Let me start with the extras on this Criterion DVD.
The first segment is an interview of film critic, Ujjal
Chakraborty, who explains the symbolism in the film through its various scenes
and motifs. He draws from Ray’s storyboards, his cover designs and
illustrations to explain Ray’s visual style though some of the examples of symbolism
seemed a little stretched.
That is followed by a conversation with Satyajit Ray
recorded in August 1958, when he visited USA. The interview is about his early
filmmaking career, followed by a fairly detailed description of the making of
Aparajito. Ray talks about composing his visuals and adding on music in great
detail, confessing that “I like a bit of a rough edge to my films”.
After that, there is a video-essay with narration by Andrew
Robinson, Ray’s biographer. If you are a Ray aficionado, you’d probably have
read much of this (in Robinson’s biography itself) but there is still a lot of
charm to hear it in Robinson’s voice.
The final piece is an absolute gem – a half-hour documentary
made for Canadian television in 1967. Part of a series called ‘A Creative
Person’, the short film shows him talking extensively about his though process
during the filmmaking process and also shows him shooting with Uttam Kumar (on
Chiriakhana), with him actually operating the camera and instructing actors.
There are some extremely valuable scenes showing Ray location hunting and
composing for (for Gupi Gayin Bagha Bayin) and explaining his choices. He is
also doing something that later became a trademark – collecting props from a
classmate’s palatial house for use in his films. The documentary also has his
chief technicians – Subrata Mitra and Bansi Chandragupta – talk about their
experiences of working with him. His
actors are interviewed including Madhabi who speaks in Bengali, with Soumitra
translating it to English (both of them on sets and in costume for some period
drama). The film gives an idea of Ray’s celebrity status (even when he was just
a decade into making films) when he is mobbed by a huge crowd as he comes out of
a location.
Ray’s very articulate self is intercut with scenes from
Calcutta of that times (including some shots of browsing books on College Street). About Calcutta, he says, “[it is a] rich and dense and complex
city… intellectually alert… people are constantly reacting to things… and as a
filmmaker, that’s what interests me…”
The extras are a sumptuous, juicy dessert after the feast of
a film.
The restored version of Aparajito brings alive the dazzling power of the Kashi
Vishwanath temple aarti, the aging elegance of Varanasi, the crumbling walls of
the city, the intricate carvings inside mandirs and the dramatic light and
shadow of the night scenes.
And yet, the enhanced visual delight is just a support to
the wonderful screenplay – of what is essentially a rambling story – that brings
a certain pace to the proceedings. In his usual unobtrusive way, Ray paints some
cruel pictures that are distressingly real. The casual ease with which a young
boy leaves his sick father to burst Diwali crackers or gets over his father’s
death is something picked up from real life and yet, something commercial cinema
has never been able to depict.
Even the small characters like the lecherous Nanda Babu and
the idealistic school Headmaster are so well-written and lovingly detailed that
there is never a boring moment. (And yes, the caricature of the headmaster on
the school wall was done by Ray himself.)
Karuna Banerjee’s performance as Sarbajaya is surely one
of the finest acting performances in Indian cinema. Apart from her speech and
facial expressions, even her body language evolves in the film as she goes from
being a sheltered wife to a strong single bread earner to a neglected mother. The
dark circles under her eyes, the roughness of her hair, the frailness of her
gait, the gradual wilting of her voice all add up to a towering performance.
While Hindi cinema is about the bombastically sacrificial mother,
Sarbajaya exemplifies the ‘strong silent type’ who sacrifices a lot because she
is determined not to let her son become a rich household’s minion. Her limited
world view makes her want her son to become a priest in the family traditions
but when the son’s strong ambitions are made clear, she is the one who finds
the funds to make it possible. When the young Apu says “Maa, ami schooley jabo” (Maa, I want to go to school) and asks her for money, her helplessness gives way to a resolve, one that only
mothers are capable of.
She is obviously not keen on her son going away and her
argument with Apu about his future in Calcutta is a distressing one because it
is the sort of argument that parents always lose, or maybe they want to lose. Again,
her grief gives way to resolve and the scene in which Sarbajaya packs Apu’s
suitcase is so well-written and well-performed that you don’t realise that both
the writer and actor are just two films old.
When Apu comes back home from Calcutta, Sarbajaya recounts
her fears of disease and death to him while – oblivious to all that – a tired
Apu drifts off to sleep. One is reminded of a similar scene in Pather Panchali
when Sarbajaya rambled to Harihar and her husband too drifted off to sleep. From
son to husband (and maybe her father before that), Sarbajaya is the Indian
Everywoman.
In the final scenes, when she resignedly says “Shey jodi
ashey to nijei ashbey” (He will come on his own if he has to), it just brings a
heartbreaking curtain down on her life of struggles.
To bring this to an end, I will link a letter Mrinal
Sen’s son wrote to his mother about the impact Aparajito had on a group of
Indian students in the US in mid-1980s. I think it brings alive at least a part
of what I felt during this viewing of Aparajito.
The last time I watched Aparajito, I was on Apu’s side. This
time, I had shifted over to Sarbajaya’s. I think this is what distinguishes a
master’s works from those by lesser mortals. The work has a new relevance and a
new meaning every time you watch it.
[Frivolous Footnote: In one scene, Apu gleefully tells his
friend that he has ‘managed’ to wriggle out of going home for the vacations by sending
a money order to his mother. His belief that his mother would be satisfied with
the money reminded me of Deewaar, where another son tried to buy his mother’s
support for his wrongdoings.]
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