watch you; The Lotus Dancer belongs to the latter caste. Shot through with the tremulous nitrate shimmer of 1916, it feels less like a story screened than a séance summoned—lotus petals drifting across the frame like pale messages from another century.
Visual Incantation: Bengal to Belgravia in Monochrome
Director Arthur Donaldson (neve..."
