“Not to have seen the cinema of Ray means existing in the world without seeing the sun or the moon.”
-Akira Kurosawa
Few Indian filmmakers have the ability to enrapture viewers with thought-provoking nuances that peek through their cinematic canvases. One such director that stands out and whose films have persisted through the years is Satyajit Ray. He was known for his humane stories that would unfold with his meticulous control of sound and music.
His ability to humanise poverty and instead showcase the indomitable human spirit that strives on amongst all adversities in Pather Panchali was a breakthrough in Indian Cinema, which by then was leaning towards more western style approaches.
Ray’s female characters are distinctly layered and are variably quite different from their modern-day counterparts. They have always embodied recurring themes of women's empowerment, patriarchy and desires. This is visibly brought to the forefront in his 1964 film, Charulata. Set in Bengal during the 1800s, talks of self-independence from the British were starting to bloom. These viewpoints were often propagated by The Sentinel, a newspaper owned by Bhupathi Dutta (Sailen Mukherjee). A kind man who let his political aspirations preoccupy him thus leaving his wife Charulata (Madhabi Mukerjee), a beautiful and intellectual housewife to her own means. When his cousin Amal comes to stay, he and his Charu soon bond over their shared love for literature.
The viewers are presented with a tale of poignant grace, infused with delicate underlings of yearning passion when Amal and Charu both start to develop feelings for each other. Ray is able to deliver a tale of forbidden love which is quickly nipped in the bud with the use of his perfectly framed shots.
As Bhupathi walks by Charu, undisturbed by her presence, she looks at him through her opera glasses in a bid to bring him closer. It is easy to get caught up in the blossoming budding fascination between our main protagonists but one must not forget Bhupathi’s role in it. He does appear aloof to his wife’s loud silences but is yet self-aware of his slowly disappearing presence in her life. He is not oblivious to his wife’s creativity and prowess at writing but instead encourages her to explore the same.
Additionally, the opera glasses also hold a particular significance. They act as a means of viewing for Charu as she admires the world beyond the threshold of her house. The camera follows her as she wanders aimlessly through the home, subtly framing her in a variety of locations (doorways, corridors, pillared galleries) which emphasise the elegance of her surroundings as well as her entrapment within them. The reverberating reticence that echoes throughout the film, accentuates Charu’s loneliness which she struggles to grapple with.
The garden scene in a poetic way symbolises the flitting freedom that Charu is granted. Albeit long-drawn, it showcases the pent-up emotions that she suppresses and also the respite that Amal provides her. Music in a symphonious way expresses the rapport that Amal and his sister-in-law share with both of them breaking into a song with lyrics that point to a more profound inference.
The emotional conflict and turmoil that has been teetering on the edge comes to a head as restricted camera movements and sombre tunes decorate the ending scene. Charu and Bhupathi’s hands that hesitantly reach out to one another are encapsulated in a series of freeze frames before coming to a grinding halt. Ray leaves the audience with a lyrical crescendo and the lingering question of whether their hands ever meet or not.
With his skilful direction and empathetic narratives, Satyajit Ray, an auteur in his own right, is still fondly remembered by his posterity. His works have influenced the greatest minds that are present in cinema today. Charulata remains one of his personal favourites and his ability to leave an indelible part of himself in every masterpiece crafted remains unparalleled to this day.
Comments