Le salon de musique

Jalsaghar (aka "The Music Room") is a 1958 drama film directed by master Indian filmmaker Satyajit Ray. Based on a short story of the same name by Bangla writer Tarashankar Bandopadhyay, Jalsaghar presents the tale of decline of a feudal lord in the pre-independence India. Jalsaghar stars veteran Bangla actor Chhabi Biswas in the lead role of Huzur Biswambhar Roy. Huzur is the last of Zamindars—a dying breed of landlords who once formed the very basis of the Indian Feudal System. Huzur's glory days are over but his sense of superiority remains intact. He lives in the past neither acknowledging the present nor anticipating the future. He continues to be a servant of his refined tastes even as his coffers are getting empty.

Jalsaghar was Ray's fourth film which he made after the commercial failure of Aparijito—the finally film in Ray's much acclaimed "The Apu Trilogy". Ray had initially thought of making a commercial film, based on some popular work of literature, which would incorporate popular Indian music. But, what eventually transpired was something that was totally different. It was more of an art-house work than a commercial movie that Ray had initially intended to make. The movie failed to do well at the Indian box-office. But, it received both critical and financial success in Europe and the US and helped Ray earn international reputation. The music of Jalsaghar was written by the Indian composer and sitar maestro Ustad Vilayat Ali Khan who was encouraged by Ray to compose musical pieces that would gel well with the movie's dark and gloomy tone. The movie's melancholic musical composition and sombre art direction—the sublime use of mirrors, chandeliers, etc.—gives it a Gothic feel in the vein of American Film-Noir films of the '40s and '50s.

In Jalsaghar, Ray highlights the perpetual conflict of tradition versus modernity while simultaneously examining the Indian caste system. Jalsaghar is a sublime work of cinema that, having stood the test of time for over five decades, continues to inspire the budding filmmakers as well as enthrall the audiences worldwide. Jalsaghar is widely regarded as Satyajit Ray's most evocative film. It serves to be a great means of getting acquainted with Ray's oeuvre. Jalsaghar with its universal motifs is also the most accessible of Ray's films, especially for foreign viewers. Jalsaghar is not a movie that would woo a casual viewer. Restless viewers should best stay away from it. But, a patient viewer would be thoroughly rewarded. The movie owing to its slow pace may pose impediments to the uninitiated viewer. Jalsaghar is a deeply thought-provoking work of cinema that demands multiple viewings. The movie is a must watch for every student of cinema. Jalsaghar.is an essential watch for all Satyajit Ray fans as well as those who understand and appreciate intelligent cinema. 10/10

A more in-depth review of the film can be read at:

http://www.apotpourriofvestiges.com/

This was seen in the monthly Foreign Film Series in a society for retired university (KU) peeps. This 1958 story is remarkably subtle, about the advancing age and declining wealth of a higher caste Indian man, a Zamindar (landlord), whose income from his inherited lands is dropping from the previous levels of his wealthy ancestors because increasing river floods have lessened his rentable property and income. He's unable to adjust his manner of living to either that change or simultaneous changes in the Indian economy that lead to new economic benefits and social mobility for many in lower castes. He's especially irritated at his nouveau riche lower caste new next door neighbor whose income comes from money lending rather than through inherited property and wealth; he engages in expensive rival concerts which he cannot truly afford and these leave him even poorer. Through two extended flashbacks we learn he had been married and had a son (16? 18?); both wife and son died together on a trip. So he's alone for many years. While Indian music is his primary comfort (played in "the music room" of his palatial home), he also begins to use it as his primary club against his "upstart" neighbor. As he ages we see his memory decline, e.g., asking one of his two remaining servants, "What month is this?" before he presents one last concert for invited guests (and to belittle his rival, his lower caste neighbor, an included guest) before he then embarks on an activity which leads to his death. Great examples of Indian music (but the closed captions on the DVD we saw had white type/lettering which sometimes was not very legible against its background). The movie also very subtly raises the question -- to what extent is this person (one's self or relative or friend) going through parallel sequences in the getting old process?

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.

For me the most rewarding films (or any art for that matter) are those that are acutely mindful of life and death and themselves in the midst of it. In the words of Harold Bloom, "We all fear loneliness, madness, dying. Shakespeare and Walt Whitman, Leopardi and Hart Crane will not cure those fears. And yet these poets bring us fire and light." The same with all art, much of which this film epitomizes.

"The Music Room", as it is known in English, is as much about the power of cinema as it is about that of music. It is as much about life as it is about death, both elliptically consummate by reason of each other: art as a life of inspiration, inspiration as regained strength. Art as addiction, addiction as loneliness, loneliness as death.

The ending is one of the most filmically mesmerizing moments I know of. Light and shadow, derangement and perspicuity, again life and death. And as for the Blu-ray (Region A) released by the Criterion Collection in 2011, it's phenomenal to the hilt, a cultural act in itself, in my books among their most enduring and best releases so far (perhaps only the complete Jean Vigo compares).

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.