Movie & Music Director: Satyajit Ray - Page 4

From : http://www.brightlightsfilm.com/50/rayiv.htm

Soumitra Chatterjee and Sharmila Tagore
in Apu Sansar (The World of Apu)

Revisiting Satyajit Ray

An Interview with a Cinema Master

"Everybody has access to me, anyone who wants to see me. . ."

By Bert Cardullo

From 1961 onwards, starting with Teen Kanya (right), you have composed the music for your own films. Before concluding, could you address the subject of music in general and film music in particular?

Yes, of course. Music has been my first love for many, many years — perhaps from the time I was thirteen or fourteen. As a child, I had a toy gramophone and there were always plenty of records in our home. Then later, at Presidency College and while I was at the University of Shantiniketan, I became seriously interested in Western classical music. I did not have very much money in those days, so obviously it was a question of collecting slowly, one movement of a symphony or a concerto at a time.

When I started working, I began to take music even more seriously. I not only began to collect records, but I also got into the habit of buying musical scores. I remember there was a shop in Bombay in those days — S. Rose and Company — which used to sell miniature or pocketbook German scores. These became bedside reading for me. During the day I would listen to the records with the scores in hand, and then when I read the scores again at night, the music would all come back to me. This is also when I started to become familiar with staff notation.

Why primarily the interest in Western classical music?

You see, our home has always had a tradition of listening to Rabindrasangeet and Indian classical music. My uncle was a great music lover, and the promising new musicians in those days would come regularly to our place and perform. So, since I was familiar with Indian music — from these private performances and from going to public concerts — I did not feel that there was anything more I needed to do in order to learn about it.

With Western music, on the other hand, I experienced the excitement of discovering something new, completely uncharted territory: Beethoven and others whom I had only read about, doing something that did not exist in our music. I shared this enthusiasm with several friends, and I remember that the salesmen at Bevan & Co., in Dalhousie Square, used to be quite astonished that three or four young Bengalis could be so interested in Western classical music.

The universe in his back yard

Sentimental sell-out or visionary with a common touch?Ten years after the death of India's cinematic giant,Derek Malcolm remembers Satyajit Ray


Thursday May 2, 2002
The Guardian

At over six feet tall, Satyajit Ray was an imposing figure who towered over most of his fellow Bengalis.And the general opinion - not denied by many in India, even in Bollywood (most of whose output he despised) - is that his films towered over those of the sub continent's other film-makers. But now, 10 years after his death, as retrospectives are prepared worldwide in his honour, will his slightly reticent classicism and overt humanism have the same appeal? Ray's work is, after all, the direct antithesis of most contemporary cinema, especially that emanating from Hollywood and Bollywood, the world's two strongest commercial industries, hooked as they are on rip-roaring special effects and visuals. His films never shout, and often just whisper. They are carefully considered, deeply serious documents about people and their troubles in an age when we seem to value facile and impermanent entertainment first.


They do not use stars: once a very well-known Hindi actor begged me to ask Ray to give him even a small part on one of his films. Ray laughingly refused. They also come from deep within a Bengali culture that the west, and even a good many Indians, may never completely understand.


The French, for instance, no slouches where the auteurs of Hollywood were concerned, took years to admit that Satyajit Ray was as great a director as Nicholas Ray, his American namesake, with no less a judge than Franois Truffaut leading the doubters, complaining that Pather Panchali was simply yet another sentimental stab at neorealism among the peasantry.


The opening shot at revaluing Ray here is the commercial release this week of Pather Panchali (Song of the Road), his first and possibly most famous film and the opening instalment of the Apu trilogy. The second will be a full-scale retrospective beginning at the National Film Theatre in London in July. And despite the gear-change required when one confronts a Ray film for the first time, it's odds-on that a good many will be seduced.


Here is a film-maker whose greatness is even more obvious now than when he died, shortly after receiving from Hollywood the honorary Oscar that he valued so much. This is partly because we now realise that there are very few directors still working who deserve to be considered in anything like the same light, and partly because Ray's last few films, when he was stricken with heart trouble, forbidden to go on location, and reminded of his frailty by an ambulance permanently waiting outside the set, were not his most dynamic work.


That the Oscar from Hollywood almost came too late was a scandal, and it was only at the insistence of Martin Scorsese and other internationally minded US film-makers that he got one at all. He won, at one time or another, practically every other prize available to him. Once, after dinner at his flat in Calcutta, his wife Bijoya asked me whether I would like to see the trophies. Ray was reluctant at first but then led me into his bedroom and pulled out a large trunk from under his bed. It was crammed full of statuettes and citations from all over the world.


The reason he was so pleased to win his Oscar was that, though he was a Bengali through and through, he was also a great admirer of American cinema, having seen the best of it in London as a young man employed there with an advertising agency. He loved film-makers such as John Ford and admired the skill and universality of the best of Hollywood cinema.


His second great love was for Jean Renoir, for whom he scouted locations for The River and who encouraged him to take the plunge into film- making. He was passionate also about the Italian neorealists whose work was so influential in the 1950s. The first of the 100 or so films he saw in London was De Sica's The Bicycle Thieves. De Sica's classic gave him the hope that he could make Pather Panchali - the story of a boy called Apu born into an impoverished Brahmin family in a Bengali village, taken from a novel by Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay - with a mostly amateur cast.


It was not an easy process. In Subatra Mitra he had a cinemato- grapher who was as inexperienced as he was, and he also had very little money. He had to borrow from his insurance company and from relatives, and even to pawn Bijoya's jewellery in order to shoot 4,000ft of edited footage that might persuade a producer to back a film with no songs and dances, and which was to be shot entirely on location and without any professional crew.


After he had produced this and hawked the result around as many producers as he knew, he almost gave up. The gap in shooting lasted almost a year until the chief minister of Bengal was persuaded to help, even though one of his officials thought the famous scene in which the procession of a sweet seller, Apu and a dog is reflected in a pond was running backwards.


The film was finished just in time, with Ravi Shankar completing a masterly score in less than a weekend. The voice of the boy who played Apu didn't break, though everyone thought it would at any moment, and the old woman who is so marvellous in the film didn't die, as Ray thought she might.


In the end, Ray got nothing in the way of payment for the film. He did, however, win international fame for what one critic opined was "India's first adult film".It won best human document at Cannes and the president's gold and silver medals in India.


If this was superb film-making under the most difficult conditions, the rest of Ray's large body of work was often made under almost equal pressure. Added to that, although he made generally praised masterpieces such as the rest of the Apu trilogy, The Music Room, Charulata and Days and Nights in the Forest, he was sometimes virulently criticised.


In the 1950s and early 1960s the radical movement, represented in the Indian cinema by the Godardian work of Ray's fellow Bengali Mrinal Sen, frequently attacked Ray for his lack of obvious polemic and his refusal to openly espouse political causes in his films. Some close to the Indian government accused Ray of "exporting poverty" and giving the world a view of India that was too critical and depressing. An ancillary accusation was that he was too western a director, making films about the Indian poor for middle-class audiences at foreign festivals. Many of India's younger directors deeply resented the fact that he seldom took much interest in their very different, more radical work, or was critical of it.


In Britain, an attempt was made at one Edinburgh film festival to claim that Ritwik Ghatak, the brilliant but unstable Marxist Bengali director, was the superior artist, even though the two men admired each other and were both heavily influenced by the great Bengali poet and writer Rabindranath Tagore.


He was also much praised. Kurosawa, the great Japanese director, once said that not to have seen the cinema of Ray "means existing in a world without seeing the sun and the moon". And Pauline Kael wrote, after seeing Days and Nights in the Forest: "Ray's films can give rise to a more complex feeling of happiness in me than the work of any other director. I think it must be because our involvement with his characters is so direct that we are caught up in a blend of the fully accessible and the inexplicable, the redolent, the mysterious. No artist has ever done more than Satyajit Ray to make us re-evaluate the commonplace."


Through all this, often wondering at the way he came to be regarded as India's proudest export in official circles and yet still found it so difficult to make his films, he ploughed on. He wrote his own scripts, often composed his own music, invariably looked through the camera himself rather than relying on his cinematographers and directed each film from production designs and drawings that he had made himself.


He also wrote children's books and made children's films, illustrating them himself and following in the footsteps of his grandfather and father, both of whom left behind work that children still read today.


His own words probably sum up the intentions of his art best: "In 1928, I went with my mother to Tagore's university. I had my little autograph book, newly bought, and my mother gave the book to Tagore and said: 'My son would like a few lines of verse from you.' And he said: 'Leave the book with me.' The next day he said: 'I have written something for you, which you won't understand now, but when you grow up you will understand it."


It read: "I have travelled all around the world to see the rivers and the mountains, and I've spent a lot of money. I have gone to great lengths, I have seen everything. But I forgot to see just outside my house a dewdrop on a little blade of grass, a dewdrop which reflects in its convexity the whole universe around you." What Ray did was to reflect in his best films precisely what Tagore had taught him.

Originally posted by: soulsoup

Why primarily the interest in Western classical music?

You see, our home has always had a tradition of listening to Rabindrasangeet and Indian classical music. My uncle was a great music lover, and the promising new musicians in those days would come regularly to our place and perform. So, since I was familiar with Indian music — from these private performances and from going to public concerts — I did not feel that there was anything more I needed to do in order to learn about it.

With Western music, on the other hand, I experienced the excitement of discovering something new, completely uncharted territory: Beethoven and others whom I had only read about, doing something that did not exist in our music. I shared this enthusiasm with several friends, and I remember that the salesmen at Bevan & Co., in Dalhousie Square, used to be quite astonished that three or four young Bengalis could be so interested in Western classical music.

Thanx anol for the interview 😊. yes his film musics all had tht western touch. HMV has made an album wth the back ground scores & also the songs of many of his movies. i hav started uploading thm. will post the lnks soon.

Originally posted by: Barnali

Thanx anol for the interview 😊. yes his film musics all had tht western touch. HMV has made an album wth the back ground scores & also the songs of many of his movies. i hav started uploading thm. will post the lnks soon.

That's great Di 😊 I have that album too!

I'll upload few songs from "Gupi Gayen Bagha Bayen"! 😊

Originally posted by: charades

click here (English)

The filming of the 'Chess Players' a great experience
To listen click here (English)

On the inside story of the making of 'Gandhi'
To listen click here (English)

Thanks Vijay - this is great! 😊

But where the 'Gandhi' came from? 😕

Gandhi did nt hav connection to Satyajit Ray if i remember correctly 😕 😕

THE ADVERSARY

A young man, newly graduated from college is unable to find meaningful employment. He lives in a crowded apartment with his widowed mother, a revolutionary brother and a younger, well employed sister. Family frictions and his continuing unsuccessful quest for a job place an unbearable strain on him causing him to hallucinate. The pressure, magnified by the tense and impersonal setting of Calcutta, builds to a devastating conclusion. Hindu Neorealism?

Directed by Satyajit Ray. Screenplay by S. Ray after Sunil Ganguly. Music by S. Ray. With Dhritiman Chatterjee, Joyshree Roy, Kalyan Chatterjee, Debraj Roy.

DAYS AND NIGHTS IN THE FOREST
Aranyer Din Ratri

An incisive and moving study of four men who leave crowded and cold Calcutta for a brief holiday in the countryside. There, they will each have different, very unique and personal experiences that will alter their lives -- a brief love affair, a cheap sexual encounter and true love. By the time they return to their urban existence, each one will have been changed in a radical and unique way.

"Chekhov and Jean Renoir (with whom Ray worked) come to mind, especially in the magical picnic scene, but the subtle revelation of character through the purposefully slow tempo and the deceptively simple cinematic effects are all the master Indian director's own."-Holt's Foreign Film Guide

"This is a rare wistful movie that somehow proves it's good to be alive"- NYT

Directed by Satyajit Ray. Screenplay by Ray from the story by Sunil Ganguly. Music by Ray. Photo by SoumenduRoy. Music by SatyajitRay. With, Sharmilia Tagore, Soumitra Chatterjee. Subhendu Chatterjee, Kaberi Bose, Robi Ghosa, Samit Bhanja.

DISTANT THUNDER
Ashanti Sanket

A young and pompous Brahmin settles into a Bengali Village and assumes the role of priest, teacher, doctor, wise man and chief know--it--all. As the Second World War drags on, food is diverted to the military and starvation spreads across India. The young Brahmin, humiliated by his inability to feed his wife, becomes wiser and more compassionate. He finally humbles himself and emerges as a genuine human being.

Direction, music and screenplay by Satyajit Ray. Story by Bibhuti Shusan Bannerji. Photography by Soumendu Roy. Cast; Soumitra Chatterji, Babita, Sandhya Roy, Gobinda Chakravarty, Romesh Mukerji.

India 1973. 101 minutes. Color. (Color is weak in some segments) Hindi dialog with English subtitles.

DEVI
The Goddess

A man becomes obsessed with the idea that his daughter-in-law is an incarnation of a Hindu Goddess. Insanity follows as reality, fantasy, & simple human desires clash.

Directed by Satyajit Ray. Cast; Sharmila Tagore, Chabi Biswas, Soumitra Chatterjee & Karuna Banerjee.

A Film Review by James Berardinelli
India, 1959
Running Length: 1:46
MPAA Classification: No MPAA Rating (Mature themes)
Theatrical Aspect Ratio: 1.33:1 Cast: Soumitra Chatterjee, Sharmila Tagore, Alok Chakravarty, Swapan Mukherjee, Dhiresh Majumdar, Sefalika Devi
Director: Satyajit Ray
Producer: Satyajit Ray
Screenplay: Satyajit Ray, based on the novel Aparajita by Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay
Cinematography: Subrata Mitra
Music: Ravi Shankar
U.S. Distributor: Merchant-Ivory/Sony Pictures Classics
In Bengali with subtitles The World of Apu (Apur Sansar) concludes one of the greatest film series of all time, Satyajit Ray's Apu Trilogy, which chronicles the life of one Bengali boy as he traverses the road from childhood through adolescence to maturity. Ray, a masterfully accomplished director, is at the height of his powers with this film, one of the most equally wrenching, uplifting, and cathartic motion pictures I have experienced. Following 1955's Pather Panchali and 1956's Aparajito, this 1959 feature provides the perfect culmination to an unforgettable saga. It's possible to review The World of Apu without mentioning the other films in the trilogy, because Ray has constructed this movie so that its full power can be felt by anyone unfamiliar with what preceded it. Nevertheless, for those who accompanied the writer/director as he charted the emotional and spiritual odyssey of Apu's early life, The World of Apu provides a fitting final chapter. Not only are we afforded the opportunity to observe the kind of man the protagonist has ultimately become, but we see how his cumulative experience coalesces to influence the most monumental decision of his life. The World of Apu is carefully divided into three acts. In the first, we are introduced to the adult Apu (Soumitra Chatterjee), a struggling writer living in a Calcutta apartment during the 1930s. Apu is alone in the world, having already lost his sister (Pather Panchali) and father and mother (Aparajito). He's three months behind in his rent, so, to meet his landlord's demands, he is forced to sell some of his precious books. Jobs are scarce, and Apu can't find one that suits him. One day, his old school friend, Pulu (Swapan Mukherjee), arrives to invite him to a wedding in the village of Khulna. Apu, who doesn't have anything else to do, agrees to come. On the day of the marriage, however, the groom develops unexpected mental problems, and the bride, Aparna (Sharmila Tagore), is left alone and unmarried. Her superstitious family believes that if a wedding does not take place at the appointed hour, she will be cursed forever. To save her, Apu is recruited as a "substitute bridegroom." The second act, which has an almost-playful tone, details Apu and Aparna's married life -- how they initially come together as strangers then grow to love and understand one another. In slightly more than thirty minutes, Ray brings to life an unforced, deeply moving romance. Apu and Aparna's gentle relationship is punctuated by bursts of pathos and comedy, but their union is so effectively crafted that it's easy for the viewer to lose him- or herself in the simple beauty of Ray's world. Alas, the happiness doesn't last forever. The third, defining act of the film hinges on tragedy and its aftermath. Aparna dies giving birth to a son, and a devastated Apu abandons his baby for a nomadic lifestyle filled with hopelessness and self-recrimination. Only in the final scenes of The World of Apu is the protagonist offered an opportunity at redemption, and we aren't sure until the last shot whether or not he will accept it. The "tragic love story" is a timeless motion picture staple, but few, if any, express emotional truth with the simple, heartbreaking eloquence of The World of Apu. Although the best stories of this sort (such as Richard Attenborough's Shadowlands) typically have moments when they ring false, this movie is free of such missteps. Ray's considerable skills as a film maker are at their pinnacle, and the result is unforgettable. The acting, as is usually the case in a Ray film, is of the highest caliber. Soumitra Chatterjee, who was to become a "regular" in the director's films, gives a fine, multi-dimensional portrayal; it's easy to believe that he's the same Apu that we got to know in the other two films. The void created by the absence of Karuna Bannerjee, who anchored both Pather Panchali and Aparjito as Apu's mother, is filled by the exquisite Sharmila Tagore, who, like Chatterjee, would appear in future Ray films (as well as Mississippi Masala). The greatness of the "Apu Trilogy" lies not only in its intimate understanding of the intricacies of human nature, but the artistry with which it expresses those truths. Each of the films is filled with wondrous images, and watching Apu's life unfold is like gazing through a window into a rare and unique world. And, even though the trilogy includes much tragedy, Ray gives birth to hope from each despair, and a measure of joy from every sadness. After all, life is like that, and the "Apu Trilogy" reflects the universality of the human experience.

I saw The World of Apu in a full theater, and, after the end credits had rolled, everyone reluctantly rose from their seats to file towards the exit. An unusual silence enveloped the crowd of 150. There was no discussion or aimless chatter, just the quiet, communal introspection of a lingering experience. I can think of no better illustration of this film's power and impact. The "Apu Trilogy" is a true masterpiece, and The World of Apu is its crown jewel.

Pather Panchali (Song of the Little Road)

A Film Review by James Berardinelli
India, 1955
U.S. Re-Release Date: widely variable, limited distribution
Running Length: 2:05
MPAA Classification: No MPAA Rating (Nothing offensive)
Theatrical Aspect Ratio: 1.33:1 Cast: Kanu Bannerjee, Karuna Bannerjee, Subir Bannerjee, Uma Das Gupta, Chunibala Devi
Director: Satyajit Ray
Producer: the Government of West Bengal
Screenplay: Satyajit Ray, based on the novel by Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay
Cinematography: Subrata Mitra
Music: Ravi Shankar
U.S. Distributor: Merchant-Ivory/Sony Pictures Classics
In Bengali with subtitles When discussing "giants" of the non-English-speaking, international film world, four names leap immediately to mind: Ingmar Bergman, Federico Fellini, Akira Kurosawa, and Satyajit Ray. Of these men, Ray has received the least North American exposure, but, arguably, the most critical acclaim. Praise for the Indian director, who died in 1992 shortly after receiving a lifetime achievement Oscar, has been effusive from both film makers and critics. Vincent Canby, of the New York Times, once wrote that "an entire world is evoked" by each of Ray's films. The late Louis Malle called Ray's body of work "magical and completely unique." And James Ivory, the director of Howards End and The Remains of the Day, has said that, after watching a Ray movie, the viewer will feel "fulfilled, enriched, maybe wiser, and wanting more." Indeed, it is Ivory, along with his partner, Ismail Merchant, who has made this screening of Pather Panchali, Ray's directorial debut, possible. With financial backing from Sony Pictures Classics, Merchant and Ivory have cleaned up, packaged, and released a series of Ray pictures for distribution in select United States theaters. Included in "The Masterworks of Satyajit Ray" is the complete Apu Trilogy, which is comprised of three of the director's early films: Pather Panchali, Aparajito, and The World of Apu. The movies, which exist on video but are not readily available, are worth searching out. Anyone who believes in the uplifting power of motion pictures will not be disappointed. Pather Panchali, Ray's first foray into the film making world, was completed in 1955, and proceeded to win the top prize at the 1956 Cannes Film Festival. It's a quiet, simple tale, centering on the life of a small family living in a rural village in Bengal. The father, Harihar (Kanu Bannerjee), is a priest and poet who cares more about his writing and spiritual welfare than obtaining wages he is owed. The mother, Sarbojaya (Karuna Bannerjee), worries that her husband's financial laxity will leave her without enough food for her two children, daughter Durga (Uma Das Gupta) and son Apu (Chunibala Devi). Harihar's family often lives on the edge of poverty, coping with the unkind taunts of their neighbors, the burden of caring for an aging aunt (Chunibala Devi), and the terrible aftermath of a natural catastrophe. Pather Panchali starts slowly, but builds inexorably towards a powerful climax as we come to know, and empathize with, the characters. Ray takes the time to create a meticulously believable world that draws the viewer in. There isn't a false note in the entire film -- not in the characterization, the dialogue, or the storyline. The emotions evoked by the events of Pather Panchali are honest and true, not the contrived byproducts of manipulative formulas. Ray makes us feel with the characters, not just for them. Most of what transpires is shown through the eyes of either Sarbojaya or Durga, and, as a result, we identify most closely with these two. Harihar is absent for more than half of the movie, and, before the penultimate scene, Apu is a mere witness to events, rather than a participant. Until the closing moments, we don't get a sense of the young boy as a fully formed individual, since he's always in someone else's shadow. With its often-poetic black-and-white images and heartfelt method of storytelling, Pather Panchali speaks intimately to each member of the audience. This tale, as crafted by Ray, touches the souls and minds of viewers, transcending cultural and linguistic barriers. The languorous pace, which initially seems detrimental, proves to be an asset -- Pather Panchali would not have been the same experience had material been cut. Each scene builds upon what has come before. This is the kind of motion picture that will stay with you for hours, or perhaps even days, after you've left the theater, and that's a rare characteristic for any movie.

A Film Review by James Berardinelli
India, 1956
U.S. Re-Release Date: widely variable, limited distribution
Running Length: 1:50
MPAA Classification: No MPAA Rating (Mature themes)
Theatrical Aspect Ratio: 1.33:1 Cast: Karuna Bannerjee, Kanu Bannerjee, Pinaki Sengupta, Smaran Ghosal
Director: Satyajit Ray
Producer: Satyajit Ray
Screenplay: Satyajit Ray, based on the novel by Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay
Cinematography: Subrata Mitra
Music: Ravi Shankar
U.S. Distributor: Merchant-Ivory/Sony Pictures Classics
In Bengali with subtitles Aparajito, the middle installment of legendary Indian film maker Satyajit Ray's Apu Trilogy, follows his 1955 debut, Pather Panchali, and precedes 1959's The World of Apu. Although Pather Panchali is a study of near-perfect cinematic style and exquisite emotional insight, Aparajito lifts Ray's talents to new levels. The word "masterpiece" is certainly overused, but this is one instance when it is deserved. When Aparajito opens in 1920, Apu (Pinaki Sengupta) and his parents, Harihar (Kanu Bannerjee) and Sarbojaya (Karuna Bannerjee), are living in the city of Banaras, where they moved following the events of Pather Panchali. In Banaras, along the banks of the holy Ganges River, Harihar, a Brahmin priest, recites Hindu scriptures to earn a living, while Sarbojaya attends to their home. Apu, like any typical child, spends his time running off to play with his friends. In the early sequences of Aparajito, Ray paints a memorable picture of the city and its culture -- Banaras is a place where the ordinary and the majestic blend seamlessly together. Shots of the sacred steps and the men immersing themselves in the river are among the movie's most lasting images. Tragedy strikes when Harihar falls ill, then dies. Suddenly, Apu and Sarbojaya are left alone, without means of support. After working as a cook for a wealthy man in Banaras, Sarbojaya and Apu move to the Bengali village of Mansapata to live with her uncle. There, Apu begins attending school, and quickly becomes a top student. After several years, Apu (now played by Smaran Ghosal) is offered the opportunity to continue his education in Calcutta, but he is concerned that his mother will forbid his leaving home. Aparajito was filmed forty years ago, half way around the world, yet the themes and emotions embedded in the narrative are strikingly relevant to modern Western society (thus explaining why it is called a "timeless classic"). While watching this film, who doesn't nod knowingly when Sarbojaya carefully packs Apu's suitcase before his trip, adding a jar of home made butter and pleading with him to write soon? And how familiar is it when mother and son meet after a long separation, and her first comment is that he has grown taller and doesn't appear to be eating well? One aspect of Ray's mastery is that, even though he creates unique worlds for his stories, the films' basic, universal truths allow them to speak directly to the hearts of each viewer. The overriding theme of Aparajito is that nothing is static -- life is about change and discovery. In Pather Panchali, the characters and settings are much the same throughout. Here, supporting characters and locations are in a continual state of flux. The only constant is Sarbojaya; even Apu undergoes a visible metamorphosis as the younger actor gives way to the older one. It is an undeniable fact of life that children grow up and move away. And, though their motives in turning their back on their homes are not necessarily unkind, their actions may appear selfish. Such is the case in Aparajito. As Apu leaves for Calcutta, he is excited about the future, and barely gives a thought to the mother he leaves behind. For her part, she puts on a brave face for his sake, but, the moment his back is turned, the mask crumbles, revealing her fear and loneliness. With her husband dead and her son gone, Sarbojaya has nothing left to live for. Especially during the film's closing half-hour, her scenes are poignantly realized. The emotional conflict between her despondence and Apu's exhilaration creates a powerful dichotomy that is only bridged in Aparajito's closing moments. I can't say enough about the strength of Karuna Bannerjee's performance, not only in the concluding act, but throughout both of Ray's first two movies.

Aparajito is an amazing motion picture. Its rich, poetic composition is perfectly wed to the sublime emotional resonance of the narrative. For those who have seen Pather Panchali, Aparajito provides a nearly-flawless continuation of the journey begun there. Yet, for those who missed Ray's earlier effort, this film loses none of its impact. On its own or as part of the Apu Trilogy, Aparajito should not be missed.