“Days and Nights in the Forest” - Satyajit Ray (1970)

Satyajit Ray’s Days and Nights in the Forest (Aranyer Din Ratri, 1970) was not a hit in India at the box office when it was first released.  But enthusiastic reviews from international critics soon followed, and the film is now considered one of Ray’s finest works [1,2,3,4].  The contrasting responses to the film stem from differing expectations on the part of filmgoers.  This movie about four yuppie bachelors off on a slumming vacation in a rural region starts out looking like a good old comic buddy film, with stereotypical characters and wacky hijinks.  And some  Indian viewers were probably expecting the film to stay on that key.  But those familiar with Satyajit Ray probably knew there would be more to the film, and that was definitely the case, even if the average Indian moviegoer wasn’t ready for it.  As Ray himself remarked [5]:

"People in India kept saying: What is it about, where is the story, the theme?. . . .  And the film is about so many things, that's the trouble. People want just one theme, which they can hold in their hands."

In fact the film is, instead of a buddy film, more of an ensemble film, with intertwining narrative threads associated with each of the four male principals.  This is a narrative style more akin to that of Scorsese’s Mean Streets (1973), and Ray had earlier employed it in his Kanchenjungha (1962).  Here in Days and Nights in the Forest, we have four individually different young men, each seeking his own identity within a desired social harmony, a fascinating topic in any context, but particularly so in contemporary Calcutta, which was going through dramatic upheaval in those days.  In fact this combination of existential self-expression within the Indian social context was something that Ray was moving into at this stage of his career.  In this connection we could say that Days and Nights in the Forest is a precursor to what came to be referred to as Ray’s “Calcutta Trilogy” – The Adversary (Pratidwandi, 1970), Company Limited (Seemabaddha, 1971), and The Middleman (Jana Aranya, 1976).

The four young bachelors in Days and Nights in the Forest are all distinct but are believable characters and are probably recognizable from your own experience.  Each is trying to find his own path in the competitive world of social interaction.

• Ashim (played by Satyajit Ray favorite Soumitra Chatterjee) is the most successful and self-confident of the four. But his ambitious nature pushes him to sometimes emulate those above him and to assume the role of a poseur.
   
• Sanjoy (Subhendu Chatterjee), like Ashim, is well educated and civilized, but he is also more cautious.  He is inherently a rationalist and a worrier.  He has to think things over carefully before he acts.  Thus he has the longest perspectival horizon of the four.
   
• Hari (Samit Bhanja) is an athlete and less reflective than the others.  He often tries to get his own way by instinctive physical aggression.  Something of a narcissist, he can be quickly resentful when things don’t go his way.
   
• Shekhar (Rabi Ghosh) tries to make up for his diminutive stature and other inadequacies by playing the clown. He has a relatively short perspectival horizon and is addicted to gambling.  Interestingly, though, he consumes the least amount of alcohol among the four and avoids getting drunk.

Ashim and Sanjoy, being more sophisticated, tend to pair up.  Similarly, Hari and Shekhar, who are more common, also are often paired.  Like most young men, these guys are interested in “playing the game”, but want to see how far they can bend the rules of the game.  On their trip they have come to a forested area of natural beauty in the neighboring state of Bihar that is inhabited by the indigenous Santhal tribal people.  Now far removed from the relatively restrictive social climate of Calcutta and relishing their social superiority over the free-and-easy Santhal people, our four bachelors are looking to have some fun, particularly if they can find some attractive members of the opposite sex with whom to share it.

A theme that permeates this story is that of dignity and maintaining face.  These young men are trying to move up in the world, and losing face in any situation can be particularly disturbing.  While they are on their trip, they are hoping to free themselves from such concerns, but it doesn’t turn out that way.

So the story of this film actually comprises four interconnected narrative threads, one for each of the four bachelors.  Nevertheless, we can structure the plot into five basic acts.

1.  On the Road
The opening thirty minutes introduce the viewer to the four young men as they travel by car into the forested area of Bihar.  When they arrive at a place they like, they are confident that they can rent a government-owned bungalow, without having first secured the required permit, simply by bribing the local caretakers.  This is the high-handed way that they want to operate among these yokels.

When they walk to the local tribal village, Hari and Shekhar are quickly excited at the sight of a voluptuous local girl, Duli (Simi Garewal), who boldly asks them for money.  In general, though, the men are seeking to get away from it all and seem intent on foregoing usual personal duties such as shaving and getting drunk at the local pub every night.

2.  New Social Opportunities

Although they wanted to go slumming among the tribals, the next day Shekhar sees something that changes things.  He notices from a distance two well-dressed and attractive young ladies who don’t look like local girls.  They are Aparna, aka Mini (Sharmila Tagore), and her widowed sister-in-law Jaya (Kaberi Bose) who are staying in a nearby bungalow with Mini’s father, Sadashiv Tripathi.  Now appearances matter, and the young men return to shaving themselves.

As they become more acquainted with these personable and independent-minded young women,  Sanjoy finds himself talking to Jaya, while Ashim is attracted to the culturally broad-minded  Mini.  Meanwhile Hari and Shekhar are still looking for opportunities with the sensuous village girl Duli.

3.  Losing Face

There now follows a series of encounters between the four men and both the locals and the Tripathi family that challenge the presumed air of superiority affected by the four bachelors.  On one occasion the men are outside bathing themselves at a well and are embarrassed when Mini and Jaya stop by in their car to return Hari’s wallet that he had dropped while visiting their bungalow.  This is a double loss of face: (1) for the men to be caught almost naked by the women and (2) Hari had abusively attacked their servant by mistake and fired him for stealing his wallet.

Later the four guys are drunk again and walking home when Mini sees them in their grossly inebriated states from her car.  And on another occasion the men are confronted by a governmental official for not having obtained government authorization to rent their bungalow, and they are ordered to leave immediately.   Ashim tries all his presumptive airs of social importance on the man to no avail.  But just then Mini and Jaya pass by and impress on the official to forget the matter.

4.  The Picnic

The four men get together with Mini and Jaya for a picnic on the grass, and this segment is so interesting it stands out in one’s memory.  While seated in a circle, they all play a memory game, which challenges their ability to cite and remember famous names.  The way the game is filmed is exquisitely revelatory of the six personalities involved.  The names they choose, which reflect their social and cultural horizons, and the way they interact with each other juxtaposes the personalities of the figures we have been watching.  A key ingredient to this mix (and, more generally, throughout the film) is the various reaction shots on the participants’ faces to what is being said [6]. 

In the game, it comes down finally to Ashim and Mini as to who will win.  But at this point Mini intentionally defaults in order to preserve Ashim’s sensitive ego.

5.  The Fair
The intensity of the drama now rises to the culminating 26-minute segment of the village fair.  All the four narrative threads of the four bachelors are shown in parallel-action segments, with each featuring the defining elements of the four men of interest.  All of it is punctuated by the pounding rhythms of the village dancers at the fair.

• Shekhar borrows money from Ashim and immerses himself in his self-destructive passion – gambling. 
   
• Hari drags Duli out into the woods in order to satisfy his sexual appetites.  This he achieves, but he pays a heavy price when he encounters the previously-fired servant in the woods. 
   
• The affable Jaya, presumably encumbered by the restrictive social conditions Hindu society places on widows, daringly invites Sanjoy alone to their cottage.  There she doffs her bland widow-style garment and enticingly dons a more glamorous outfit.  But the habitually cautious Sanjoy is too hesitant to be able to respond.
   
• Ashim and Mini get together for the most interesting of the four encounters.  She chides him for putting on airs and his adolescent interested in rule-breaking.  And she reminds him that life involves more serious concerns.  Ashim, compelled by Mini's authenticity to be more authentic himself, finally confesses that he is in love with Mini and asks to see her again, to which offer she modestly gives him her address where she will be staying in Calcutta.

At the end of the film, the four men, variously chastened or enlightened by their experiences in the forest village, pack up their car and head back to the big city.

Days and Nights in the Forest offers the viewer a rich and believable tapestry of young men hoping to interact successfully in the world around them. Particularly, it gives a realistic and subtle portrayal of young men tentatively forging relationships with young women, which can often be intricate and precarious with no assurances of success.  But the rewards can be enormous.  Ray’s presentation on this score is beautiful and insightful.  Even embedded in the socially complex Indian context, he has evoked feelings of a universal nature.
★★★★

Notes:

1. Jamie Russell, “Days and Nights in the Forest (Aranyer Din Ratri) (1969)”, BBC, (23 July 2002).   
2. Peter Bradshaw, “Days and Nights in the Forest”, The Guardian, (26 July 2002).   
3. Ranjan Das, “Aranyer Din Ratri” Upperstall, (2014). 
4. Steve Vineberg, “Neglected Gem #28: Days and Nights in the Forest (1970)”, Critics At Large, (9 November 2012).  
5. Philip Kemp, “Aranyer Din Ratri - Film (Movie) Plot and Review”, Film Reference, (n.d.).  
6. Ben Ewing, “Days and Nights in the Forest”, Not Coming to a Theater Near You, (25 February 2010).

“Company Limited” - Satyajit Ray (1971)

Satyajit Ray’s Company Limited (Seemabaddha, 1971) was the second installment of his so-called Calcutta Trilogy, which also included The Adversary (Pratidwandi, (1970) and The Middleman (Jana Aranya, 1976).  Although the three films were not made consecutively and the stories are not connected, they do each concern a young man from a modest middle-class background trying to make something of himself in the turbulent world of the big city. An additional commonality in the trilogy is that two of the films, Company Limited and The Middleman, were based on recently published novellas by Mani Shankar Mukherjee (generally known as “Shankar”) in the collection Swarga Martya Patal. 

To a certain extent the issues covered in the Calcutta Trilogy are universal.  Young university graduates everywhere are faced with the task of finding a job out there in the dog-eat-dog world that is vastly different from the principled world of academia.  And that means adapting oneself to new, unforseen circumstances and convincing employment superiors of one’s capabilities.  But in Calcutta (Kolkata) in the 1960s the difficulties were much greater.  The economy there was struggling with the intense and disruptive globalization that had come with independence.  The city’s infrastructure was in decay.  And Bengal was hit with a large influx of refugees from East Pakistan  (now Bangladesh).  On top of that, Calcutta was beset with the violent rampages of the Naxalite Maoist movement that was threatening the civil order.  But although the city seemed to be teetering on the edge of serious decline, young people from the provinces were still drawn to Calcutta because it offered opportunities.  And because of these circumstances, there was a vast number of literate, educated people who were unemployed and struggling, as depicted in The Adversary and The Middleman.

However, the narrative environment of “Company Limited” is a bit different from the other two features in the trilogy. In The Adversary and The Middleman, the recently graduated protagonist was just trying to land a job, any job, while in The Company the protagonist already has a good job, but is trying to move up the corporate ladder.  In each case, though, the young man is faced with choices inside a largely corrupt modern urban environment that conflict with the principles and values that he has been taught and doesn’t want to abandon. 

The story of Company Limited moves through four phases, the first of which provides the background concerning the film’s protagonist, Shyamalendu (“Shyamal”) Chatterjee (played by Barun Chanda).

1.  Shyamal’s World

In the beginning, there is a documentary presentation formally narrated by Shyamal that describes how he rose to his present position.  He grew up in Patna and after graduation was initially a schoolteacher like his father.  But he had more acquisitive ambitions and soon found a job ten years ago with the Hindustan Peters Company, a British-founded limited-liability company that manufactures lamps and fans. He rose up quickly in the company and was relocated seven years ago to the main branch in Calcutta, where he is now the sales manager of the company’s fan division.  He is now living along with his wife Dolan (Paromita Chowdhury) in an opulent apartment provided by the company.  Their seven-year-old son is off studying at an exclusive boarding school in Darjeeling.  Clearly he is making it.

There is now a new opportunity for Shyamal, though.  The company’s marketing director, who sits on the company’s board of directors, has been stricken with cancer, and the two candidates for his replacement are Shyamal and the lamp division’s sales manager, Ranadeb Sanyal. 

As we watch Shyamal attending to his routine business activities, we see that he is efficient, super-confidant, and smilingly arrogant towards his underlings.  This part of the film, which takes up almost half an hour is mildly tedious, but it does present Shyamal’s setting.

2.  Tutul Arrives

Eventually Shyamal’s wife Dolan announces that her younger sister, Sudarshana (known as “Tutul” and played by Sharmila Tagore), whom Shyamal hasn’t seen for seven years, is coming to visit them for a fortnight.  Upon arrival, Dolan and Tutul chat in the bedroom, and it is clear that while Dolan just aspires to be a wealthy housewife, Tutul, who is a recent college graduate, seems more thoughtful about life’s goals. Dolan breathlessly tells Tutul that if Shyamal does get appointed to the company directorship, his salary will be 150 times what his starting salary was.  This is what matters to her.

Immediately Shyamal and Dolan show Tutul around their upscale world, and she is duly impressed with her brother-in-law and his lifestyle.  They take her to their exclusive club and then to the racetrack, where Shyamal introduces Tutul to the excitement of horse races.  This is one of the film’s metaphors, because while a horse race is ultimately meaningless, people can make investments and get excited about which horse wins (as Tutul momentarily does).  So, too, Shyamal’s career is just another horse race.

That night Shyamal and Dolan host a cocktail party, where their business associates come and argue cynically about Calcutta’s rebellious youth.  It is interrupted by a visit from Shyamal’s humble parents, whose provincial simplicity contrasts with the supposed sophistication of the nouveau riche party attendees.  The parents are quickly shepherded into the bedroom so as not to make the other guests uncomfortable.

The next morning Tutul and Shyamal awaken early and chat.  Since Tutul doesn’t have a watch, Shyamal gives his own watch to her and tells her to return it to him when she returns to Patna.

Tutul is curious about the racy, alcohol-fueled socializing of Shyamal’s business circles, and she is cautiously impressed that Shyamal does not drink alcohol heavily. Shyamal explains to her that he does do some drinking, and it is necessary for him to go through some social rigamarole in order to “play the game” and get ahead.  Overall, though, Tutul expresses satisfaction that Shyamal is not very different from the serious, idealistic young man he was back in Patna. 

In fact although Shyamal is married and Tutul has a boyfriend back in Patna, there is clearly a growing but unspoken affection between the two.  They seem implicitly to see the potential for mutual sympathetic feelings for each other that goes beyond the feelings between Shyamal and Dolan.  The expressive subtlety of the tacit feelings between Shyamal and Tutul is one of the strong points of the film.

3.  A Crisis at the Company

At his office the next day, Shyamal is horrified to learn that the 10,000 Peters’s fans they are about to ship the next week to Iraq are defective.  To repair the fans would take three weeks, and holding up the shipment would invoke penalty clauses and a huge loss of face for the company and, in particular, for Shyamal.

Desiring to retain Tutul’s respect for him, Shyamal explains to her (but not to his wife) his problem.  The only thing that could legally save him would be an “act of God”, like an earthquake, he tells her.  Tutul, still impressed with his general mastery of things, says light-heartedly that he can do anything – why doesn’t he manufacture some disturbance at the fan factory? But Shyamal only looks askance at her, as if to say, “what do you take me for?”  Nevertheless, this exchange gets Shyamal thinking.

4.  Crisis Averted

Unbeknownst to others, including Tutul and Dolan, Shyamal quickly and confidentially contacts his colleague, company personnel officer Harihar Talukdar (Haradhan Bannerjee), to create some disturbance in the factory.  After Shyamal gets approval from the Managing Director (i.e. CEO) Mr. Pheris (who has been told about the defective fans), Talukdar goes ahead with their secret plan. A labor disturbance is created; a strike is announced; a bomb is detonated in the factory that seriously injures a night watchman; and finally a factory lockout is declared.  They now have a phoney, but legal, excuse for delaying shipment of the defective fans.  The crisis has been averted.

Now more relaxed, Shyamal, Dolan, and Tutul go to a nightclub, where Shyamal tells his companions, in tones that express admiration, that the belly dancers at the club make four times his starting salary at Peters.  Then  they run into Shyamal’s colleague also visiting the club, who mentions the factory lockout.  Tutul is now disturbed to realize that Shyamal has concocted the dirty lockout scheme to save his own neck.  The intercut shots of Tutul’s silent, frowning consternation and the club’s belly dancer, who is essentially selling her own body for money, provide a telling visual metaphor. This is apparently the way Shyamal operates.

A couple of days later managing director Pheris rewards Shyamal by having him appointed to the coveted directorship.  Shyamal goes home to celebrate, but the building’s elevator is not working and he has to walk all the way up to his seventh-floor apartment, leaving him exhausted  – again, another visual metaphor for his unceasing efforts to climb the corporate ladder.  When he sees Tutul, she silently hands him back the watch he had given her, indicating that she is leaving for her home.  Shyamal agonizingly realizes that she has lost all respect for him and is cutting herself off.


Company Limited’s production involved Satyajir Ray’s usual team.  Ray provided the direction, the script, and the music.  The film editing was again performed by Dulal Dutta.  And Soumendu Roy was the cinematographer.  Nevertheless, the cinematography and overall pacing seemed a little different from other Ray films.  Again there was heavy use of separated medium-closeups for conversations, but the shots were shorter and often involved quick cutaways.  The framing and camera movements were generally more agitated, giving the film a nervous feel.  I don’t know how much of this agitation came from Soumendu Roy, but I have generally preferred the camera work in Ray’s early films that were photographed by Subrata Mitra, whose last film with Ray was Nayak (1966). 

Films about the corporate “rat race” have often been popular – perhaps the most notable being Billy Wilder’s The Apartment (1960).  They usually involve the conflict between acting on behalf of one’s utilitarian (economic) interests and doing what is morally right.  The only goals in the economic world are to make money and to be a boss.  Company Limited is situated in that space, too.  However, in order for a film like this to be most effective, the viewer needs to fully empathize with the protagonist’s struggles, and this is where Company Limited is limited. Shyamal seems to be a bit too cocky and unreflective – much more so than the respective protagonists in The Adversary and The Middleman. And the potential romantic relationship between Shyamal and the beautiful Tutul, while delicately played, may be too slight to carry the needed emotional weight.  Their “brief encounter” never really materializes, even as a fantasy.

★★★

“Nayak” - Satyajit Ray (1966)

Nayak (The Hero, 1966) is a film by Satyajit Ray that examines the paradoxical loneliness of a movie star who is always surrounded by his admirers.  Although ostensibly a film about a hitherto unreflective public personality, Ray seems to have invested in the film many of his own personal feelings.  Indeed Ray, the consummate cinematic craftsman, put his personal stamp on all aspects of the production.  In addition to being the film’s director, Ray also wrote the screenplay (this was his second original screenplay after Kanchenjungha (1962)), wrote the music, and co-edited the film.  Although the film is not among those listed as Ray’s greatest, it has always retained a loyal following [1,2].

The matinée idol who is the principal character in the story is played by the Bengali male movie star at the time, Uttam Kumar.  Evidently Ray had Kumar in mind when he wrote his story and felt that Kumar was the natural embodiment of what he intended to portray [3,4].  The female co-star in the tale is played by Sharmila Tagore, who had earlier starred in Ray’s The World of Apu (Apur Sansar, 1959) and Devi (The Goddess, 1960). The always magnetic Ms. Tagore was still very young (twenty) at this time, and again she plays an interesting character, on this occasion a somewhat highbrow and self-satisfied magazine editor in horned-rim glasses.

The film’s story focuses on the movie star Arindam Mukherjee (played by Uttam Kumar) during his long, overnight train trip from Kolkota to Delhi, where he is going to receive a prestigious award. Along the way he meets fellow passenger Aditi Sengupta (Sharmila Tagore), and their encounter turns out to be an eye-opening experience for the customarily proud screen star.

The telling of this tale underscores some themes of interest, and this contributes to the film’s effectiveness. 

• For one thing, this is a train movie, which I always find fascinating.  Train movies often metaphorically suggest some passage involving people headed for a shadowy destination that they cannot avoid.   There is also the very physical representation of confinement and cramped quarters, which can disrupt privacy and force people to come together.  And with respect to the particular case of India, its remarkable railroad system has undoubtedly left its special mark on its people. Some of the great train movies of the past include von Sternberg’s The Shanghai Express, Renoir’s La Bête Humaine, Wenders’s The American Friend, von Trier’s Europa, and Hitchcock’s The 39 Steps, The Lady Vanishes, Strangers on a Train, and North by Northwest.   In most of those films, a train trip is only part of the plot, whereas the train trip in Nayak spans the entire story.
   
• Another theme of interest is withdrawal.  As the story unwinds and Arindam recounts a number of his past experiences to Aditi, we get the sense that Arindam’s past life has featured some key events involving his withdrawal from a situation so that he could retain his control in a crowded context and hold onto his status as a “hero”.  But these withdrawals naturally entailed missed opportunities or lost connections for which he starts to realize he has lingering regrets.
   
• A third theme is pervasive personal exploitation.  Many of the people shown on the train are cordial but primarily out for their own personal gain.  They want to use other people in order to  get ahead.  As Arindam and Aditi get to know each other, the two of them begin to move away from that approach. 

The story of Nayak unfolds in three sections or acts.

1.  Setting off on the Train

The film introduces the big movie star Arindam Mukherjee boarding the train as well as some other well-off passengers who will be on board.  In one sleeping car compartment is Arindam and the wealthy industrialist Haren Bose, who is traveling with his wife and their fever-encumbered teenage daughter.  In another compartment is a taciturn swami along with an advertising executive, Pritish Sarkar, and his young wife, Molly. Also onboard elsewhere is the young women’s magazine editor Aditi Sengupta.  Most of the people on the train are thrilled to have the movie star among them, although many are aware that Arindam was an item in the day’s newspapers for having punched a man at a local nightclub.  Sarkar, though, is more interested in the possibility of securing an advertising contract with Bose. When Sarkar sees that Bose is attracted to his wife, he unhesitatingly tells his wife, much to her horror, to coquettishly play up to him.

In the dining car Aditi approaches Arindam for his autograph, but the encounter is not so satisfactory.  Aditi is disdainful of movie star glitz, and Arindam is equally dismissive of the less-than-awed young woman.  Later, though, when the cocky Arindam is back in his compartment and has a snooze, he has a disturbing dream: while at first he finds himself outside walking through piles of paper money, he later falls into a “quicksand” money hole and is about to be buried.

2.  Conversation with Aditi
Despite himself, Arindam is drawn to interact with the more thoughtful passenger Aditi, and the entire second act of the film consists of an extended conversation they have together in the dining car.  Aditi wants to capture a different side of the movie star in order to interest her magazine readers, so she asks him to tell her about his pivotal early experiences.  In the course of answering her questions, Arindam reflects on some troublesome moments in his past. Of course Ray in this case does not subject the viewer to forty minutes of pure talk, and much of what Arindam tells Aditi is presented in the form of flashbacks.

After first telling Aditi about his money quicksand dream, he tells her about his early experiences under the direction of his stage-acting mentor, Shankar (Flashback 1).  Shankar was dogmatically opposed to Arindam going into the movies, because he says movie acting is totally artificial, and movie actors are only puppets.  To be a movie actor, in Shankar’s view, is to lose one’s vital connection to an audience.  Actually, the tension between more distant stage theatricality and more intimate cinematic portrayal of human feelings is not a simple matter, and it was probably something that Ray, himself, reflected upon.  Robert Bresson, for example, was concerned how the cinema camera tended to accentuate the artificiality of screen actors and sought ways to get around it [5].  In any case Arindam tells Aditi that after Shankar’s sudden death by heart attack, he decided to withdraw from the recommended stage actor’s connectivity with his audience and become a more widely known screen actor.

Subsequently in their conversation, Arindam recalls his first movie-acting experience, where he was overshadowed by the domineering veteran Mukunda Lahiri and forced into overacting his part (Flashbacks 2 and 3).  Later, after Mukunda’s career had collapsed, Arindam took his revenge on the out-of-work actor by refusing to help him get a job.  Although Arindam’s behaviour here echoed Ray’s own practice in connection with offering bit parts [3], it again reflected Arindam’s tendency to withdraw from human engagement.

Then Arindam told Aditi how he refused to help his longtime friend Biresh in connection with his friend’s social activism (Flashback 4), and once again we see Arindam’s instincts on display to withdraw from situations he fears might damage his image as a hero.

Finally, after Arindam and Aditi have returned to their separate quarters, Arindam has a personal flashback reminiscence of his encounter with a cheeky young actress, Promila (Flashback 5).  Her insistence on getting Arindam to help her get an acting job was successful on this occasion, so we see that Arindam’s principles that led him to refuse Mukunda were not so steadfast when feminine charm came into play.

3.  Coming to Terms
Arindam has another surrealistic dream, this time involving Promila, his extramarital affair with whom was apparently the cause of the reported nightclub alteration.  In response to all these troubling recollections and nightmares, Arindam starts reflecting on the now-recognized emptiness of his life, and so he gets roundly drunk.  In a besotted daze he even contemplates suicide before encountering Aditi once more.  He wants to make a further confession to her, about his affair with Promila, but Aditi sympathetically tells him she doesn’t need to hear it.  She abandons her selfish concerns about publishing their interview and even tears up her notes that she had taken about it.  She assures him that she will only keep it in her memory.  When the train arrives in Delhi, everyone goes their separate ways and returns to their earlier preoccupations.

Although the train has arrived at its destination, Nayak’s ending does not offer a full resolution of what has come before.  The passengers in the story’s background – Bose, Sakar, Molly, and the swami – remain as avaricious (they see themselves as “deal makers”) and self-centered as before.  As for Arindam and Aditi, they return to their separated lives, presumably never to see each other again.  There was no romantic involvement between them, only a growing respect and mutual sympathy. Thus their encounter has evolved away from personal exploitation towards interpersonal empathy.  This is often the case in Ray’s films, where the full situated complexities of life are on display and simple plot resolutions are unlikely to resolve the complex issues before us. Instead, Ray’s films often conclude by turning the protagonists in a new direction.  This is the case with Arindam at this film’s end.  The opportunity provided by Aditi to reflect on issues that had unconsciously been troubling him offers Arindam the chance to come to new terms with his life. 

Nayak is an example of Satyajit Ray’s elegant and sympathetic portrayals of people trying to come to terms with the complex world around them. That he always managed to do this by engaging his audiences in the contexts and terms of a number of different cinematic styles and genres has always been a wonder.  Partial credit for those achievements must go to key members of his production team, including Subrata Mitra (cinematography), Dulal Dutta (film co-editing), and Bansi Chandragupta (production design).  Together with Ray, they managed to make the confinements of the train environment real and dynamically alive with atmospheric vitality.
★★★½

Notes:

1. Murtaza Ali Khan, “Nayak (1966): Satyajit Ray's brooding character study featuring a heart-wrenching performance from Uttam Kumar”, A Potpourri of Vestiges, (July 2015). 
2. Ranjan Das, “Nayak”, Upperstall, (2014).  
3. Marie Seton, Portrait of a Director: Satyajit Ray,  (1971), Indiana University Press, pp. 194-201.
4. Chale Nafus, “NAYAK (The Hero)”, Austin Film Society, (2014).
5. Max Nelson, “The Intrusion Artist”, Public Books, (15 November 2016).  

“Devi” - Satyajit Ray (1960)

When Satayajit Ray’s Devi (The Goddess, 1960) was first released in India, it aroused a storm of protest about the film’s alleged anti-Hindu bias, which led some parliamentarians to argue that the film should be denied an export license [1,2]. But actually the film is much more than just a criticism of religion – it is a many-layered and haunting examination of

• religious mysticism, 
• modernist versus traditionalist cultural conflict,
• fanaticism,
• psychological obsession, and
• feminine mystery.

The specific controversy about religious criticism of Hinduism may have been exacerbated by the Ray’s familial background of Brahmoism, which is a reformist Bengali Hindu movement begun in the 18th century that has sought a more refined form of Hinduism released from some of its more archaic customs, such as belief in avatars (human incarnations of the gods). Although traditionalist Hindus have customarily viewed Brahmos with suspicion, Ray was always somewhat agnostic about specific religious doctrines and was not a staunch follower of Brahmoism.  Interestingly, though, there is a further Brahmo connection to this story.

Ray’s script for Devi was based on a story by Prabhat Kumar Mukherji written in 1899 and which was apparently, itself, based on real events in connection with an innocent young woman who was thought to be an avatar of the Hindu goddess Devi [3]. The great Indian writer Rabindranath Tagore, himself a Brahmo, had been interested in writing a story about these events, but hesitated because he thought his own Brahmoist connections might lead to controversy. So Tagore suggested the story to his friend Mukherji, who was a Brahmin and therefore above reproach [3]. 

Probably in order to provide some safe distance from existing cultural issues and potential backlash, Mukherji set his story to take place a century earlier, in the 1790s.  When Ray rescripted Mukherji’s story, he advanced the setting forward to the 1860s, which was still in the safely remote past, but which could incorporate India’s colonial confrontation with modernity and the resulting calls for social reform.  This time shift also conveniently enabled Ray to retain Mukherji’s opening statement that the story to be told was set a century ago.

The cast of Devi featured a number of key performers from Ray’s earlier successes, Pather Panchali (1955), Aparajito (1956), Jalsaghar (The Music Room, 1958), and Apu Sansar (The World of Apu, 1959):

• Dayamoyee (“Daya”),  the ill-fated young girl, was played by Sharmila Tagore (Apu Sansar), who also happens to be the great-great-grand niece of Rabindranath Tagore;
• Umaprasad (“Uma”), Daya’s husband, was played by Soumitra Chatterjee (Apu Sansar);
• Kalikinkar Choudhuri Roy, Daya’s father-in-law, was played by Chhabi Biswas (The Music Room);
• Harasundari, Daya’s sister-in-law, was played by Karuna Bannerjee (Pather Panchali and Aparajito).

They would all appear in later Ray films, as well.

In connection with Devi’s religious theme, it should be mentioned that Hinduism’s variegated and multi-stranded theology is complicated by any standard.  Of particular interest here is the notion of Shakti, which is the agent of creation and change and, according to some traditions, the Supreme Being.  The female form of Shakti is Devi, the ultimate goddess.  Among the more embodied manifestations of Devi are the goddesses  Durga and Kali.  Durga is a warrior goddess who represents the destruction of Evil.  Kali, often represented as the consort of Lord Shiva, is generally a darker side of Devi and is the symbolic representative of time (and hence change), as well as death.  In some stories Durga and Kali work together to combat evil forces.  In Satyajit Ray’s Bengal, Durga, known as the “mother goddess”, is particularly popular.  The Durga Puja is the principal annual religious festival and concludes with the ceremonial immersion of Durga idols (life-sized manikins representing the goddess) in the river, symbolically bidding farewell to the goddess for her annual return to her Himalayan home. 

So Shakti, Devi, Kali, and Durga are all connected and they all represent the mysterious female energy of the universe. This does not represent static perfection; instead it is associated with dynamism and change – the unknowable future that may portend ecstasy or annihilation. Although this representation of feminine mystery has been worshiped, it has also been feared. If the tide turns against such a mysterious female form, she can be reviled and charged with witchcraft.

Ray’s Devi touches on these themes and at the same time places the action in a very human setting involving the young married couple, Uma and Daya.  The story passes through three phases of Daya’s progressive suffocation in religious confinement, which are punctuated by Uma’s attempts to exert his influence.

1.  Marital Bliss
The opening sequence shows Uma, Daya, and their five-year-old nephew Khoka witnessing the celebrations of the Durga Puja.  They live in the luxurious estate of Uma’s father, Kalikinkar, who is a feudal landlord.  Later we see Uma and Day in bed, in one of Ray’s captivating scenes of connubial bliss, evoking memories in my mind of similar loving affection between the same two performers, Soumitra Chatterjee and Sharmila Tagore, in Apu Sansar. In both cases the scene is modestly portrayed, but the amorous attachment is beautifully evident. The two of them are shown discussing Uma's upcoming departure to depart to Calcutta to take up university studies and how Daya will cope with being apart from her beloved husband for several months. Uma comforts her by telling her to look after his little nephew, Khoka, who is a favorite of Daya's. Uma then slyly tells her that in the future there will be other little Khokas around, which induces a warm blush out of Daya. This is about as close as you could come in this genre to depicting romantic passion.

After Uma’s departure, Daya dutifully attends to her father-in-law, rubbing his lame foot in the evening in the fashion of a devoted daughter-in-law.  In fact Daya is so loving and affectionate that she animates and charms the entire household – from Kalikinkar, to Khoka (who always wants Daya to tell him another bedtime story, much to the consternation of his jealous mother), and even to the family parrot (who keeps repeating her name).

2.  A Goddess is Discovered
Kalikinkar is a devout, indeed fanatic, follower of Devi (Durga) and never misses his regular prayers to her in the household shrine devoted to the goddess. One evening after being particularly charmed by Daya’s care-giving attentions, he dreams of Kali/Durga and imagines  Daya’s face merging into an image of a statue of the goddess. The decorative bindi on Daya’s forehead is superimposed on the matching third-eye on the statue, symbolizing Kali’s divine insight. Kalikinkar awakens at once with the conviction that his daughter-in-law must be an avatar of Devi. 
   
This scene is particularly memorable and presents the core visualization of the mysterious hypnotic connection between the feminine and the divine [4].  Indeed, when I watched this scene I was reminded of Sadegh Hedayat’s evocation of this mystery in his mesmerizing novel, The Blind Owl (1937) [5].

Kalikinkar immediately orders his older son, Taraprasad, to join him in worshipfully bowing down at the feet of the newly discovered goddess now in their midst.  Soon the household staff is ordered to isolate the young woman in a separate room and to treat her like a deity.

Daya is terrified but submissive.  She is only seventeen-years-old and ill-equipped to deal with the fanatic storm enclosing her.  So she demurely withdraws into a shell of modesty and tries to avoid offending the worshipful crowd around her.  She sits in front of the relentlessly chanting worshipers and tries to keep still.  But when she is finally overcome by the rampant incense fumes and faints, Kalikinkar triumphantly affirms that his daughter-in-law has gone into a holy trance.

Daya’s heretofore envious sister-in-law, Harasundari (who is Taraprasad’s wife and Khoka’s mother), is horrified by the mindless idolatry she sees developing around Daya, and she writes a letter to Uma to return from Calcutta and see what is happening.

Meanwhile, Daya now attracts locals who long for a holy presence. One peasant comes to her and asks Daya to use her magic powers to cure his sick child.

Uma returns and hesitantly challenges his father about what he is doing. Their conversation is a classic encounter between blind tradition and modernists reasoning. But Indian domestic culture was imbued with filial submission, and Uma tries to maintain a respectful posture towards his religiously impassioned father. His arguments are interrupted, however, by shouts from outside their room announcing that Daya has performed a miracle and cured the sick child.

Uma rushes to Daya and arranges for them to escape the estate by boat.  But when they reach the river, Daya sees an abandoned idol from the Durga Puja on the beach and shrinks back from continuing their flight.  She fearfully tells Uma that maybe she is possessed and that she is afraid their departure will bring on a curse.  Uma, not wishing to force his beloved to do something against her will, reluctantly returns her to the household.

3.  The Departure of Reason

Daya is now increasingly isolated and further retreats into her shell.  Khoka doesn’t come to her anymore. The only being she can still relate to is the parrot.  Meanwhile Uma retreats to Calcutta and talks to his modernist college professor, who inspires him to stand up and fight for what he believe in. 

But back at the rural estate, Khoka suddenly becomes seriously ill. When his mother, Harisundari, summons a doctor, she is informed that a mere doctor’s efforts are minuscule compared to those of a goddess – she should take Khoka to Daya for a proper cure. This gives worried, but up til now skeptical mother, pause, and now even the she begins to wonder if perhaps Daya really does have divine powers.  Khoka is brought to Daya and placed in her arms for the night.

The next day Uma returns from Calcutta, only to discover that Khoka has died – he is told that the goddess has “taken him”. Everyone is questioning why the “Mother” has done such a terrible thing. Uma now has the courage to speak his mind and thunders at his father’s blind beliefs in his own dreams. Then he rushes to Daya, but he finds that the intense psychological pressure on her and lack of sleep has taken its toll. She has lost her mind. 

Fearful of demons, or perhaps charges of witchcraft, she tells Uma that they must flee for their lives.  The closing shot shows her fleeing into a meadow and disappearing from sight.


The cinematography in Devi, under the joint supervision of Ray and cinematographer Subrata Mitra, is superb and shows the further development of their skills in cinematic expression. Throughout the film there is the subtle use of small camera movements, atmospheric compositions, and ambient sounds to maintain an almost expressionistic feeling of psychological closure and oppression.  This atmosphere is further enhanced by the musical composition and sarod-playing of Ustad Ali Akhbar Khan. 

The penultimate shot showing Uma coming upon the deranged Daya in her room has a harsh, overexposed backlighting to it arising from having the stage lights directed into the camera. Evidently Mitra was opposed to this way of lighting the scene, but Ray insisted on it. I think the shot works, giving the scene its peculiarly spectral quality [1].

Also outstanding is the acting in the film, particularly that of Sharmila Tagore, Soumitra Chatterjee, Chhabi Biswas, and Karuna Bannerjee.  Each portrays a believable character having his or her own believable psychological motivations and perspectives. Even the extreme character of Kalikinkar, as played by Chhabi Biswas, is comprehensible, and we can empathically follow his actions. He becomes enamored of his beautiful and gracious daughter-in-law, Daya, but certainly not in a physically lustful manner.  Since he is such a devout follower of a religious path, his sublimated passions of human desire are transformed into that of worshipful devotion. Thus these four principal players provide the multi-layered human context that enriches the drama with multiple perspectives and elevates it above a simple conceptualization.

It is interesting to know that originally, Ray’s original plan was to have Daya shown drowning in the river at the end of the film [1]. But that shot was ruined and apparently could not be re-done.  In its place, Ray then had a final scene showing Daya mysteriously dying by the river bank just as Uma rushes up to reach her. But prior to the film’s screening at the 1960 Cannes Film Festival, Ray removed that final shot, too, and left the film as it stands today – with Daya disappearing into the meadow. I think Ray made the right choice. Her disappearance this way is even more apparitional and in accordance with the film’s eerie tenor.

It is interesting to compare Devi with Carl Dreyer’s Day of Wrath (1943).  Both films brilliantly convey an innocent young woman overwhelmed by a superstitious community looking for people to whom they can attribute causal powers and therefore find simple explanations (and cast blame) for the mysteries around them. But the two films evoke contrasting feelings. Dreyer’s film is funereal, and there is a feeling of dread, with a dry and abstract aura of doom penetrating the proceedings. In contrast, Ray’s film is more embodied, and therefore more ambivalent and more mysteriously equivocal. At the end we are left wondering what it is about the unknowable and intoxicating feminine persona that has mystified mankind for so many millennia and has led to such errant attempts to force an unobtainable answer.
★★★★

Notes:

1. Marie Seton, Portrait of a Director: Satyajit Ray,  (1971), Indiana University Press, pp. 150-160.
2. This kind of chauvinistic fault-finding of one of the greatest film directors was hardly new – Ray’s earlier masterful “Apu Trilogy” (Pather Panchali, 1955, Aparajito, 1956; Apu Sansar, 1958) was similarly criticized by narrow-minded Indians for supposedly dwelling on poverty.   
3. Dilip K. Basu, “On Satyajit Ray's Film Adaptation of The Goddess", Zoetrope: All-Story, vol 8, no. 3 (2004).
4. Nikky-Guninder Kaur Sing, “From Flesh to Stone: the Divine Metamorphosis in Satyajit Ray’s Devi”, Journal of South Asian Literature, (1993), vol. 28, no. 1/2, pp. 227-249.

5. “They were slanting, Turkoman eyes of supernatural, intoxicating radiance which at once frightened and attracted, as though they had looked upon terrible, transcendental things which it was given to no one but her to see.  Her cheekbones were prominent and her forehead high. Her eyebrows were slender and met in the middle. Her lips were full and half-open as though they had broken away only a moment before from a long, passionate kiss and were not yet sated.  Her face, pale as the moon, was framed in the mass of her black, disheveled hair and one strand clung to her temple.  The fineness of her limbs and the ethereal unconstraint of her movements marked her as one who was not fated to live long in this world.  No one but a Hindu temple dancer could have possessed her harmonious grace of movement.”

   from The Blind Owl (1937/1957), by Sadegh Hedayat, English translation by D. P. Costello, Grove Press, New York, pp. 26-27.

“The World of Apu” - Satyajit Ray (1959)

The World of Apu (Apur Sansar, 1959) was the third and final installment of Satyajit Ray’s masterful Apu Trilogy, the two earlier works of which were Pather Panchali (1955) and Aparajito (1956). The three films are based on two famous Bildungsroman novels (Pather Panchali (1929) and its sequel, Aparajito) by Bengali Indian writer Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhya and concern the life experiences of the same fictional character, Apurba Roy, in early 20th-century India. An interesting and surprisingly successful aspect of this trilogy is that each of the three films is expressed in a different cinematic style and consequently conveys a different mood.  As a result, each of the three films can stand alone as a distinct work of art, and yet, when taken together, they combine into an even grander narrative.

From what I have learned about the original novels, it seems that Ray’s decisions concerning both the partitioning of the narrative into three stories and what material from the novels to leave out of his films were inspired [2]. The World of Apu covers the last two-thirds of the second novel, but it begins at just the right point.  Although Ray did not have professional filmmaking experience before launching his career in his mid-thirties with the production of Pather Panchali, he had long been a careful student of cinematic narrative, and he followed his own intuition. 

And rather than surrounding himself with a team of experienced professionals (as a cautious newcomer might do), Ray continued his practice here in The World of Apu of working with his own selected and largely self-educated production team, which included the production design of Bansi Chandragupta, the cinematography of Subrata Mitra, and the film editing of Dulal Dutta. And in addition, as with the preceding works in the trilogy, this film is graced by the enchanting, mood-inspiring music of Ravi Shankar.  These people were relatively new to filmmaking, but they had good ideas.  For example, Mitra and Chandragupta came up with the idea of bounce lighting [2], which has now become a standard cinematographic lighting technique. 

So it is interesting that with the narrative material from a single author and the same production team, Ray came up with varying narrative presentations for the three films.

• For Pather Panchali the narrative focalization is on five characters in the family – Apu, Harihar (the father), Sarbajaya (the mother), Durga (Apu’s sister), and Indir (the “auntie”).  The beauty of that story is how the various interrelationships of those five characters create a multi-layered perspective on the joys and woes of domestic life.  As such the film stands as one of a great and poignant cinematic expressions of family experiences.
• In Aparajito, with three of the principal characters in the earlier film having passed away, the narrative focus settles down to the contrasting and ultimately irreconcilable perspectives of Apu and his mother, Sarbajaya.  Thus with this film the narrative scope has become much narrower and more personal.
• And in The World of Apu, the narrative scope is narrower still, with the focalization taken from the single personage of Apu.  And with this penultimate narrative turn, Ray came up with one of the great existentialist works in film history.

All three of these films have existentialistic perspectives, but it is The World of Apu that embodies the true loneliness of and longing characteristic of the great existentialist films.

The story of The World of Apu goes through three main stages: (1) Freedom, (2) Engagement, and (3) Grief and Reconciliation.  With each of these stage Ray manages to capture something that, while realistically situated in an Indian milieu, is universal to the human spirit.

1  Freedom
At the outset we see that Apu has left his college in Calcutta (Kolkata) without completing his degree due to a lack of funds.  He lives in relative squalor – a cramped fifth-floor walk-up rented room in a building near the railroad tracks. Note that railway trains and rivers are continuing visual motifs throughout the Apu Trilogy. The railway, in particular, represents change, modernism, and unknown fate.  India was confronted then, as it has been for some time, with the relentless forces of change that were pushing it towards an uncertain future, and railway trains provided a powerful visual metaphor for this process and forces. 

Apu supports himself by giving private lessons for about 15 rupees per month, barely more than his monthly room rent of seven rupees.  So like so many young men in their twenties, he sets out looking for work and finding the available options unappetizing. He learns to his dismay that he could work as a school teacher for a trifling 10 rupees per month, or he could work like a slave in a sweatshop gluing labels onto jars all day.  So he keeps on looking.

Finally and to his relief, his good pal from college, Pulu, tracks him down and invites him out to eat.  Their encounter is beautifully filmed and well captures the carefree wonder of young men looking out onto the wide world and wondering where they will go.  Pulu has studied engineering and wears Western dress.  He is moving ahead towards a successful career.  In contrast Apu, who had originally studied science and mathematics, seems hesitant about what to do.  He wears the traditional Indian dhoti and is fascinated by the great works of Western fiction – he wants to be a writer.  When he tells Pulu about the protagonist of the novel he is working on, he says,

“He [the protagonist] has imagination, he’s intrigued by little things. He has greatness in him, perhaps.  He has the ability to create. But he doesn’t. Right, but that’s not a tragedy.  He remains poor, in want. But he doesn’t turn from life.  He doesn’t want to escape. He is fulfilled. He wants to live.”

This is really what Apu, himself, is all about, and Pulu chides him for merely writing autobiography. But Apu swears that his novel will have interesting plot elements, including love.  At this assertion Pulu scoffs that Apu has no experience of love and so cannot write about it.  Then he invites Apu to take a few days off and accompany him to attend his young female cousin’s wedding in the rustic village of Khulna.  Apu has nothing else to do, so off they go.

2  Engagement
Apu is warmly greeted by Pulu’s aunt, and the wedding festivities commence for Pulu’s cousin, Aparna. However, when the bridegroom’s palanquin arrives, it is evident that there is a serious problem: the groom is mentally disabled, and Aparna’s horrified mother emphatically cancels the wedding.  There is a further problem though: Indian traditional beliefs, heavily influenced by astrology, dictate that if Aparna doesn’t marry on that designated “auspicious” day, she can never marry. So the family beseeches Apu to stand in for the dispatched groom and marry Aparna. 

For all of his engineering education, Pulu is like the other family members around him and is still a captive of Indian traditions.  Apu protests, “are you still living in the Dark Ages?” (As a matter of fact I personally know many scientifically-educated Indians, some with PhDs, who even today adhere to the pseudoscientific principles of astrology and homeopathy.)

But then Apu begins to reflect.  He thinks that perhaps he should do something noble and selfless.  And so he decides to make a great leap of faith and do what only can be done in the reckless life stage of youth – he agrees to marry the girl.  The marriage goes ahead immediately, and Apu finds himself fumbling for words as he is finally alone with Aparna for the first time in the wedding chamber.  He seems shocked at what he has just done and wonders if his new bride, accustomed as she is to the luxury of her wealthy family, can stand living with him in his miserable city apartment.  But Aparna demurely assures him that everything will be all right. So they head back to Calcutta, where Apu now has a mundane but steady job as a typist waiting for him.

Although Aparna is very beautiful and looks like a princess, she adapts to the practical concerns of her new life in the city in short order. The rest of this part of the film consists of a series of gracefully crafted vignettes depicting how the two of them come closer together and fall more and more in love. Included in this sequence are tender scenes of the two of them waking up from their connubial bed, Apu teaching English to Aparna, as well as incidental pranks and interchanges that connote their growing mutual affection.

Finally the time comes when Aparna is expecting a baby, and she is sent home to her family in Khulna so that they can attend to the child’s delivery.  In her absence, the two of them post each other numerous affectionate letters, and throughout his days Apu daydreams about his beloved. This is beautifully conveyed by a scene of Apu rereading his wife’s most recent letter while commuting in the crowded city.  When he returns to his flat, he is surprised to see Aparna’s brother from her home village waiting for him.

3  Grief and Reconciliation
Aparna’s brother informs Apu that his wife has just died in labor during a premature delivery, although the baby was saved. Apu is disconsolate; all meaning in his life has suddenly disappeared. He contemplates suicide for awhile and then withdraws from everything.  He leaves Calcutta to take up an aimless life working at manual jobs in other remote towns, and at one point of despair tosses his once cherished novel manuscript down a wilderness hillside. 

After some years Pulu tracks Apu down in a remote coal-mining village and urges him to attend to his abandoned son, named Kajal. Apu is reluctant; for him Kajal’s appearance in the world led to his wife’s disappearance.  But he does go back and finds his five-year-old son to be neglected and rebellious.  In fact Kajal has an idealized image of his missing father and refuses to believe that Apu could be that person.  The final part of the film show Apu emerging from his emotional depths and trying to befriend Kajal.  Apu has come back to life, even if Kajal is only willing to accept him as a friend. The two of them set out together back to Calcutta.


Besides the technical and storytelling brilliance of Satyajit Ray and his production team, The World of Apu was immeasurably enhanced by the acting performances of Soumitra Chatterjee (Apu) and Sharmila Tagore (Aparna). Though Chatterjee’s physical appearance is disconcertingly different from that of Smaran Ghosal, who played the teenage Apu in Aparajito, Ray made an inspired choice in selecting Chatterjee for this film's Apu.  Chatterjee is perfect in the role and convincingly portrays the full features of Apu’s character – an artless young man at once innocent, ambitious, intelligent, and sensitive.  Chatterjee would go on to be a favorite of Ray’s and appear in many of his best films – usually in the role of a thoughtful and sensitive observer of life’s mysteries.

Sharmila Tagore, in the role of Aparna, is not only beautiful but also modestly magnetic.  Though she was only fourteen years old at the time of production, she was able to project a fully fleshed-out character with just a few words and graceful gestures. Ms. Tagore, by the way, is the great-great-grand niece of the great Bengali writer Rabindranath Tagore. She, too, went on to appear in a number of subsequent Satyajit Ray productions. 

The scenes with Chatterjee and Tagore together are the ones that stay most in my memory.

The narrative arc The World of Apu tells a timeless tale of youthful hope, early fulfilment, tragedy, and reconciliation.  The idea is not new and may seem simple, but the presentation is deeply moving and transcends all cultural boundaries. It still stands for me as one of the all-time great films.
★★★★

Notes:

1. Marie Seton, Portrait of a Director: Satyajit Ray,  (1971), Indiana University Press, pp. 116-141.
2. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reflector_(photography)