Ray-manic

Let’s play a game, try to identify the films mentioned below from the descriptions associated with each -

Film 1 (2009) advertised that this was the first film after Satyajit Ray’s Aranyer Din Ratri where Aparna Sen and Sharmila Tagore acted together. It further went that even the Ray masterpiece didn’t have the two pitted against each other in the same frame as this film did.

Film 2 (2003) took three of the four characters of Aranyer Din Ratri to the forest of Dooars on a sequel train at a time when the DVD, CD version of the Ray original was not readily available all over the place.

Film 3 (2013) flaunts that all the characters of the film are having names same as the different major Ray characters in the master’s film oeuvre.

Film 4 (2012) uses Ray’s Charulata in the title and tries to depict a ‘contemporary’ Charu in showing her as a sex-starved siren.

Film 5 (2012) has the same director of Film 4 using the name (but in a different font) which Ray used for a triplet he directed as a tribute to Rabindranath Tagore on the latter’s 100^th Birth Anniversary in 1961.

Film 6 (2010) by Bengal’s most celebrated director after the towering Ray actually depicts an alleged love-story between Ray and his actress muse – fictionalized but the references are hard to miss.

Film 7 (2010) by a debutant director draws frame-wise parallel between Ray’s Uttam Kumar starrer Nayak and a film-within remake of it.

Film 8 (2008) by an actor-turned singer-turned director again used Aranyer Din Ratri’s four characters to a trip to the mountains as the members of a travel agency with repeated reference to the Ray’s masterpiece in the form of game playing or conscience bursting!

Film 9 (2013) took Satyajit Ray’s Kapurush o Mahapurush and slyly just interchanged the order in the title.

Apart from these there are innumerable Feluda movies during this last 10 years as well to make the idle mind reminisce a popular Ray creation, try to savour, retort to comparisons, get disappointed and wait for the next one!

As the statistics show, using Ray’s work as blatantly as making the comparisons physically and visibly correlating is what many of the Bengali directors have decided to practice. There may be an element of disrespect towards the audience’s intellect, may be an ignorance, or it can be a ploy to make the films easily communicable to the audience they wish to cater. In the effort, a sizeable younger generation (apart from the film school students) has steadily and surely moved away from these films and unfortunately from some differently refreshing contemporary Bangla films as well.

This question of using film references of Ray (or any other film) is a tricky question as well – cause the tenets of inter-textuality somewhat lose relevance here. Tagore for example is used and re-used much more than Ray – as background songs, in recitals, as the narrative of films and so on. Yet in those cases we try to gauge how well the original has been ‘transcreated’ in the ‘different’ medium of cinema. That is how we have argued that Charulata is indeed an artistic rendition of Tagore’s inciting Nashta-Neer. However if the medium is same we are less lenient, in fiction we raise the issues of plagiarism, in cinema we use soft focus in a sepia feeling of ‘nostalgia’.

It is no wonder hence that Koushik Ganguly’s Apur Panchali (2014) with such a title will dwell on the flashback anthem to cater to a nostalgia-starved population. The film’s packaging is ideal for such a treat. It starts off with gaiety – a search for Subir Banerjee, the actor in Satyajit Ray’s Pather Panchali who played the child Apu. Apu as a character is important in Indian cinema – the different stages of him in the 3 films which Ray had made, together termed as The Apu trilogy. Koushik’s film drew heavily from The Apu trilogy, using footage at will and at random, making the common sensitive audience go gaga over it. It is time to ponder whether their marked ebullience is due to the new film or in reminiscing and recollecting Ray’s masterpieces. The story line of the new film works on three planes actually – at one level we find an aged Subir representing the contemporary times who is in communication with a Film institute student regarding an award bestowed upon him from Germany for his role of Apu. The other level in black and white deals with Subir’s recollections of his life in the form of a disjointed sequence of flashbacks. The sequences are craftily picked up in a way so that the Ray films’ footages can be used. The third level is actually the Ray footages which ornaments the film but in a sense becomes more important than the film in question.

As mentioned earlier, in order to commemorate Ray’s trilogy, the sequences of Subir’s life in the flashbacks are handpicked. In a later sequence Subir tells how Apu’s shadow never left him and how his life seemed uncannily similar with Apu. It may come across as interesting for many to find out the whereabouts of several child artists who went into oblivion post the film which made them famous. However, in trying to draw analogy with Apu’s life and justifying it with Ray clips seems an overboard attempt. Looking at it closely, the most important highlights of Subir’s life seem to be:

1. his father’s death
2. death of his son during child birth
3. suicide of his wife

It is only normal that a person’s parents will pass away before the person himself. So father’s death is not anything striking and unique of Subir and Apu. Apu’s son Kajal was alive unlike Subir, while Subir never had a sister like Durga (for Apu) who passed away when Apu was a child. The only resemblance so it seems is between Aparna’s death during childbirth for Apu and Asheema’s suicide for Subir. The director however was liberal in his use of motifs (which cannot be termed as similarities between the lives of the two characters in any stretch of imagination) where the Ray clips are used. It soon became a lovable game for the audience to relate the flashback situations of Apur Panchali to the Trilogy sequences which followed them:

1. Subir putting his ear against the electric post followed by the famous Pather Panchali shot when Apu came to see a train for the first time in his life,
2. Subir’s facial expression after his son’s death news reminiscing Apu’s in Apur Sansar after Aparna’s death
3. Subir throwing the sacred thread in the pond followed by the scene from a similar one in Pather Panchali where Apu threw the string of beads stolen by his sister Durga,
4. Subir’s father’s death sequence merging with Harihar’s in Aparajito (including the inimitable flight of the pigeons on the ghats of the Ganges)
5. Married Subir’s conjugal moments interspersed with Apu’s in Apur Sansar

Apur Panchali ends with imagery of the river and the boat which came back multiple times in Apur Sansar. Whereas in the latter the ending had the flowing river in parallel to Apu’s flight indicating a flow in his life which was missing probably, Subir’s course of walk is also in parallel but away from the camera. Thankfully, in this case atleast Apur Sansar’s footage was not used as a comparing shot.

Jean-Luc Godard once famously said “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.” Apur Panchali, like many other films listed in the beginning of this article have tried in varying capacities, spans the fabric of nostalgia deliberately using Satyajit Ray’s cinema in the most direct way. Few of them, individually may appear as an entertaining view like Apur Panchali and hence deserving some praise however what really is of concern is where does these references and correlations leading the Bengali cinema to. To this critic they don’t lead us to anywhere worthy of mention. Quite simply, a day will come when the Ray references will be exhausted, and then there will be repetitive references till the audience gets tired of the ‘subtle’, ‘nuanced’, ‘poetic’ merging of footages from Ray classics into a vacuous narrative of the recent films. The Bengali director needs to ride the tide to remain honest with his/her audience. For this alone, in spite of a few repetitive misgivings Koushik’s Shabdo will remain as a major film of his ahead of Apur Panchali.

The ‘choice’ of the filmic woman

In Indian and world culture in general (like in real life as well unarguably) and films in particular it is the representation of the male protagonist that holds sway till now. There have been debates based on statistical percentage of the number of films having a female protagonist which generally is no more than a quarter of the number otherwise. In a sense the male central character, the male supporting roles, the ‘male’ script writer and the ‘male’ director (‘male’ here is a state while male is a biological form) represent the power inherent. Hence any film with a female protagonist is looked upon as a remarkable particular incident whereas the ‘male’ representations are all ‘normal’ cause they represent the ‘whole’. This utter skew in a way colonises the definition of the ‘normal’ in the context of the film culture and re-establishes its power in the psyche of the general mass who are the consumers.  Whether this skew is due to the fact that most auteur is ‘male’ or is it because most audience is ‘male’ is a subject of deeper study.

In this context hence, the ‘choice’ of the female protagonist in the handful films where they exist becomes an object of conjecture. Interestingly, two Hindi films which were released almost at the same time have female protagonists and in both the director is male – Queen by Vikas Bahl and Gulaab Gang by Soumik Sen. Whereas Queen deals with an individual girl’s flight from her own cage to a different sensibility, Gulaab Gang represents the struggle and existence of a gang of women lead by a woman leader. People have raised questions about Rani (the protagonist in Queen)- her initial timid and meek existence and her sudden fluttering to ‘enlightenment’ once she reaches foreign shores. Critics writing in English language got angry – ‘Why is it that her understanding of her self and her opening up has to happen only when she is exposed to the West?’ many of them asked. Probably just the same way we critics adorn us in a ‘phoren’ language, damn it! People probably tend to get extra judgmental when a film gets rave reviews, is liked by many (who are not ‘critics’ for that matter) and more importantly does exceedingly well in the Box Office. There are justified eyebrows to be raised on filming Queen as almost a travel channel’s know-a-destination program.  But our question is more with the ‘choice’ that Rani had with her life. She was born and raised in a conservative surrounding in Delhi where the incidents of female harassment can make the Sensex look stupid. She had limited ‘choice’ but to take her burly brother as an escort – even for a date.  Yet Rani manages to fall in love with someone, gets engaged till finally on the eve of her marriage the groom backs off. What Rani decides hence, is to go to her honeymoon alone – a decision she takes pragmatically and more importantly, singlehandedly. This is indeed a unique idea which understandably didn’t go down well with many who turn the film down based on Rani’s first independent ‘choice’.  Just like in many cases an art form appeals cause it renders a string somewhere, resonates something similar in you, there are in many occasions as well when you don’t do something yourself ever, never believe as well in a circumstance in real life but in being patient with the reel-reality try an enjoy the ‘alternate’ aspect represented therein.  Without a job, without any planning and without an iota of confidence yet the oozing kindness and the milk of love in his heart made Apu (in Satyajit Ray’s Apur Sansar) decide to marry Aparna. We may choose to debate Apu’s ‘choice’ here but our myopia is not Apu’s limitation.  There is no intention to equate the Ray masterpiece with Queen the film, it is more with the ‘choice’ that Rani has before her and what she ‘knowingly’ embarks upon instead of being thrust upon her. Interestingly, it is her grandmother who eggs Rani on, to get up and get over her life. Noteworthy is the fact that Rani has no apparent longing of ‘breaking free’ from the shackles she has apparently been tied to for so long – this is how she is and she is ‘fine’ with it. It is her dream of going to Paris on a honeymoon and her fiancé’s to Amsterdam is why she sets out.  Repetitive and at times boring from a script perspective, we are made to go on hop-on hop-off tour of Paris before Rani settles down with Vijaylakshmi, a more ‘open’ girl she meets in Paris. Where Rani probably remains endearing is that she doesn’t emulate Vijaylakshmi cause Rani feels that is not something she can make over in such a short time, and probably she never ‘want’ to. Does Rani’s conservative patriarchal upbringing make her defensive against boozing and having causal sex in the hotel rooms – it can well be.  But just in the same sense Vijaylakshmi’s plunging neckline and cigarette wielding may not be the ‘definition’ of an independent woman. The question of the representation of the ‘independent woman’ is subjective across gender and across the strata the individual belongs to. The question of ‘choice’ is more palpable – Rani understands that the choices of life for Vijaylakshmi are different from the choices she has for her. There is no stepping over to the other’s territory and that is where the notion of ‘independence’ comes. It is more about leaving than encroaching, more about creating spaces for others and preserving the same for own. That is why, to me, when Rani returns with straightened hair and goes up to her fiancé’s house to hand him the ring he gave her or when she rejects his plea to talk over their relation in Amsterdam, it is no ultimate destination of the character of Rani. It is again a choice she makes for herself, to lead her life the way she wants to, back with her family.  Will she ever marry, will she exercise the confidence to be on her ‘own’ even more to the extents of Vijaylakshmi are inappropriate musings. She discovers that like everyone she also has wings – it was she who chose not to fly with them.

Gulaab Gang (mentioned henceforth as GG) on the contrary talks about a group of women in central India who fight for justice – both domestic and local. Inspired by a real life story but fictionalized heavily to suit the popular commercial demands, GG shows how the rural central Indian patriarchal phallic norms despise, abuse and victimize women to the worst possible sense one can think of. As opposed to Rani, Rajjo the leader of the gang is entering mid-aged though the glamour of Madhuri Dixit makes her immensely attractive. A general perception about popular Hindi cinema is that the women between mid 20s to mid 30s have more or less one identity to play – that of male desire (or ‘gaze’). It is mostly the recognizable woman who is either older or younger and mostly the older woman is the one who is expected to exude ‘power’ if portrayed as ‘independent’. And in majority of such cases the strong woman is portrayed as scary, de-sexualised and loud. To the director’s credit he represented a strong woman in Rajjo without these popular markers. Whether Rajjo comes out as independent or whether her ‘choices’ in stripping things off, burning the governmental organizations, killing dishonest officials and their aides at will can be termed sensible is a different question. GG follows the typical trope of commercial hindi cinema riding on the concept of the ‘superhero’ who brings order and justice to the downtrodden by taking the reigns of justice in his (in this case ‘her’) hands. So there are no surprises that what will follow on screen is bloodbath. Along with the gender inadequacies in rural India, the director also harped on the known issues of corruption and politicking and how Rajjo tries to fight down the menace. And in doing so the director pits Sumitra Devi, the shrewd and cunning woman politician against Rajjo. As if, to demean Rajjo’s struggle, pit her against a ‘woman’ – after all the bastions of patriarchy are safeguarded. Hence the so-called ‘choice’ of Rajjo gets curbed by the ‘choice’ of the director to play to the psyche of the Indian male who in the end needs to feel less threatened and relieved.  Quite interestingly, Sumitra Devi is also in the exterior a woman with ‘substance’, a cruel, deceitful person but who can cut to size the male around her. Both Rajjo and Sumitra, like Rani, are without a male partner. The symbol of the ‘independent’ woman without a family or a ‘home’ is again a clichéd representation since that helps the director to take away few of the real life complexities.

In this regard it becomes interesting and important to understand the ‘choice’ of the average woman to be decided by the ‘female’ mind and not necessarily by the way the ‘male’ director and his audience want her to be. Because it is time to dwell and ponder whether the ‘home’ of Rajjo, Sumitra and Rani is actually in a movement beyond the constraints imposed by the society and hence a deviation from the geographical definition of a physical ‘home’. It is farcical and squarely ironic as well because the supposedly independent women will then be ‘at home’ where the ‘home’ is not a metaphor for stability and sanctity. This notion of a safe, warm enclosure as ‘home’ being a patriarchal concept can be debated but till then the ‘independent’, ‘free-willed’ Rajjo and Rani will continue to fight within the confines of the script, struggle to have them drawn with a hue that has fair enough choices in the oeuvre for them to decide.

[Originally published in The Statesman on May 10, 2014]