A few weeks ago, right after I published my review of Diary of a Chambermaid, I had to put the brakes on updating this blog for awhile. The next entry in my timeline was Satyajit Ray's Charulata, released about six weeks later in 1964 after Luis Bunuel's film. But the disc wouldn't be released by the Criterion Collection until August 20, leaving me in a bit of a conundrum. If I proceeded on to the next film on my list, I wouldn't be able to review Charulata here (yes, I'm nerdy-obsessive enough to not intentionally break my rule about going backwards in the chronology in order to review older films, nor does my conscience allow me to just slip it in when convenient on the assumption that nobody really checks these things or cares if I get to the films slightly out of order.) I could always find another platform to review the film, and that's exactly what I did with Charulata's companion piece, The Big City and Satyajit Ray's other (current) Criterion film The Music Room, released back in 2011. Both of my reviews are hosted over at CriterionCast.com (along with my review of The Life of Oharu, the culmination of a week-long exploration of Kenji Mizoguchi's major films that I undertook to fill the time between reviews on this site.) But I wanted to make sure that Ray got at least a bit of coverage here. He's too important a filmmaker to neglect on my main site, and his movies really do connect with me in a very personal way, speaking directly to the life I live, my closest relationships and the issues confronting the people I care about the most, despite the fact that they originate from a seemingly foreign and exotic cultural matrix.
My exposure to Indian art and cinema has been fairly limited and shallow, for the most part. I'm not completely unaware of figures like Rabindranath Tagore (who wrote the story that Charulata is based on) and I have a basic working knowledge of the history of British/Indian colonial relations, so the rough framework is in place to understand the historical context. Still, I fully expected to feel a lack of comprehension of some of the issues that Satyajit Ray raised in this film, and when its characters referred to important literary and political figures of the late 19th century, I definitely felt the urge to hit pause and consult Wikipedia or switch over to one of the supplements to provide some background. But I was too entranced by the tensions between wife Charu and husband Bhupati to break away. After looking into the mirror of my own experience in watching The Big City last weekend, I was deeply moved by yet another dramatic unfolding of the complexities that arise in a marriage between two partners who, regardless of the attractions and other influences that brought them together, are struggling to really know themselves as well as each other, as they seek a way forward in their relationship despite the obstacles they each face in that journey of discovery.
Unlike The Big City's apartment-dwelling working class couple struggling to establish themselves in early 1960s Kolkata, or at least avoid falling into raw poverty, Charulata's household is quite nicely appointed: luxuriant furnishings, live-in servants, ample interior courtyards, large enough to house multiple guests and even the husband's small business, an English-language weekly newspaper dedicated to discussing the politics of the day from what we'd consider a liberal/progressive point of view. Bhupati takes the fact of British colonial rule at face value, regarding it largely as an opportunity for growth and advancement of the Indian society that he proudly represents. He seeks to align himself with those figures within the British Empire who would advocate for a more inclusive approach to India's concerns, and he opposes those English politicians of the more conservative sort who only see India as a territory to be exploited and whose citizens will always be limited to second-class status (or worse) in the imperial hierarchy. Given England's status at that time as the world's pre-eminent superpower, and the sheer numbers and untapped potential wealth of the Indian subcontinent, the stakes were high, the possibilities of conflict were numerous and the eventual outcome of the generational struggle was completely uncertain. There are issues to be debated, books to be read, public gatherings to host and attend, facts and intrigues to research and report, in order to gain the most informed, comprehensive understanding of what's going on. It's just the kind of fascinating, multi-faceted and utterly absorbing problem that a man of capable intellect and expressive abilities can immerse himself into. (In a way, it reminds me of this year's long-project I have embarked upon, of blogging through the Criterion Collection.) :)
But where, exactly, does a woman like Charu fit into Bhupati's life and daily routine? She is beautiful, intelligent, artistic, poised, dignified, modest - a well-raised, thoroughly admirable and perfectly complementary wife to this respected and increasingly influential man who's rising to a level of leadership and prominence in his community. No one could find fault in her; their home seems to fit the ideal of Victorian-era colonial Indian bourgeois values. But watch this clip of the first seven minutes or so of Charulata to see if you can detect what might be missing in the equation.
Charu's aimless wandering about through the rooms and corridors of her comfortable home, her irresistible attraction to the street sounds and sights outside her window, are not indicative of this being a particularly boring or lonely day. Ray's patient exposition reveals that this is the daily circumstance of Charu's life, an isolation that while not outwardly painful, and certainly easier to endure in comparison to the hardships suffered by the poor who undoubtedly live in close proximity to her, still threatens to ruin her. The brief stimulation of witnessing a glimpse of the outside world triggers lyrical emotions in Charu, and we hear the blossoming of a short musical theme to indicate her elevation of consciousness. But without a clear focus, an object of contemplation, it's hard to sustain. As Ray brilliantly punctuates at the end of that scene, as Bhapu strolls past her two times, oblivious to her presence, or more likely, knowing she's there but not having anything particular to say to her as he pursues the volume of text he needs to bolster some point he's trying to make with his gentlemen colleagues, Charu is at risk of becoming, if she hasn't already, just another lovely object, taking her place alongside the tapestries, the vases, the grandfather clock, the piano, the bookcase, the birdcage... that propriety demands, that wealth makes accessible and convenient.
Thankfully, neither Ray nor Tagore are content to cast Bhapu as a thoroughly insensitive cad who's unconcerned about his wife possibly withering away due to neglect. Knowing that he's very busy, and probably having almost no experiential knowledge of how a husband and wife of their stature are supposed to share relational intimacy anyway, Bhapu draws upon conventional resources of familial connections to find Charu some company. He invites Charu's brother, Umapada and his wife Manda to move in with them, making Umapada his business manager so that Bhapu can focus more on the great issues of the era rather than the day-to-day concerns of running a newspaper. Manda will provide Charu some female companionship, which turns out to be of a mostly vapid sort. Better than nothing, perhaps, but Manda and Charu are stirred by different interests.
Soon, with a storm erupting with sudden severity, an additional guest is ushered into Charulata's mix: Amal, Bhapu's cousin, a young man of college age, a poet, a singer who's still looking for his own focus in life but who is brimming with the vibrancy and vitality often found in sensitive men in that phase of life. Still maturing, in need of additional life experience before he can contribute meaningfully to the kinds of dialogue that Bhapu engages in, he nevertheless has an important assignment given to him by his uncle: to discreetly provide Charu some tutoring in the literary arts that her husband is at least perceptive enough to recognize are an important creative outlet for her. This proposal from a married man to a charismatic bachelor relative of his to spend extended time alone with his wife does seem unusual, especially to Western viewers who see the obvious risks of infidelity that might grow out of that enhanced familiarity. The custom of the debar, in which a husband's brother or close cousin is allowed to have a "sweet but chaste" friendship with his wife, is explained in Charulata's liner notes. It's helpful to have that knowledge going into the film, as it makes the scenes with Amal and Charu reclining alone together in the garden reading poetry to each other seem a little less like the out-of-bounds seductive flirtation that it might otherwise appear to be.
In changing the story's title from "The Broken Nest" (Tagore's source novella) to Charulata, Satyajit Ray clearly placed more emphasis on the development of the lead female character than Tagore presumably did. This brief synopsis of the differences between the book and the movie implies as much:
Like Rabindranath Tagore's novella Nastanir (The Broken Nest), its film version by Satyajit Ray titled Charulata (name of the novella's main character) has been hailed by critics as one of the most outstanding achievements of their creators. A leading film critic of India has even claimed that in Charulata "Ray's understanding of the character is perfect.... Charulata is observed entirely from the inside."1 My paper argues that Ray not only distorted the story of Nastanir, he totally and brutally caricatured Bhupati's character, neutered Amal's and marginalized Manda's in order to render the novella filmworthy and reflective of his personal preferences.Though the opinion seems more sharply critical of Ray than I would be (since I love this film!), the argument seems reasonable that Tagore was more intent on giving equal weight to the concerns of all his main characters. I have no problem with a directorial decision that shifts its perspective to focus on one sympathetic personality, especially when its expressed by such a wonderful actor as Madhabi Mukherjee. She also starred in The Big City, and her performance there was so impressive that Ray offered her an even more significant role in the film that has since been most widely regarded as his very best in the course of a long and distinguished career. Mukherjee's brilliance doesn't come through in demonstrative displays or emphatic dialog, but rather in her unique ability to convey powerful currents of emotion welling up to the surface, only to be constrained by her awareness of the devastating repercussions that would follow if her inner thoughts and desires were fully expressed. That, and the sheer expressive profundity of her gaze, her refined body language and the exquisite symbiosis that developed between her, the camera work of cinematographer Subrata Mitra (Ray's usual collaborator in that role) and the comprehensive auteurist vision of Satyajit Ray, who also wrote the screenplay and composed the music for all of his films.
As one might expect, the story unfolds with all the poignancy and relevance to real life characteristic of the best examples of melodrama. Through various experiences of friendship, rivalry, doubt and betrayal, we see wife, husband, family members and associates discover gifts within themselves, take risks, suffer setbacks and feel the anguish of heartbreak, ultimately winding up in a gorgeously ambivalent, memorable and tear-inducing conclusion that overwhelmed me with memories of similar moments I've lived through, for better or for worse, over the course of nearly three decades of marriage now. Dissecting all that development here would be a disservice to those who haven't seen the film, and I'm already approaching 2000 words on the subject anyway. I guess it's sufficient to say that I'm deeply impressed by Charulata and that, through further acquaintance with his heartfelt and immaculately realized films, Satyajit Ray will most likely become one of my favorite directors of all time.
Next: Three Outlaw Samurai
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