Revisiting Ray’s Pather Panchali, Neo-realism and Contemporary Bengal

Often, movies instantly grab our attention with the grandiosity of their settings, quirks and idiosyncrasies of its stars, catchy song-dance sequences and special effects to amplify the suspense and characterisation. The West is credited for introducing improvised cinematography and sound and visual elements that make films aesthetically pleasing. Post-independence, radical film societies movements shaped cinematic content, proposed the novelty of neo-realism in filmmaking, yet infused it with the film forms and techniques dominant in the West. Satyajit Ray, in a way, pioneered this movement being a stalwart through his Apu Trilogy. By distancing from the utopian cosmopolitanism and urban cultural milieu, he threw light on situating his films mostly in dilapidated houses, mired in chaos and poverty and chose offbeat suburban locations of Bengal. His vision of the Indian majority was successful in his critically acclaimed film Pather Panchali, produced by the Government of West Bengal, and released on 26th August 1955.

Ray did so by casting nonprofessional actors and curating their characterisations and stylistic elements, highlighting thorough research backed up with skilful cinematography. Assimilation of these factors made it a voyeuristic pleasure for audiences of all ages to look beyond a myopic view of a family film with a happy ending. I called it voyeurism as it created an experience of gazing at each subplot to provide an introspective journey about the unpredictability of lives. The realistic portrayal of every protagonist’s journey through deprivation could move one to tears- so powerful and relatable were the emotions captured in the film. He set himself apart by going beyond a narrow vision of urban masculinity and fetishism. Capturing on the reel the lives of its female protagonists and gendered hypocrisies, Ray captured the monstrosity of everyday lives in rural landscapes. The skilful use of cinematography included long shots of the sweet seller and other villagers immersed in daily chores, a panoramic view of the lake, and close-up shots of distressed faces coping with meagre resources provided a cinematic world aligned with realism.

Ravi Shankar’s background score created a poetic style of filmmaking which complimented his films. Additionally, its loosely structured script and low key lighting made it easier to comprehend poverty and deprivation during Bengal famines. Moreover, it contrasted the formulaic family feudal romance and emphasised how song and melody must complement the film’s story. Situated in Nischindipur in the 1910s, the film captured the power of silence to display despair and hopelessness instead of dialogues that instantly tapped into audience insecurities.

Quite contrary to male centrism in 1950s Indian cinema, Ray placed his female characters such as Durga (the daughter), Sarbojaya and Indir Thakrun (old aunt) at the forefront. The film revolved around their lives and how Durga’s death led to her family being disillusioned and migrating to Banaras. But it also threw light on how Apu (Durga’s younger brother) felt her void and was compelled to become independent. He also flung the necklace that Durga had stolen into the lake, fearing the label of his sister being remembered as a thief. Similarly, Durga’s father (Harihar Roy), the priest, broke down on hearing of his daughter’s death as he finally entered with a new sari for her. His disillusionment was complemented by sitar music and panoramic shots of the lake accompanied by heavy rains in the backdrop while the family left the village. The complexity of their emotions, simple joys in stealing guavas explicitly shown through Durga’s smile, Indir’s thrill in licking a few morsels of rice, Durga’s tattered and wornout clothes and heart-warming emotions of Apu and Durga sharing food introduced the audiences to an affective medium of cinema watching.

By Priyam Sinha

Instead of melodramatic clichés, Ray presented rural India engulfed in an impoverished material world, surrounded by nature’s havoc and life cycle from birth, illness, ageing and death. Ray forayed into poetic storytelling to communicate the transience of things, the unpredictability of life and how an accident can leave an entire family distraught with their sense of being and belongingness. What’s appalling is how he captured authentic emotions in their most raw form and presented it through an exchange of silences, gestures of stealing and taunting, and desire for some simple joys like sweets, fruits and new clothes for Durga Puja. Ray’s vision still holds prominence in portraying rural Bengal; and how the pandemic has marred the quality of life, leading to economic crises. Health hazards like typhoid and dengue combined with natural disasters like the floods led to the annihilation of their sources of livelihood in rural Bengal. Although the film ended on a tragic note with Durga’s death, mired by the family’s disillusionment, it showed how it continues to draw contemporary relevance strongly backed by critical appreciation and global appeal till date. Therefore, Pather Panchali provides a lens to view marginalised India and goes beyond Indian cinema's formulaic melodrama.

(The author is a doctoral candidate at the National University of Singapore)