El salón de música

Beautifully shot and with a great soundtrack, but a rather dreary story, which is a critique of idle members of the traditional zamindar (aristocrat) class, a celebration of traditional Indian music, and a depiction of the end of an era. In the film, a damn fool of a middle-aged man (Chhabi Biswas) squanders his family fortune as the portraits of four generations of his ancestors look on in his music room, where he hosts large groups of friends to lavish performances despite his dwindling funds. He likes lolling about, smoking a hookah and drinking cognac, and it's clear he likes the music as well, but what he likes even more is the prestige and status that he has, and lording it over one of his neighbors he views (and treats) as inferior.

I loved seeing and hearing the various musical instruments, the wonderful vocalizations, and the performances - especially that dancer towards the end - they were something special. The rest of it had meaning, but was less compelling for me, despite all the craft and attention to detail director Satyajit Ray put in. It would have been more interesting had we had gotten more depth and insight into some of the other characters. Certainly worth watching though.

The film is a masterpiece, a definite 10. As with the Apu trilogy, I am mesmerized and absorbed by the pacing and drama of the film. Even though the film uses music, its appreciation, and its status as the vehicle for its themes, there is no (or very little?) background music for the spoken portions of the film. This provides not only realism, but sets off the intense and magnificent performance of the protagonist. There is also a great deal of entertainment in this film: the music performances are excellent. I wonder if Ray found the best musicians of the region and gave them roles as performers in the musical soirees: performers playing performers. I have the sense that there is very little artifice in the cinematography. That is, I feel that the filming techniques were not highly sophisticated. But the eye, the light, the composition are almost perfect. I think that the other commenter (the only other one!) stated the themes quite well for me. I would only one: the obsession and self-destructiveness that come with pride and jealousy of one's status.

After leaving an indelible mark on the global stage with his pure & poetic The Apu Trilogy, Satyajit Ray brings his restraint touch & deft eye to the more conventional narrative structure in Indian cinema and subverts it from inside out. Jalsaghar aka The Music Room isn't devoid of the musical & dance segments that are a given in most Indian films but instead of serving as mere entertaining interludes, they play an integral role in the plot.

Written, produced & directed by Ray, the film concerns a feudal landlord's passion for music & quest for social respect in the rapidly changing India and his refusal to change with the times that leads to his undoing. Through his dwindling fortunes & decadent lifestyle, Ray attempts to illustrate the contrast between old & new India and the fate that awaits those who cling on to their obsolete past & are unwilling to accept or acknowledge the modern society.

Our protagonist isn't shown in a negative light however. Instead, the film observes his all-consuming obsession with music, pride in his social prestige & envy for his next-door neighbour's increasing fortunes, and how they contribute to his downfall. Chabbi Biswas' performance is nearly flawless, and he brings the ill-fated landlord to life with all his flaws & virtues in tact. Also adding to the experience are opulent set pieces, beautiful camerawork, and neat use of classical Indian music & dance.

Overall, Jalsaghar presents the Bengali filmmaker tightening his grasp around his craft, and is one of his most impressive directorial efforts. Much worthy of broader viewership and having aged like a fine wine, the film's slow pace & overlong finale may not appease everyone but its elegant & authentic portrait of India undergoing an essential transformation after independence and the tragedy of a prideful man who's destroyed by his own hubris makes it an enduring classic of Indian cinema. Thoroughly recommended.

Just to appreciate Roshan Kumari's legendary performance -one of the most mesmerizing dancing sequences ever filmed, this masterpiece deserves a repeated viewing.

There is something savage, auto-destructive but also the purest in form about the landlord's passion for music and childish vanity in front of his peers, which made me ponder over the place of music in our society long after the credits end. In the age of MTV and MP3, we are used to the idea of carrying routinely our favorite songs everywhere from streets to bathroom, and it's pity that we hardly experience anymore the authentic ambiance of intimate music gathering such as miraculously acted and filmed in Jalsaghar. Music in other era and other place must have been high point and extra-ordinary moment of community life, source of the spiritual inspiration for civil life as well as its destruction. The decor and lighting of the music room is sumptuous and otherworldly, in perfect contrast with the wearisome monotony of domestic scenes the declining aristocrat is forced to endure.

WARNING -- PLOT DISCUSSED -- The jalsaghar is a great music hall in the mansion of the main character, a scion of a great landowning family. It's almost all he has left of the Ray family's legacy. Over the years his land has been slowly eaten away by one of the great rivers of Bengal. But he still has the trappings of aristocracy -- his retainers address him as "Hujur" ("my lord"); even his wealthy neighbour, Ganguli, addresses him as "Thakurda" ("(paternal) grandfather"). He lives only for his jalsaghar, where he can recreate his family's past glory and where he can still win a game of one-upmanship against Ganguli. Meanwhile, Ganguli is up-and-coming. He's a businessman, the new aristocrat, land-poor but cash-rich. He gets electric lights for his house; he gets a motor car, the first in the region. Satyajit Ray, the legendary director, masterfully contrasts the hollowness of the old aristocrat with the shallowness of the new aristocrat. How is privilege earned? Who is due respect? What is worthy of pride? What will pride get you? These are the questions that are explored with subtlety. The focus of the film is the performance of Chhabi Biswas, a legend of the Calcutta stage. (An interesting aside -- "chhabi" is Bengali for "picture" and "biswas" means "belief.") He fit the mold of a classic actor -- temperamental, undependable, a raging alcoholic, a master. Almost every scene is wholly dependent on him, as he preens and boasts and rages and pines away for lost glory. When you read that Biswas was in real life completely tone-deaf, his creation of a music-lover is an astonishing accomplishment, both by him and by Satyajit Ray.