Charulata

Satyajit Ray is one of my very favorite film makers, and I especially love his "Apu" Trilogy and "Home and the World", all four of which I would probably rate 10/10 or possibly 9/10. I saw "Charulata" ("The Lonely Wife") on videotape in the closing days of 1999.

"Charulata" clearly espouses S.Ray's distinctive style with very strong and realistic characters subtly developed, rich immersion into the period of the film (in this case around the time of the Indian Mutiny in the 1860s or 1870s, as I recall from history), having of a very few settings that are each portrayed in detail, and compelling and introspective camera shots. I am not surprised that some people are reminded, in viewing S. Ray's films, of Russian author Chekhov; I think of the paralysis of the characters in "The Cherry Orchard" and their juxtaposition against a lovely estate that they are in the process of losing.

In this film there isn't the same faded glory, but the lovely home decor and liberating gardens do contrast starkly with the paralysis of the wife. Bright and with clear literary talent, she is stuck as but a home fixture for her well-intentioned but unseeing husband. The husband has laudable passion for his newspaper and the truth, but is sadly ignorant of the companionship and time that any relationship, particularly a marital one, demands.

I would probably rate this film 8.5-9 out of 10. For me, it didn't have the strong emotion of any of the other films I mentioned above or the intricate story of "Agantuk" ("The Stranger", in color and which I believe was his last film). But overall, "Charulata" is another masterpiece film by Satyajit Ray with a quiet and humble, yet powerful, presentation, rather uncommon in contemporary film.

Satyajit Ray's Charulata (1964) is considered to be a masterpiece and monument of timeless art and is also accepted as one of the best ever adaptations of a literary piece. The film is an adaptation of a short story named Nashtaneer by Rabindranath Tagore. This review contains Ray's subtle use of metaphors while handling the plot which deserves appreciation along with its other technical perfections.

The metaphors used in this film are countable but very much catchy and pleasant if related properly with each other. Ray successfully employed the metaphors within the constraint of film techniques. The mentionable metaphors are Charu's opera-glass, caged birds, carpet-shoe and Sentinel newspaper etc. In the very poetic opening sequence of the film is not bereft of any intention by the director. The use of opera-glass vision or binocular-vision (which is masked-shot to be precise) is very grabbing. Charu sees the world through opera-glass. Even she sees her husband Bhupati with it once. The immediate and swift zoom-out after the gaze is praiseworthy. In the film, Charu sees the world through it but whoever she sees goes out of her limited vision. She cannot but forced to let them go out of her vision. By the end of the film, she once again takes refuge to her glasses. The focus of her glasses (a boat) moves on. The only person static in her opera-glass is Amal as seen in the garden sequence. But Amal sneaks off at last rendering Charu's opera-glass a constant metaphor of both escapism and a means of escape. Two times in the film, caged birds are seen within the frame of a shot's composition. That is a perfect metaphor for representing Charu and Amal to some extent as if they can fly but within a limited confinement where flying does not even mean anything fruitful. The carpet-shoe metaphor is a perfect example of Charu's growing weakness for Amal. Charu knitted the pair of shoe with meticulous attention for Bhupati. This was a sign of her loyalty to her husband. But she presents it to Amal and it was clear that she was presenting her affinity for Amal by doing this. When Amal leaves, she angrily collects the pair of shoe from Amal's room but there is no indication that she will give it to Bhupati either. The metaphoric indication is clear _ Charu can never present her love to anyone anymore. The Sentinel newspaper is last but not the least metaphor here. It shifts its representational position which makes it an interesting metaphor. At first it was a symbol of Bhupati's workaholic mind and was appreciable. Then it turns itself as an image of political consciousness of Bhupati and thus assumes a negative connotation to the viewer. It is because Bhupati's obsession with politics fruits a chasm in a social relationship between him and his wife Charu. Then the newspaper becomes a symbol of Bhupati's failure. At the last freeze shot, a copy of the newspaper is seen which connotes itself to be nothing more than a scrap and thus a metonymy of a broken house. Among other metaphors, betel and Bishwabondhu magazine are prominent ones.

It is literally very tough to find flaws with editing of such a meticulously knitted film. In fact, there is none to be mentioned. The transition between scenes is smoothed by very charming fade-ins and fade-outs. There are cuts but torrent of the plot remains uninterrupted. It must be mentioned that superimposition used in order to ensure the transition between scenes were very successful. The most interesting was the last three freezes. It is at once appreciable and bears evidence of cinematic craftsmanship of Satyajit Ray. He was accused by a critic that Charulata has been a bad adaptation. But within the technical sophistication of a film; the necessity of deducing, adding and altering is technically and literally undeniable. Thus the subtlety of editing makes Charulata one of the most entertaining and pioneering films in Bengali of all times. The editing aids to condense the story within an accepted time frame. In a nutshell, the crafty editing makes Charulata even critics' favourite as well.

**POSSIBLE SPOILERS**

Lacking the formidable cultural legacy of his earlier Apu trilogy, CHARULATA (Ray's 11th film) lacks nothing else – if Ray's overall style was derived from neo-realism; CHARULATA proved that – in his own uncluttered way – he was also a master of style and subtle elegance.

CHARULATA was perhaps Ray's most technically stunning work, featuring an elegant - if moody - story shot in a manner that finds Ray experimenting a bit. The story is set in an upper-class, intellectual household in 1890s India, and the period setting is rendered in great detail – giving the film a lush, living beauty that (thanks to the stunning cinematography of Subrata Mitra) never crosses over into stuffiness. In a handful of scenes, a French new wave influence can also be seen – primarily at the very end, and also in an earlier scene featuring the title character's recollections (in a quick-moving montage) of childhood memories.

Based on a story by Rabindranath Tagore, the film explores marital complacency, as Bhupati (a wealthy publisher and political idealist, devotes the majority of his time to his publishing business, and to political interests, and grows increasingly isolated from his wife, Charulata. Charulata – as an attractive upper-class wife, is essentially expected to manage the household, and not much else, and is increasingly both lonesome (Bhupati is a generally pleasant enough husband, though also a severe workaholic who is rarely around, and - in his sexual politics - he is a product of his time) and intellectually restless.

In the midst of this, Bhupati's younger brother Amal arrives – Amal, a romantically inclined bohemian and recent college graduate who is searching for work while also pursuing literary ambitions, and has temporarily moved into the household. Amal and Charulata are instantly drawn to each other – first as intellectual companions, before an awareness of attraction is recognized. The two are plainly aware of the impossibility of the unrequited relationship, as Bhupati – after discovering than an employee has been embezzling form him – is then devastated to discover that his wife is turning away from him.

To highlight the increasing distance between each of the three characters, CHARULATA is formalistic in it's look (with the handful of well-placed new-wave-inflected scenes adding textural complexity and emotionalism), with the classical touches of the cinematography underscoring the characters' ever-increasing distance from each other. Exploring sexual and class politics - with great depth and complexity - in a historical setting (while – in its' exploration of idealistic, nationalistic politics – making subtle connections to the present-day handling of the same issues in Bengali society), with flawless performances from all, CHARULATA is a beautiful and haunting masterpiece.

I remember reading through Satyajit Ray's list of things that people from outside India would fail to get in "Charulata" – of all his films (up to 1980, anyway) the one he thought was most "superficially" accessible to Westerners – and thinking to myself: "But I DID get all this... at least, more or less."

In Bengal society (Ray writes) a woman's brother-in-law holds a privileged position; the two are EXPECTED to form a special friendship, and she is allowed to be more intimate with him than with anyone else to whom she's not related by blood (apart, of course, from her husband). Ray is right. Most Westerners don't know this. I certainly didn't. But we're able to infer as much of it as matters from the film itself: we can tell that Amal and Charulata expect, before they fall properly in love, a fair degree of freedom in negotiating their friendship; that this is okay by Bhupati; that this isn't considered odd by any of the participants; that it (probably) WOULD be considered odd were Amal an outsider... and we can tell a good deal more besides; this is, as everyone acknowledges, a film of exceedingly rich characterisations. What we CAN'T tell from the film alone is the extent to which the expectations and roles of the three central characters are duplicated in other marriages across India. But this doesn't matter. This is a chamber drama, not an allegory.

Ray also lists some literary allusions which Westerners are almost certain to be blind to, but again, I think he's underestimated the extent to which he gets across, in the film alone, all he needs to get across. We can tell, from the way the characters react, what the allusions mean; just as an allusion to Achilles' heel, if properly used, will make sense to (and add depth for) an audience entirely unfamiliar with Greek legend. Even the film's makes sense to outsiders in a way Ray thinks it won't. It's a Scottish tune (I know this because I recognised it, but you can tell it's Scottish even if you don't) with Bengali lyrics; we can tell it's a Western song, from (more or less) the land which currently rules over India, which at least some Indians have adopted as their own, which is popular enough for Amal to expect others to be familiar with it, etc. (I have to admit, though, that something was being conveyed by the lyrics that wasn't being adequately conveyed by the subtitles.)

It's a tribute to Ray's skill that even he doesn't realise just how much context he's managed to import into "Charulata". Of course, he's right in that nobody will get everything; Ray himself admits to not understanding the meaning of his own (hopeful? cautious? distancing?) final freeze frame ("I only knew that it was the right way to end the film"), and, I need hardly add, I don't either.

Ray was wrong to think that the allusions fall flat on Western ears or that some of the necessary social context is impenetrable, but the film would still have something to offer even if he weren't: the characters would still be as alive and real, the respect with which they're treated would be just as apparent; the film would still, in short, be a beautiful one.

Satyajit Ray is so good at staging his scenes from inside the minds of his characters, and I think it is why he was so successful at crossing over to foreign audiences - his empathy for the people behind his characters. He always reached to get beyond the simple exchange of dialog - watching a Ray film is watching him carefully invade the mind of his creations. Their flaws, their desires, their loves all seem so universal coming from his camera.

The photography is one of the greatest joys of Charulata, as in most of his films - the camera feels so free, so unbound to any set formula or rule of how to operate it, the joy of the operator (Ray himself) so apparent. It glides throughout all of his films, playing the eyes of some omniscient presence the characters are sometimes semi aware of. We are jolted when they look into the camera and sing, but because we have been already lulled into his world it feels completely natural that they would sing to us.

Charulata is slower, more obtuse than some of Ray's earlier films, and it feels longer. I was underwhelmed by the story, which I felt took too many left turns. But Charulata is a persistently fascinating film, particularly the almost out-of-body performance by Soumitra Chatterjee.