The Bengali Mother: Through Filmic Lenses

In 1895 (26th Chaitra, 1302 Bengali Calendar precisely), Rabindranath Tagore wrote the verse Bangamata where he starts of like this –

“Through good deeds and wrong, in sorrow and happiness, downfall and uprise,
Allow your children to flourish and grow, to full human potential realise.

Oh affectionate mother, in your lap most comforting –
As children you must not keep them forever nursing.”

and then ends with the oft quoted:

“Grab your good natured sons and push them out there
The world is theirs for the taking, let them show no fear
This great multitude of children, Oh doting mother
Confining them to a Bengali identity, you have not let them discover the greater in humanity.”

In the context of Bengali psyche, Tagore’s lines are very important to understand the mother-child relationship in the Bengali household and more importantly the mother-son sensibility.

It is not difficult to correlate the decadence of the Bengali ‘babu’ in the social milieu of India since the middle of the last century when the economic and political capital of India shifted away permanently from Calcutta – to Bombay (which was already there in the map as the economic zone) and Delhi (the political capital of the notion of India since the days of the Muslim invaders) respectively.

With this drift over the few decades, the Great Famine of the early 1943 and the partition of India in 1947, the veneer of the quintessential Bengali was cracked. Though many of them migrated to other cities but that was more due to the surplus population after 1947.

Even today, at the end of the day, the average Bengali wishes to remain in his own home in Bengal and within the confines of cultural and philosophical ambit which makes him aloof and cynical of others. It is of no surprise hence to locate only a few Bengalis probably in Bombay who can speak Marathi or the ones in Bangalore speaking Kannad or speaking Tamil in Chennai – almost none of my friends and family living in these cities ever cared to delve into the local culture and language.

Interestingly, almost every Marwari in Kolkata can speak and understand Bengali, just as the most Punjabis in the city do and most South Indians who stay in Kolkata for long. This prudishness, at one hand can be attributed to the Bengali renaissance of the 19th-20th centuries which created such a flurry of moral, philosophical, literary and cultural virtues that generations of Bengali masticated on the same gleefully. On the other, and probably related is this tendency of clinging to the roots even when the surroundings have withered in terms of opportunities. In the context of Bengali cinema, the depiction of mother as the bearer and nurturer is what is expected and rational. We can however look into some of the ‘mother’ characters in some of the important Bengali cinema over the years. It is not often that the character is strong or the film relies on her largely. Yet, they are important portrayals of a time and a society whose moral values have a deep resonance in the position and status of the mother and her inherent bonding with her children.

Sarbajaya in 'Pather Panchali' and 'Aparajito'

Satyajit Ray, to Bengalis is a subtle weak point after Tagore. There is a delicate semblance in the psyche of the two auteurs which is heightened as Ray used Tagore’s pieces for some of his most resonant films. Interestingly, Tagore’s women were, in most of the cases, far ahead of their times. Tagore had kept them individuated, strong and dynamic – equal to men and at times superior in terms of moral virtues and emotional quotient. It is by design, Tagore kept his female protagonists child-less – from Binodini to Charulata, from Bimala to Mrinal.

It has to be noted that Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay whose novels were arguably more popular than Tagore’s at that time had placed the women at the feet of their men, subservient. Ray’s women characters from Charu to Karuna to Bimala have all been childless as well. In 'Mahanagar', Arati had a son but it was not their relation which got precedence in the narrative. Ray, like Tagore, placed his women in relation to their men and not foregrounding them primarily as the mother of the children of the male protagonists.

However, in the first two films, the first two parts of his iconic 'Apu Trilogy', Sarbajaya as the mother of Apu and Durga comes as a very strong-willed village woman. She is firm, stern and in her relation with Indir Thakrun, quite cruel. Indir Thakrun in a sense resembles the soul of rural Bengal whose depravity is all over her body. We find Sarbajaya as a loving mother yet a bit distant at times and definitely the one who wants to keep the reins of her dilapidated family in her own hands.

In 'Devi', which is one of his most political films Ray slants at the religious cowardice that forcibly commodifies the young daughter-in-law as the ‘Goddess’ incarnate based on an ambiguous dream awakening. In a reverse mimesis, the relationship between the old zamindar (as the devoted ‘son’) and the ‘Goddess’ daughter-in-law (mentioned every time as the ‘mother’, though she was childless in reality) was grounded within religious overtones and has definite shades of incestuous inklings. 

The mother in Ritwik Ghatak’s 'Meghe Dhaka Tara'

For Ritwik Ghatak, the entire positioning of identity was different than that of Ray. Whereas Ray’s narration had primarily been based on the male-female coupledom linked on the basis of love or marriage relation, Ghatak’s testament had been mostly on a primordial one. In almost all his iconic films we find Ghatak tearing his heart on the issues of the partition of Bengal and in doing so he puts forth his characters who are mostly siblings and not a couple in the sexual sense. Even in Ajantrik where there is no sister to Bimal, Jagaddal – the car takes up the position of companion as the fellow taxi drivers tease Bimal – “Is the car a woman?” In a later scene Bimal confides to another character that Jagaddal came into his life the year his mother passed away! In the lyrical Subarnarekha, Iswar and Sita, the brother and the sister form the core and Iswar would think Sita to be his long lost mother. Once, Sita would whisper to Iswar that she indeed was his mother. In the climax when Iswar visits Sita’s room for sexual favours unknowingly Ghatak slaps the middleclass hypocrisy as he once commented – “(one) has to understand that whichever woman the brother visited would have been his sister”. For Ghatak, the brother-sister duo is representative of the two halves of Bengal – the East (now Bangladesh) and the West (in India), the offspring of undivided Bengal as he sings “Keno cheye achho go Ma, mukho paane” – a Tagore song in his last film Jukti, Takko ar Gappo.

In 'Meghe Dhaka Tara', Nita’s mother is not only the nurturer of the household but also a manipulator. Finding Nita to be the only successful bread-earner for the family, she puts her weight in a way so that Nita remains the ‘man’ of the house. The father who was old and incapacitated and the elder brother Shankar who became a singer in Bombay films much later in the narrative couldn’t nourish the family. In some deft touches Ghatak again touches the chord of the brother-sister coupledom between Shankar and Nita, a photo when they were primitive and close to nature. Nita’s mother was hopelessly hapless in a situation on which she had no control apart from clinging on to Nita, making her a victim of everyone else’s expectations and prosperity. The character, like Nita’s remains an iconic one in Bengali cinema for being an antithesis of the traditional ‘mother’ archetype in Bengali psyche and culture.

The other mothers

There have been quite a few other interesting mother portrayals in Bengali cinema as well. On the one hand the typical representation of the mother as the trouble-some mother-in-law in popular cinema over the several decades and on the other, the mother as the backbone of the familial structure. In the cinema of Uttam Kumar and Suchitra Sen, apart from the central hero-heroine bonding, a significant part of the narrative was devoted to the relation between the hero and a mother figure (at times aunt as well). The submission of the hero to motherly love is seen as instrumental in the acceptance of Uttam not only as the most desired man to the women but also as the most desirable son to the mothers of Bengal.

On a different plane altogether we can also find a dancer mother in Rituparno Ghosh’s debut film Unishe April. This is where Ghosh questions the definition of ‘success’ in a patriarchal reference frame where the dancer’s ambition to be successful in her art forced her to be alienated with her daughter and as a result looked upon as a villain. In this derogation, she is held hostage by her own daughter as well. In Ghosh’s later film Titli, the idea of the “mother” as opposed to a desiring woman is significantly poised where the mother almost becomes a rival of her daughter in a triangular sexual tension.

In Mrinal Sen’s urban films, the mother is the silent warrior, the workforce whom no one pays heed to but the family unmistakably revolves around her. Sen’s camera generally holds the lower middle class Bengali family of the 70s and the 80s and the relentless struggle of the working class comes through live.

 In the Indian context, land, mother and the goddess get juxtaposed and play interchangeable roles. The Bengali woman started going out to earn for the family – her father’s or her in-laws’, earlier than most of her counterparts in the other parts of the country. A big reason for this can be attributed to the influx of the migrant refugees after 1947. The liberal Bengali’s rational awakening helped him to accept the working woman besides him. Yet, it is the woman who till today has to manage her multiple roles and deck up her varied portfolios. It is she who has to pay the price – within her home or at her work place. It is she who is always expected to play the role of Durga in the everyday nuances of life. May be, she also believes in her avatar!

(Originally published in News18 - http://www.news18.com/news/movies/most-interesting-mother-portrayals-in-bengali-cinema-1240221.html)

Soumitra Chatterjee - a way of life

Soumitra Chatterjee had been my way of life. He is, for many Bengalis even if he passed our stage of life three decades ago. This is one classic test that he endured like his mentor Satyajit Ray. But even apart from the towering shadow of Ray, Soumitra carved out an image of him which he fostered over a period of time, so much so that even younger generations can’t but try to emulate him. Be it the dreamer in Apu (Apur Sansar) or Amal (Charulata), the charismatic sleuth in Feluda (Sonar Kella), the casual romantic in Teen Bhuvaner Paare (twisting his way to impress Tanuja) and Basanta Bilap or the fairy-tale villain Mayur Bahan in Jhinder Bandi, Soumitra had played it all. He had been a successful hero, second only to Uttam Kumar in popularity perhaps but never shied away from doing character roles even then. How else can we get an Aghor in Sansar Seemante, a Gangacharan in Ashani Sanket or a Khsit-da in Koni? He showed that the actor prevails and not the star. This is why he had broken his star image so many times to nurse the actor inside. He should haven awarded the Best actor for any of his favourite 20-25 films. Ironically, he got it for Padakshep which is not a distinctive one. The Indian Govt. probably got it right this time – they didn’t mess up with India’s one of the finest actors.

What sets Soumitra apart? On one side, he had been thriving and bursting with creative restlessness that makes him a more complete creative persona – he being a poet, an elocution artist, editor for two decades of one of Bengal’s most versatile literary magazine and an actor. Notwithstanding 14 of Ray’s films he had acted with all major directors of Bengal barring Ritwik Ghatak. He wanted to remain ingrained to his culture and never wanted to move to Hindi films. As the cinema richness of Bengal started dwindling since the mid or late seventies, his creative thirst was satiated in theatre. Unlike in film where he remained only an actor, in theatre Soumitra Chatterjee became the writer (most of his plays are adaptations of foreign plays, though the adaptations are truly Indian and Bengali in spirit) and also the director apart from being the lead actor. True, probably his star image helped his theatre to start with but it is his range of topic and his strength of characterization that kept the audience interested for more than three decades now. Atleast with Neelkantha, Tiktiki and Raja Lear Soumitra reached insurmountable heights and these will be included in any serious discussion on Soumitra as an actor – both in films and on stage. I can find no parallel to Soumitra as an actor in Bengal. There are excellent film actors like Uttam Kumar (whose heroism is unparallel without any iota of doubt), Chhabi Biswas and Bikas Roy. But none of them have his range – from the youth to the middle-aged citizen to the old Samaritan, Soumitra played all with equal élan. He is probably the only Indian actor who matured so gracefully playing all the roles that fit his physical appearance at that point in time. If we compare the stage actors – Sombhu Mitra, Ajitesh Bandyopadhyay and Utpal Dutt or even the legendary Sisir Kumar Bhaduri (Soumitra’s guru in theatre) then also we have to admit none of them had the filmic presence of Soumitra. He is the only successful bridge between theatre and films; every other notable Bengali actor has either one in their oeuvre but not both.

In the national scene, only a Naseeruddin Shah can be a parallel to Soumitra for his range of characterizations and deep sensitive understanding of the premise of acting. Not even Balraj Shahni whom Soumitra admired most. Simply because, for the last 5 decades with so many theatres and films Soumitra has filled his cupboard with so many acting jewel renditions that there may be many worthwhile pieces which need to be left out – some of which any other accomplished actor as well would be fortunate to act on in their lives. Naseer is probably an actor who played roles of different shades more than Soumitra, who mostly played the Bengali middle-class bhadrolok through the different ages of his life. Naseer on the other played characters with different ethnicity, race and socio-economic profiles with vivacity. Soumitra being a regional actor probably justifies for not able to match up on these grounds. However being a highly successful romantic hero and his theatre laurels will help him be one of the two finest actors of India for all times along with Naseer.

Now that I had a chance to interact with him often for a project I witness at 78 and with a failing health how he can churn out 4 different plays in a week at times, all nearly 2 hours runtime with him playing the lead. “How do you memorise all these lines?” I ask. He smiles “Am too worried that I will forget, it is out of fear”. I know he is acting, he is not true. The perfectionist in him makes him run, it doesn’t make him sit for a while. After 5 decades of crowning glory the restlessness to be creative is still in him. For 5 decades he had been part of a Bengali life the way Tagore is, the way Satyajit Ray is. My salute to the starlit sky for letting me and us witness one of its brightest star.

Interview of Catherine Berge

Amitava Nag, editor, Silhouette was engaged in a small conversation with Catherine Berge [the director of Gaach (1997) - the documentary on Soumitra Chatterjee - who was in the city recently.

Amitava – How did you come up with the concept of Gaach?  

Catherine – In 1992, I was graduating from the Columbia University and my professor asked me to prepare a paper on Satyajit Ray (following Ray’s demise earlier that year) and I researched Ghare Baire. I developed a deep interest in Ray and discovered that in film after film there is this hero who always plays Ray’s protagonist. So I naturally became interested in him. In 1995 a friend visited Calcutta and I told her “If you love me, get me Soumitra Chatterjee’s number”. I was heartbroken in a small village near Paris and then one evening I received a fax from my friend with the phone number of Soumitra. I mustered the courage to call him the following year and asked if he minded having a documentary made about him, to which he replied, “You have to come to Calcutta for that.” A few days later, quite accidentally, I met Ismail Merchant in his Paris office when I went to meet a friend. Merchant Ivory had already been planning to celebrate the 50 years of Indian independence, but as yet had no specific project in mind. Ismail and I discussed my idea of making a film about Soumitra to which he readily agreed, and in January 1997, we started filming in Calcutta.

As far as the link between Gaach and the films of Satyajit Ray, the whole story is linked together. I met Ismail and James Ivory during the same period that I was planning the film about Soumitra quite coincidentally. I knew that Merchant Ivory had restored a number of the Ray films and I was also interested in the way Ray and Soumitra had grown up together over the 30 years that they worked together as director and leading actor.  It was serendipitous to find producers who had themselves been formed by Satyaji Ray, who had been their “guru”, according to James Ivory, so in a way it was passing from one guru to another.  Ismail Merchant and James Ivory had Ray as their guru and I had Merchant Ivory as my gurus, which was invaluable, as they had such a close relationship to Ray, as well as to his actors and technicians, Above all, the story of Gaach is more a story shared by Soumitra, Catherine and Ismail Merchant and James Ivory. In the case of Ismail Merchant and James Ivory, the important aspect was their personal relationship to Ray who had helped them from their very first film, The Householder.  You cannot mention Gaach without mentioning Merchant Ivory.  Ismail and Jim loved the project because they had always admired Soumitra. I was interested in Soumitra because he had made so many films with Ray, from 1958 to about 1990 - they had grown up together.  Ray was a genius - he knew how to do everything except act, so Soumitra became Ray’s voice.

My story cannot exist without Merchant Ivory.  I was able to make the film with Merchant Ivory’s support.

Amitava - How did you find a producer for Gaach?

Catherine - I had read in the newspaper that Merchant Ivory had restored Ray’s films, and it happened that they had an office in Paris and were shooting two films in France at that time.  It was very easy to meet Ismail Merchant and, as he and James Ivory were great admirers of Soumitra Chatterjee, which I hadn’t known in advance, that’s how it went so fast.

Amitava - Gaach shows clips of Soumitra in the Ray films. Don’t you think that is a fractured representation of Soumitra as a film actor?

Catherine – No. I wanted to show mainly Soumitra and his interaction with Satyajit Ray in the latter’s films. So I was not too keen to show Soumitra as a cinema actor in whole. It is however true that I haven’t seen all Soumitra’s other major films with other film directors.

Amitava – You had always been interested in theatre I know. Did you know of Soumitra’s theatre perspective when you initially thought of making Gaach? Or you evolved your script as you proceeded to know him more as a creative person?

Catherine – I was not sure of his theatre stint. When I came to Calcutta to meet him before the shooting I had long interviews with him and then I saw Tiktiki and a few other aspects of his theatre personality. Yes, I do love theatre and theatre actors. To find it in my favourite cinema actor is a bonus and I used that to the advantage of my film.

No, I did not know, but when I arrived the first time in Calcutta in 1996, Soumitra immediately asked me to come to see him performing on stage and I really appreciated what he did as a playwright and his adaptations of plays from all over the world, making them more Bengali. And now so many years later I’m returning to Calcutta, mainly to see him perform in Raja Lear. And I was extremely fortunate in having the opportunity to see two other plays that Soumitra was appearing in during my visit. During Raja Lear, I sat with a Spanish scholar and I was extremely impressed by Soumitra as King Lear.  Many, many years ago, I saw Sir Laurence Olivier on stage in London as Shylock in The Merchant of Venice and now, years later I am seeing Soumitra Chatterjee in Raja Lear in Calcutta. I do remember that the British audience stopped breathing when Sir Laurence appeared on stage, and it was the same level of emotion in the theater when Soumitra appeared in Raja Lear.

Amitava – Have you seen his theatre productions of late?

Catherine – Yes I have seen Tritiyo Onko Otoeb, Chhari Ganga and of course Raja Lear. I was so moved by Raja Lear – nearly 2 hours on stage and it’s so taxing both physically and mentally. I saw it on two back to back evenings and was spellbound. I wonder where from does he get this energy and vivacity to play these challenging roles even now.

Amitava – Tell something about the project which you will embark soon and how you want Soumitra to be involved in it?

Catherine – Ten to twelve years ago, I sent Soumitra a story I had been working on for a feature film about Romain Rolland and the period when he was living in Switzerland with his sister and welcoming all the major Indian personalities who were building the foundations of India, among them Nehru, Gandhi and of course Rabrindranath Tagore.  I immediately thought of Soumitra for the part of Tagore, and Ismail Merchant agreed with enthusiasm. Then, dramatically, Ismail passed away and unfortunately, it was never possible to make that film.  But a few of years ago, I was in the region of Champagne and a friend from the Merchant Ivory crowd who lives there told me about something which would take place in the Champagne and Rheims area and I immediately thought of Tagore’s visit to a French pacifist, Albert Kahn.  One year later, I won a prize for that story. In September 2011, at the UNESCO conference, it was announced that Soumitra Chatterjee would be performing in Raja Lear and when I heard that, I knew I would have to go back to Calcutta to see Soumitra again.

Amitava – What about the other cinema related work that you have done so far?

Catherine – After making my first film, a documentary on the Hollywood director King Vidor, I lived in the United States for ten years, during which time I earned an international journalism degree at Columbia University. As you know, with the support of director James Ivory and producer Ismail Merchant, I directed the film Gaach (“The Tree”) in Calcutta, collaborating with the Bengali actors who had appeared in the films of Satyajit Ray.  In addition, I have made numerous film portraits of writers (including Eudora Welty and Richard Ford) and artists (including Josephine Ann Endicot and Tim Robbins).

Amitava – How did you find Calcutta now?

Catherine – My friend Chinmoy Guha, recently named Vice Chancellor of Rabrindranath Tagore University, welcomed me at the airport. The first thing I did when I arrived in Calcutta was to go back to the Fairlawn Hotel which is a landmark in Calcutta on Sudder Street and here there was still Mrs. Smith, now 91 years old, and I immediately felt at home again. 

I was surprised in Calcutta to see women wearing trousers and jeans. I never saw this 15 years ago.  It was a funny thing to see Soumitra with a backpack.

Amitava – Will you be back to Calcutta soon? Tell about your plan of filming the city.

Catherine – I hope very much to be back in Calcutta soon.

In one week I saw 3 plays by Soumitra Chatterjee, and I saw Raja Lear twice. I could not believe he was able to be on stage for that long, 2 hours or more each time. I admire and cherish him.  I’m very lucky to have met Soumitra, Ismail Merchant and James Ivory, and I’m very proud to know Soumitra Chatterjee. I can talk for hours with him about theater and poetry- talking with someone from a very different country and continent about theater and poetry is a very rare thing these days – I feel very lucky and privileged. 

I thought it would be essential to see him in his first Shakepearean part and in Raja Lear.

I returned to Paris last week and noticed that there is a Tagore exhibition ending this week and that in the first week of March they’re screening Charulata and The Home and the World.  I come back to Paris and what is the first thing I see, but Soumitra at the Petit Palais.  If I come back to Paris and see Soumitra, I’ll definitely return to Calcutta to see Soumitra on stage. 

Amitava – Catherine Berge, Thank you and looking forward to meeting you again in Kolkata.

Catherine – Thank you and same to you.

Doubting the woman

French auteur Jean Luc Godard once quipped, "Cinema doesn't query the beauty of the woman, it only doubts her heart". Can we replace 'Cinema' with 'Society' here?  Molly Haskell argued in her ground-breaking From Reverence to Rape: The treatment of women in the Movies (1974)--"Film reflects the ideological and social construction of women who are either revered as the virgin or reviled (as the whore)."  From time immemorial, the patriarchal society marks the meaning and the importance of the female in her association with the male. This lack of identification has been central in the prevalent phallo-centric society which perceives ‘male’ as physically and symbolically dominant over ‘female’. So it never comes as a surprise that a woman who is beautiful, confident and desiring will be trampled aside by an unprepared society.

The entire preamble is with respect to a small video clip which was on youtube for sometime, ripped off the site pretty hastily but ensuring that flocks of people got the chance to treasure it in their personal chest. The clip in question here is from the film Chatrak (Mushroom, 2011) by the Sri-Lankan director Vimukthi Jayasundara. The clip depicts oral sex between Paoli and her co-star where she as the character is the pleasure seeker instead of being the giver. There had been a flurry of debates – in the newspapers, on the web, to the extent atleast 5 of my friends who happened to be middle-class educated Bengalis whispered over phone or in real – “Paoli Dam er porno ta dekhechho? Na thakle debo, ache amar kachhe” (in English it means “Have you seen the porno of Paoli Dam? If you don’t have I can give, I have it”). Interestingly the advertent friend-list included members of both the genders. It was rather interesting as to how inexplicably worried they are about the actress, Paoli Dam in this case – “what is she upto? Ruining her image for some Sri-Lankan director?” Few suggested that they are fine if it is in a ‘foren’ movie with ‘gora’ actors in it!

            So where does it all fall through? I happened to read one of the crudest interviews of Paoli last week in a leading Bengali daily on this where she was repeatedly asked by the dumb-ass reporter if she considers this as a porno act or not. This is quite funny, if cinema is to entertain and if pornography does entertain a big section of the ‘normal’ populace then who cares? It is probably the nostalgia-overdosed Bengali psyche which is still trying to find comfort in its sepia slumber – so much so that the realities of life hits hard. Paoli is an intelligent actress, Bengal’s face to world cinema – her range of portrayals is unparallel and beyond question. She is sensible enough to realize that had it been a rape scene of equal or even more exposition of the female body, then also it could have been logically justified (though the physical representation would have still raised issues – remember Seema Biswas in Sekhar Kapoor’s Bandit Queen); but the Bengali middle-class just cannot digest a naked woman almost demanding sexual pleasure and favour from her partner on screen.

            The controversy and explicit nature of the particular scene will ensure that the film will be heavily censored in India – probably the festival circuit will get to see it in full. Hence, the film is successful in creating the necessary hoopla to sail it across – whether this publicity was intended or not still remain doubtful though.  

            Paoli Dam as an actress will be having the Bengali middle-class eating out of her palms now. She threw them a challenge – ‘you have been fantasizing for so long for my mute body and now I shed off the last thread for you, your fantasies are dampened by the specificity of the bare physical torso’. 

The clumsy mind of the society at large should retreat and bow to Paoli, the soul of the ‘woman’ remains as ever – untouched.

Charlie cannot cry

"I always like walking in the rain, so no one can see me crying." – thus spoke Charles Spencer Chaplin, the greatest entertainer of all times.  He later added, “Humour is a gentle and benevolent custodian of mind which prevents us from being overwhelmed by the apparent seriousness of life.” This is the single-most important reason why the films of Charlie Chaplin have been endearing to people – differed by gender, caste, colour, nationality, religion, age and what not. Charlie Chaplin is that ray of hope to the struggling individual, that rainbow he can look up to forget his drudgeries. Chaplin – his image of the tramp is an icon, a harbinger of hope and wish-fulfilment in this apparently chaotic existence. There had been few films that have been made on him or characters shadowing on him. A relatively young phenomenon is to use Charlie impersonators for comic relief in parties and functions. So now, you go to a birthday bash, and no wonder you will be greeted at the gate by none other than Charlie. Just almost! In Kolkata atleast, it has become a profession of making up like Charlie and then engaging kids (and adults also at times) with the same gag-antics that you can expect. Like always, they all are Charlie Chaplin to us – we never care to dig behind and find who are they – the actors who make Chaplin so gleefully immortal in this part of the globe as well?

Anindya Bandyopadhyay’s Bengali film Chaplin is based on the life of one such impersonator – Banshi Das. Banshi calls himself ‘artist’, lives in obvious dilapidated conditions with his seven year old son but with loads of fun and frolic. Banshi works in a group where there are musicians who are booked for packaged entertainment in parties. Banshi adds colour – he does a Charlie! The film tries to depict a colony life with some care which is bustling with activities. There are these easily identifiable ‘bad men’ who are by default affluent and prosperous. Then there is this angelic Rina didi who drives a Honda, teaches in the colony school and makes sure Banshi makes it to the audition.  All these wrapped in melodrama and sentimental overtures. Almost always there is this sad, melancholy tune as background soundscape – what it actually does is, mutes few of the relevant teary sequences due to overuse and also renders the few songs in the film absolutely unnoticed.

Till the intermission the film sets up the score with fond exchanges between the father and the son. It seems too hackneyed at times though, and with repetitions the cause isn’t helped either. There are so many epic films on this special relationship so it’s important that you know what exactly your scope is. The director unfortunately isn’t sure of it ever. Thus came the climax after the intermission where we come to know that the son has brain tumour and he will die shortly. However, since Banshi got through to the finals of a reality show, the show must go on. This again rots from being predictable. The tragedy of Nimua, Banshi’s son somehow rips the film’s sensitive possibilities. Instead, it becomes the normal Bengali tear-jerkers. Or probably marginally better.

It’s marginally better because of Rudranil Ghosh who gives in a lifetime performance. His flights from pensive ruminations to joyous masking is a treat to watch. He and his gags at times look tired and out-of-ideas – not because he as an actor is such, more because his director fails him. In the final audition sequence as well as in the last performance in the abandoned cinema hall on Nimua’s birthday,  Rudranil as Charlie (and not Banshi) lighted the hearts of the audience. He seldom gets character roles to tap his latent talent which is a misfortune for the industry. Had he been born some fifty years ago, there is no doubt that he could have rubbed shoulders in the same league as the legendary Rabi Ghosh.

Charlie Chaplin’s most films promote the unvanquished – the triumph of will to overturn any trouble or hardship in life. It is irony, a film made on a character who takes up Charlie to impersonate is laden with so much casual sentiments. This is such a defeating philosophy that the film is not saved. We as audience should have left for our homes celebrating the triumph of life rather than in pensive forgiving of destiny. Even if Banshi cries, Charlie never cries, he cannot cry. If the director only knew it!

The unbearable heaviness of soul

‘12 persons, 12 sms-es and 12 months’ reads the poster of new Bengali film Urochithi (dir: Kamaleshwar Mukherjee).  The film starts and ends with a year in between for protagonist Aniket, a corporate slogger. No one actually counts if there are 12 sms-es in all but you can rely on the director for this. But definitely the 11 persons who come close to Aniket shape him and control him to an extent. Too many people you may think cramped in the film – reason why few of them remain half-cooked and vague. For example Rohit – the financial advisor of Aniket or the prophetic teacher Farhad play to the gallery with philosophical overtures but being unconvincing.  The father, a botanist by choice who stayed for long in the UK and then returned to run an old-age home is similarly lacking proper justification apart from a climactic sequence where Aniket was amorously involved with Lilette, the air-hostess when the father passed away.

            However, the triumph of the film is in the depiction of Aniket’s character. This is a person here, who is fatigued to meet his corporate deadlines and presentations and tries to give a fresh look at his life now. Just rounding near the 40ish age group Aniket is confused. The turmoil in the share market adds to his misery, and he finds solace in the arms of Lilette.  Aniket is the face of Bengali urban youth – for whom even sky is not the limit, he flies higher up and is lost in the whirl. Aniket, apparently has all an upwardly mobile Bengali middle-class man aspires for – a caring wife, a doting daughter, a decorated home and a Maruti car. But deep within there is an artificiality of this pomp, a superficial veneer to the haphazard ensemble called life. It’s the passion to rekindle hope for one’s own self and the others round him or her which is so haplessly missing in the lives of the urban corporate that it follows the Aesopian ways – grass is always greener on the other side. Aniket hence lights up fire in his hit-up with Lilette ignoring his wife who is burdened now with the household chores. In some very smart moves the director bares us with the impertinence of these so-called relations – Lilette once asks Aniket ‘What you want” to which he replies “To be with you” and she reverts “No, to sleep with me”. Lilette goes along saying that the body is not so important probably. But can body be isolated from the soul? Probably not. And that is why we find her in love with him – and understand how helpless the individuals are in controlling their mind and their decisions. Near the end of the film where Lilette confesses she has HIV+, Tanusree Chakraborty as Lilette caresses us with her deep sense of loss and longing and her plea “Baba-r kachhe jabo” (“I will visit my father”). Though the environment and the magnitude are different yet somewhere suddenly Komal Gandhar’s Neeta comes up to us. They are separated by decades and conditions, yet they are harmonious in their wish to live life. Seeing Aniket break down Lilette justifies vehemently “Don’t worry, we used condoms”. Is this the urban fallacy – Aniket breaks even more because she is his hope, his only sense of joy in his claustrophobic life?

            Kevin, played by Rudraneil and his fashion designer partner played by Sudipta are the foils to Aniket’s life, his mentors to the other world. Like most of his peers in real life as well, Aniket is un-introduced to this world of booze, drugs and glam girls. He loses him, spends money and becomes emotionally bankrupt apart from the fact that he finds Lilette here only.

            Then there are the typical colleagues – two in this case who wear masks of good and evil? Manish who appears to be rebel in the organization (as opposed to Aniket who is more of a diffident), turns out to be a manipulator who power trips others towards his personal promotion. Shalini, Aniket’s sultry boss on the other is a victim of corporate cauldron though her character swing was too much to take in the end where she seems emotionally overt for Aniket.

            Suhas and Sudha – the other couple in the film tread the line of existence which often tends to be portrayed in a melodramatic way. It is to the credit of the director and Biswanath who plays Suhas that the characters remain grounded. Grounded in misery, in living a rudderless life, a life where money only talks. In this fast changing urban world of multiplexes and flyovers, of malls and glamour girls what happens to the factory worker whose factory shuts down? What happens to the hawker who wakes up at 4 in the morning and prepares his business? We ignore them largely; we choose not to look at those lives since till now their lives prick us somewhere.  The day they will just pass in front of our eyes like walking mannequins, we will fit in unobtrusively to the life depicted in advertisement hoardings!

            Suhas is close to heart for being simple, for being honest and not because he is a ‘defeated’ individual but more because he takes life head on with his meager means. And who is Aniket? Aniket is as much me as any one else. Kamaleshwar Mukherjee succeeds in putting across this all-encompassing feeling of loss and longing, his Aniket represents the vacuous existence of the so called corporate professionals. Indraneil as Aniket is good. Srilekha his wife moves effortlessly to put across her traumas and her island world. Biswanath as Suhas is one high point in the film who will keep you sore with his seeming nonchalance. Tanusree Chakraborty is a find. She is breathtaking as the glamourous air hostess. But she does show her acting talents in the end when she is sick. She has the looks to become a top-drawer, remains to be seen how she managers her career.

            UrochiThi is a good film. It’s crisp and yet it makes you laden with an unexplainable heaviness of soul. This is the director’s first film and hence it is apparent that he tries to punch in too many things and characters in one go. Few could have been dispensed with to make the film look petite. But none-the-less in the era of self indulging prophetic film makers, this film is for the urban mass that can surely recognize few of the characters. If, like this essayist, they come back in the comforts of their lonely zones to recapitulate their lives, the director’s purpose is fulfilled. Kamaleshwar raises hopes and we will surely look forward to his next work – for touching few chords in the soul and making us reflective.

The ‘Death’s in Iti Mrinalini

Death is a paradox - it announces an absence yet it is profound and revered in religions. It is a bonding which marks a distance – between us and within us. This relativism of death makes it an abstraction of separation – intrigues longing and masquerades permanence.  Death therefore essentially links memories to absolutism and in turn rejects itself. In Hindu philosophy of re-birth and the circle (and cycle) of life, however, death is only a beginning of a new life and continuous in the cycle, and memoirs don’t hold much significance as such since anyway only the soul changes the body on rebirth –

“A man acts according to the desires to which he clings. After death he goes to the next world bearing in his mind the subtle impressions of his deeds; and after reaping there the harvest of his deeds, he returns again to this world of action. Thus, he who has desires continues subject to rebirth.”  Shukla Yajur Veda, Brihadaranyaka Upanishad (4.4.5-6)

Separation, absence, death and longing have been favourite subject amongst creative persons. From novelists, to poets, artists and film makers these have always been their subject of interest.  Arthur Koestler, noted author, wrote before his own suicide: "If the word death were absent from our vocabulary, our great works of literature would have remained unwritten, pyramids and cathedrals would not exist, nor works of religious art-and all art of religious or magic origin. " Or, the famous Norwegian artist Edward Munch accepted, “Without anxiety and illness I should have been like a ship without a rudder."

            In cinema as well, the concept of absence marked by death have been symbolic in representation. Ingmar Bergman is one such director who toyed with this idea of death in conjunction with religious metaphors, Michelangelo Antonioni on the other narrated death with non-communication and painted the canvas red. Back home Ray’s Apu Trilogy holds death in substance and as sustenance for life, Ghatak epitomized nostalgia as a death of self and persistence of memory. Aparna Sen’s last released film Iti Mrinalini (henceforth referred to as IM) dealing with death and its role as precursor of life in absence hence, is not a new or a striking endeavour. In this short scope we will try to see how death and absence played key roles in defining the philosophy of this narrative.

There are three physical deaths in the film – the one of Abhi, Mrinalini’s college boyfriend who was a Naxalite, in the later part that of her dresser Kamala and in between, her only daughter Sohini who died due to a plane accident. Of these, the first and the second mentioned here have been shown as incidents which have importance in Mrinalini’s life but just as a loss of a close acquaintance. The love relation with Abhi was so minimally shown on screen (apart from their dubious love-making scene) that it or he, never become important for our notice. On the contrary Kamala had been a steadfast support, muted in her presence yet meaningful in her duties. She for once at-least advised the young Mrinalini to give up her case with Siddhartha the married film director.
            The death of Sohini aka Sona – Mrinalini’s daughter with Siddhartha was a blow to love-torn Mrinalini. It took a screen time much longer, is set up poignantly and is sure to catch your heart. It follows the proverbial “five stages of grief” from Denial to Acceptance and is probably the ‘only’ natural instinct that any common audience can relate to (most of the others – the extra martial affairs and the mandatory heart-breaks therein due to peer rivalry etc can be dismissed by the general audience as something related to the ‘film world’ only). This is the phase where Chintan Nair, the novelist friend of Mrinalini plays the vital cog – he is a support one rarely finds in life.  Though, question can be raised whether he could have been the same if his wife is not crippled with Arthritis? If we choose to ignore that question, the loss of a child through accidental death put us to this death paradox. This loss, attenuated by a visit to the Nair-couple reach Mrinalini exactly where? From the narrative we come to know she left cinema after Satyajit Ray’s demise. How did she manage, cope and sustain life in between? Did she defeat it with her remembrances of her? This is all unknown. Cause Aparna Sen chose a jump from that time to the fateful night when she opens her life to herself and the box of pictures.

This is where the film started with - the fourth death. The death of self – the mind and the soul happened, it seems long back. With suicide, Mrinalini wishes to part with the mortal remains. It is interesting hence, on the eve of embarking to this journey better unknown to all, she herself tries to conquer death with her nostalgia. Is it a funeral to the self only since there is probably no one who will subvert Mrinalini’s absence in their lives by her joyful memories? It could well be.  The prelude and the establishing shots cannot but make the audience remember Max Ophuls’s Letter from an Unknown Woman (1948) – like Lisa (a charming Joan Fontaine), Mrinalini (a tired Aparna Sen) also pens her suicide note. We are soon riding the flashback train with Mrinalini’s nostalgia from the turbulent 70’s to her becoming a top actress and the controversies. Interspersed, the aged Mrinalini tears up each time the suicide note. This conquest of the desire to die is from within – helped by the pictures, paper cuttings which all bring in nostalgia.  However one observation can be – the emphasis of the screenplay to show Mrinalini as a victim. It can be argued, in few cases with her men, she was a ‘willing’ victim. This shallows the depth of her emotional turmoil with them or in-spite of them. Associating tragedy inflicted by patriarchy is such a clichéd currency that it seldom sells now. In the context of Indian cinema two films which come rightly in mind are Guru Dutt’s epic Kaagaz Ke Phool (1959) and Shyam Benegal’s Bhumika (1977). Even though Guru Dutt had harped on the longing bells to the extent of self-destruction and the death of a relationship (marital in this case), the film is a tribute to the cinema of the 40’s and 50’s of Bombay. Bhumika on the other hand is a cut-above representation of the early Indian film industry and a woman’s journey through it – tragic yet unrepentant.

The deaths hence of IM are laden with self-indulgence, big philosophies and prophecies. Somehow in between, life slipped through. This is the reason why the film and the deaths within it almost always fail to connect. The tragedy of absence – in individual and in collective society is narrated in thin air and dissolves. The final scene where we find Mrinalini deciding to forego her decision of suicide (since she got a message from Chintan that he is coming – for another philosophical journey?, may be) but eventually lying dead from a gunshot when night is killed by the morning Sun becomes trivial in interpretation.

Only the longing, the unending quest and the feeling of loss due to Sona’s death is so over-encompassing. How to give enough to those who survive, not for us only – the living but more so for those who are so ceremonious with their absence as well.  If only the film showed us some glimpse of this herculean journey of the unfortunate.

Ichchhe – if only the parents wished less

Let me start with the story of a teen-ager some twenty years back. He loved and wanted to study literature. His academician parents were wiser - "There is no future in General stream that too Literature". The boy grew up believing that he probably didn’t have the merit as well to pursue arts.

Watching Nandita Roy and Shiboprasad Mukherjee's debut film Ichchhe (meaning 'wish') I suddenly got reminded of that boy whom I knew quite well till a time. Ichchhe deals with a reality which is a perceived reality of the Bengali middle class. Long back Rabindranath Tagore was miffed by the hapless Bengali psyche and wrote "saat koti sontaner hey mugddho janoni, rekhecho bangali korey manush koroni" (a crude translation is - "Hey mother of seven crore children, you have kept them as Bengalis but did not let them grow as complete individuals"). Bengali population has got multiplied from that seven crores in these many years but the truth of situation remains almost unaltered. The film opens up with a kid Rana getting up from sleep and his mother Mamata (Sohini Sengupta) readies him for school. In the short journey in a rickshaw to school, Rana is hammered with 'knowledge' from the mother. And this continues, from home to school, on the way back and almost all the time the child is awake. He is threatened, loved, blackmailed and cornered - to fulfill the 'wish' of the mother that he stands first in the exams every time. Soon we find Rana a pawn to his mother's irreverent desire – a cherished dream of self-respect and status-quo in the society which her LIC-agent husband cannot provide.  In a touching sequence she breaks up to her sister and confesses that she has nothing more to do – she wanted to make it big through some one, if not the husband then at-least the son. This sad revelation immediately strips off the mother from a villainy badge, making her emotions logical even if her actions were not.  In one of the altercations the father (Bratya Basu) told her wife that as parents they have done their duties in bringing up their son and she should not ideally confuse it with her own sacrifices towards making a better future for Rana. Mamata couldn’t take it internally, her life revolved round her son, how can now she try to dissociate herself from this? Near the later part of the film there is a stunningly tragic representation of the repressed anxiety of Mamata, her world where Rana is still a kid – his cups and medals where Mamata can feel her efforts into the achievements. The message is strong and clear – how parents mummify their children as toys for their own ego satisfaction.  Through the father’s character in direct comparison with Mamata’s the dilemma of attention over intrusion is conveyed well. It was an interesting code where the father being un-interested from the beginning is not Rana’s biggest threat but is distant from him. On the other hand the mother trespasses Rana’s life and drifts away from Rana to an extent that he sees her as his enemy and revolts from time to time. So where does the son go? In Sanskrit there is an adage – “prapteshu sorosho borshe, putra mitra badacharet” (meaning “attaining the age of sixteen, the son should be treated as a friend”). Unfortunately even now, in middle class Bengali houses the son-parent relationship lacks this maturity. The film doesn’t answer this dichotomy as well but reflects it truthfully.

Interesting also is the politics of gender where the homo-gendered rivalry of the coveted object (the ‘man’) leads to a tussle of emotional tug-of-war. While Rana’s first girl-friend was passive (whom Mamata initially nipped off brutally from Rana’s life and at a later time wanted to implant back to get rid of his second girl-friend), Jayanti, his second love-interest is charmingly effervescent.  Bidita Bag as Jayanti exudes freshness which is natural and real. To her credit she managed to uplift the character from being a baby-doll at the hands of Rana or the director-duo! Her effortless flirtations from being an extrovert to the moments of psychological crises are praiseworthy. With few more films lined up for release, Bidita hopefully will get the variety to portray a range of characters. She has a promise, an urban youth who is familiar to us. Her leading man in the film Samadarshi Dutta (who played the grown up Rana) is a finding. His big eyes are innocent till you beat his ego hard and he can be stinging in his cold stare. With a stubble he at times resembled the young Soumitra Chatterjee of Apur Sansar (remember, The Times reviewer wrote, "Actor Chatterjee, as a young man too gifted to be strong, provides an unforgettable object of the Biblical lesson (Luke 10:8) ' the children of light'"). This is Samadarshi’s first film (like Bidita’s) though not the first released since Ichchhe was delayed exhibition by three years! Both Samadarshi and Bidita launch themselves whole-heartedly into the filmscape – we can hope they can be the face of Bengal to World cinema. Sohini Sengupta as Mamata used her stoic physique to create a sense of un-relented destiny for a Bengali child – a different mother archetype which is less benevolent and more strict and fearful. Sohini, as always grabbed the role in both hands and delivered.  At times she was melodramatic, her theatrical overtones being overtly underlined. But those can be treated as aberrations. Her own sense of void that leaves her hitting at the door of communication with her son and returning empty-handed are carried through deftly. Sohini as Mamata, is a different image in the collage of character acting in Bengali cinema and it’s sure to be held with high esteem in future as well.

The film that can boast so highly of the acting however cannot do justice with its soundscape. The background music is too dramatic and intrusive. Rupam Islam added some decibels of noise. Anuseh Anadil of Bangladesh sang a poignant song and juxtaposed with Rana’s emotional outburst to Jayanti however seemed a little lengthy defeating the purpose of drama needed there. The costume as in most Bengali films raise the same question – why will most of the characters remain so immaculately made up even if they are at the leisure comfort of their homes? 

Ichchhe is a good attempt. It holds on a palette that has all the colours that we are familiar with. It is rare to find a Bengali film devoid of any nostalgic reference. Rather it intrigued the audience to tread nostalgic remembrances about their own childhood and the others surround them. The making is not outstanding as a result somehow there is a feeling of looking at the sky through a small window rather than the whole sky itself. Yet, such effort is praiseworthy simply because it tried to look at different aspects of life that contemporary Bengali film makers choose to ignore. Ichchhe probably cannot become a phenomenon in itself the way Taare Zameen Par happened to be. But Ichchhe did create a ripple that transmitted across successfully. That is no mean achievement.

Postscript:  That boy, whom I mentioned in the beginning, never had the courage of Rana to revolt nor did his mother push him to that extreme. He is now a man in his late thirties who toils hard in a software company. I happened to ask the toiler “Are you happy with what you do or you wished if you are in literature today”. I got a corporate-like response “well it depends”. But I already know that art has left him long ago.

Soumitra Chatterjee Revisited

At Satyajit Ray Auditorium, ICCR,Kolkata on July 11,2011, Films Division, Government of India & Rabindranath Tagore Centre, ICCR jointly presented the premiere of Soumitra Revisited, a documentary made by Sandip Ray (not the son of Satyajit Ray) on the legend Soumitra Chatterjee. This is a every important incident to me. When the nation state is ga-ga over the new "Indian" cinema which is in essence only Hindi cinema, the retrospect on regional cinema is all which is welcome. And yes, this can be made possible by the Govt of India only since they can look beyond the bazaar.

It was important for me to write this piece as a flock of emotions cloud my mind. I was rather harsh on him post his Best Actor felicitation in my article The Enigma That is Soumitra Chatterjee (http://dearcinema.com/article/the-enigma-that-is-soumitra-chatterjee/1944) due to his overt and insensitive support of the Government in the Nandigram killings. I, at a later point in time, took an interview of him for my magazine Silhouette which was later re-published in Dearcinema (http://dearcinema.com/interview/taa%C2%AAte-aa%C2%A0-taa%C2%AAte-with-soumitra-chatterjee/2026). During the interview and afterwards I felt Mr. Chatterjee only acted a scene - one of the many which he does to many interviewers - on screen or off.  I still have that lamentation with me - wished I could take another with a more decent timeline and which actually probes and brings out the mysteries round creation.

I grew up watching cinema in the decade of the eighties. How I wished to be there when a Satyajit Ray classic got released or Ritwik Ghatak's Subarnarekha hit the theatres. That feeling eluded me ever. However on the brighter side, I could get a retrospective effect of the cinema of the Indian masters. And who else than Soumitra hogged it all. It was some sultry afternoon when I completed reading Bibhutibhusan's Pather Panchali and Aparajito - the two literary masterpieces that gave birth to Ray's Apu Trilogy. Like many, the electrifying feeling was to think myself as Apu - life is so beautiful, so vibrant and it never mattered if Apu and I are separated by decades, hundreds of kilometers and the comfort cushions of the living rooms. It was quite an experience hence to watch Ray’s Pather Panchali and liking that as well – how could he see the pictures that I have drawn in my mind! I was little apprehensive of Aparajito, Ray’s middle one of the Trilogy then (though it evolved as slightly more dear than the other two much later) but when I saw Apur Sansar, the last part, I was again sure that this man and no one else can be Apu. Till today, fifty two years after the film was made, I cannot think of anyone else as Apu. That film made Soumitra Chatterjee an icon. He stayed young and Apu ever since.

Chatterjee acted in hundreds of films, directed innumerable plays (many of which remain quite peerless even today), edited a premiere intellectual magazine in Ekkhan and had been a poet. Is there any other actor on this planet been so versatile? I know not. This multifaceted intellect is what made him popular – shaping up a Bengali intelligentsia in the mould of him. This is the reason why even today, a smart and sleek Sabyasachi Chakraborty isn’t accepted full-heartedly by the Bengali audience in the role of Feluda, the sleuth penned by Satyajit Ray and acted in two films by Soumitra. The two Feluda characterizations by Soumitra and Sabyasachi which are separated by few decades are difficult to be compared - Soumitra’s one is more cerebral and Sabysachi’s more physical.  As mentioned the blue-print of intellect – sharp eyes, hanging cigarette, reciting Bengali poetry dressed in a Panjabi with a shawl crossed across the shoulders with a few day’s unshaven beard – Soumitra-ness is the cult. His association with Ray yielding fourteen roles in the latter’s film only helped in fostering the image. From the romantic Apu, to the manipulative Sandeep (of Ghare Baire) till the stead-fast and honest doctor in Ganashatru, Soumitra had nurtured the image of Bengali-conscience and consciousness. The Bengali-ness which makes us think that pride is above money, that knowledge is more important than being street-smart, that being laidback is superior to throwing tantrums about being ‘professional’.  Interestingly, in many an interviews and memoirs Soumitra had presented a character of himself which is so unlike Bengalis. He is a dynamic person, professional to the hilt and extremely dedicated to his work and art – just like his mentor Ray, we as Bengalis size him and his philosophy the way that suits us. 

But what is more important is to appreciate that probably no other Indian actor aged so gracefully as Soumitra. This is the reason why we never had any problem accepting him in more mature characters where the reel-age was far more than the real. Ray once quipped that Soumitra was not equally good in characters which are not up to the mark. The maestro director was wrong at times and this assessment of his about his leading man is one such – there are umpteen examples of Soumitra being extraordinary in films made by inconsequential directors in forgettable roles. It is unfortunate hence, for an artist of his stature to be always labeled as a director’s actor – his fourteen extraordinary appearances in Ray’s films are to be blamed! It took long for Soumitra to prove his detractors wrong, but he surely did it. For many long years he was without doubt the greatest Indian cinema actor to me. I would argue that he was successful both as a romantic hero and also in character roles even as villains. However, it is true, it is essentially that single Bengali-conscience role that he played with impunity – as a youth ageing to an old. In contrast, Naseeruddin probably holds a more sparkling gamut of offerings – from rags to riches, from being a Parsi to a South Indian – he played them all. Soumitra being a regional actor, it may be argued, got less chance to portray this variety.

There have been many words written about the artist, a documentary by Catherine Berge named Gaach on him and few other tributes. That the Films Division stepped up to pay a tribute is a commendable gesture. For all those, who thrived on a lot of things that nurtured us the way we are, Soumitra Chatterjee remains a vital cog. He had ruled the scene for long and is continuing to startle with the veracity of his commitment towards life and art.

Take a bow, Apu – the world is truly, yours.

Ranjana… please don’t come again!

Every film-maker has a hangover or what they call , a favourite subject! Bergman had issues with Christianity, Antonioni with communication and spaces, Woody Allen had New York, our own Ritwik Ghatak had partition. For Bengali film director Anjan Dutta (who started off as the 'angry young' face in the films of Mrinal Sen and Buddhadeb Dasgupta in the early 80s) its basically two - Darjeeling and Bangla Rock/band music. Anjan had been quite prominent as a solo modern song-writer and singer since the mid 90s after Kabir Suman (then Suman Chatterjee) brought in some energy to a new type of Bengali modern songs which harped on our existence. Gone are those romantic lyrics - these songs in many cases came out from the streets and directly into our favourite playlists.

Previously Anjan made a smart and sleek film in Madly Bangali which dealt with a young gang of college students and their ambition to become a successful rock band. It was quite an enjoyable film - true to times and honest in its rendition.

The latest film by Anjan Dutt Ranjana ami aar asbona (meaning "Ranjana I won't come again" - this is a song from Anjan's first released album of the mid-90s) however dabbles more with self-indulgence to the extent of narcissism.

            Most Bengali film directors of today (and unfortunately I do write this in almost every article of mine on contemporary Bengali films) play the 'nostalgia' card dripping with sugary emotions so much so that even the sepia undertones have become monotones! Anjan used to be quite different - smart and entertaining. He seemed to have been lucky not to carry the 'hang' of being a Bengali - culture vulture prying from old treasures. Unfortunately enough Ranjana... seemed to fall in that genre. There had been explicit and abundant references of Anjan's own songs which are hits (though the character's name is Abani), Kabir Suman plays the role of a senior musician Stanley Bose who like Suman himself was the torch-bearer. Stanley of the film actually sung Suman's "Gaanwala" a lyrical masterpiece. So, references are galore. And in the midst you find Abani Sen - a successful 'legend' of the music industry who raps up with this mofussil girl dreaming to make big in the city. Then what follows is self-pity, indolence, overdose (And I mean OVERDOSE) of smoking and boozing - the typical bengali sentiment of an artist defeated by fate and so lonely - ahha, you have to feel for him. Its his creativity which makes him unwind every girl on his way and throw away like sanitary napkins, its his "good inner soul" which makes him worry for the girl when she doesn’t return for long (he actually leaves her in street because he wants her to be "lost in the city" ) - what crap bullsh#t! Give me a break!!

There was one interesting collage however in that "know yourself only when you are lost" sequence where the city of Kolkata came up close - in the Park street, the banks of the Ganges, the Kumartully where the Durga idols were being made and so on. But the parallel verbose from Abani about what is music and what is art seemed jarring. When will reel characters be less prophetic?

The character of Stanley Bose is intriguing - he is the only ray of hope - not because Abani Sen confessed to him that none of Sen's songs are like Bose's but more because Bose had an aim, a focus and the strength of will and character to pursue his goals. He is unattached, economical in his associations and radical in his vision.

Like any profession majority of the Bengali directors should also understand that there is need for a retirement age - else you repeat and you repeat and whatever you preach in your film, in actual, you don't step aside to give way to a newcomer. It is a distant dream hence, if they can be like Bose in the dissociation of their pet objects. Simply because art should not be wasted as toilet tissues.

The boat wrecks

 There are broadly two types of contemporary 'art-house' Bengali films - a) films set in the past, sort of period films, b) films set in the present but the characters and the setting smell primarily of nostalgia.

Most of the recent Bngali films that one gets to see fall in either of the two. The year being noble-laureate literatueur Rabindranath Tagore's 150th birth year there has been a flurry of films on Tagore's stories. Rituporno Ghosh is an avid Tagore admirer and had previously made a reasonably successful Chokher Bali (2003). That he will be interested to pay homage to Tagore on this special occasion is not a surprise. It’s quite commendable to get Subhas Ghai to produce the film as well. Rituporno roped in the Sen-sisters for the first time – Raima and Riya to play the two sides of the proverbial ‘same’ coin.

But inspite of all these, Nouka Dubi (Boat wreck, 2011) is a decently unimpressive film.  Rituporno tried to play a bit with self-reflexivity by announcing his film as an “inspiration” from the Tagore novel. He then started his film with a Tagore song directly and showing Hem, the heroines of the film ogle at a Tagore portrait. This interplay with the form could have been important had not been used just for the sake of using Tagore’s song liberally in the film. Seldom has Bengali directors restrained from using Tagore’s songs in films. Now if something is good then why not use it? But the problem lies in the over-use of it. By the laws of nature hence, the outcome becomes quite ordinary in the end.  In the prefaces of Nouka Dubi and Chokher Bali (the other film that Ghosh adapted to cinema) Tagore was categorical for his penchant for trying something different in the form of literary composition –

The demand of the times has changed. These days the curiosity about stories has become psychoanalytical. The weaving of incidents has become redundant. … The ultimate psychological question associated with it is, does the root of the faith of our women in the everlastingness of her relationship with her husband lie deep enough for her to disdainfully tear apart the net of her first love based on unconsciousness? But such questions do not have a universal answer.

(1985, Tagore R (1985). Novels : Rabindra-Rachanabali, Vol. 7. Calcutta: Pas chim Banga Sarkar, p. 347).

However if one reads Rituporno’s reasons for adapting this Tagore story ist is –

I felt that Noukadubi, would give to Bengali cinema a film with a strong narrative. In recent times, it has become a fad to think that breaking the narrative is the only way of making good cinema in Bengal.

(http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2010-11-17/news-interviews/28220684_1_noukadubi-rituparno-ghosh-international-film-festival accessed on 06 June 2011)

The problem with the Ghosh film is primarily in this narrative membrane (he shifted the time of his drama two –three decades forward as well, marked by the occasional references of the (in)famous law-suit of the ‘missing’ Bhowal-king). The story is melodramatic and the basis of the wife-swapping saga was primarily a psycho-analytical quest of the writer. As mentioned in the Tagore’s quote, there was a quest which Tagore weaved with dialogues and situations that reflect the self, the story unfolding slowly and the complex tapestry of hetero-gendered tension adding some fervor to it. Now, to narrate this in entirety in 2011 and to make the film completely asexual (to mark it with Tagore’s times, unsuccessfully), the director treaded difficult paths. He probably got away with the actual sequence of the boat wreck with background reference of the devastation. However the wrecks within were insipid in depiction. Even if we understand Ramesh’s binding in front of Sushila’s (his wife) widowed mother, we don’t fathom Ramesh’s reactions towards Hem at a later point in time when he planned to marry her keeping the truth about his marriage a secret. Similarly, Hem’s swaying to Nalinaksha in Benares and then moving back to Ramesh seem too staged.

            There were few moments where the camera wanted to light up the hearts of the audience – the frames of Ramesh and Kamala after the boat wreck, the one in Benares where Hem and Nalinaksha held hand in hand to pass through a “dark” lane (these obvious connotations cease to work now, unfortunately) or Ramesh’s confrontation with his father on the subject of his marriage. Unfortunately for Bengali cinema all these seem so borrowed from Ray’s films – Devi, Apur Sansar and may be few others. But with these nostalgic implicit referrals as well it cannot be saved from its own wreck. 

            Interestingly the film was released as Kashmakash in Hindi with a supposedly 30-minute cut down from the Bengali original to make it more compact. (http://www.thefilmstreetjournal.com/2010/12/rituparno-ghosh-nouka-dubi-love-longing-loss/  accessed on 06 June 2011). Though I haven’t seen the Hindi version, the obvious pitfall is the Tagore songs in Hindi. Transporting a deep and closely bound cultural artifact in an alien sound-scape is not only dangerous but equally outrageous.  As for the Bengali film, in line with the type b) mentioned in the first sentence of this article, there are too many instances of Tagore’s songs making the film palpably slow. Added to it is the typical style of acting whenever it becomes a Tagore story – slow movements, grim and deep dialogue throwing punctuated with long pauses. Film-makers taking up Tagore should understand that this decorum itself is self-defeating. They can always look up to Ray’s adaptations which were always so natural, so real-life like instead of trying to copy Ray’s images.

            In my book hence, Ghosh’s Noukadubi could have flashed with a storm but in effect, died with a whimper. He chose a relatively weak Tagore fiction but failed to turn it to his advantage.