Apu Trilogy
Biswanath Bhattacharya
September 15, 2023, 12:43:08
In our childhood, there was no Cinema Hall. Only Documentary films were our resort. The choicest films were then shown in these documentary films – like Neel Akasher Neeche, Pather Panchali etc.
I watched Pather Panchali when I was a boy of twelve. At this age, I could hardly fathom the genius of Satyajit. When I was growing up I could have a slight glimpse of Satyajit. It is difficult to introduce Satyajit Ray. His achievements are too many and no one description can ever do justice to his consummate talents. . the legend went on to don multiple hats: filmmaker, screenwriter, author, lyricist, graphic designer and calligrapher.
But the best film of Satyajit according to me is his debut film Pather Panchali.
With Satyajit Ray’s Apu Trilogy—Pather Panchali (Song of the Little Road,)), Aparajito (The Unvanquished,) and Apur Sansar (The World of Apu,))—a stirring new cinematic voice was born. Listed among the greatest films of all time, the trilogy follows the unforgettable character of Apu—a free-spirited child in impoverished rural Bengal who, with his passion for creativity and learning, matures into an urban adolescent and, finally, into a complex, sensitive, battered man. The great, sad, gentle sweep of "The Apu Trilogy" remains in the mind of the moviegoer as a promise of what film can be. Standing above fashion, it creates a world so convincing that it becomes, for a time, another life we might have lived. The three films, which were made in India by Satyajit Ray between 1950 and 1959, swept the top prizes at Cannes, Venice and London, and created a new cinema for India--whose prolific film industry had traditionally stayed within the narrow confines of swashbuckling musical romances. Never before had one man had such a decisive impact on the films of his culture.
Ray (1921-1992) was a commercial artist in Calcutta with little money and no connections when he determined to adapt a famous serial novel about the birth and young manhood of Apu--born in a rural village, formed in the holy city of Benares, educated in Calcutta, then a wanderer. The legend of the first film is inspiring; how on the first day Ray had never directed a scene, his cameraman had never photographed one, his child actors had not even been tested for their roles--and how that early footage was so impressive it won the meagre financing for the rest of the film. Even the music was by a novice, Ravi Shankar, later to be famous. To Los
The trilogy begins with "Pather Panchali," filmed between 1950 and 1954. Here begins the story of Apu when he is a boy, living with his parents, older sister and ancient aunt in the ancestral village to which his father, a priest, has returned despite the misgivings of the practical mother. The second film, "Aparajito" (1956), follows the family to Benares, where the father makes a living from pilgrims who have come to bathe in the holy Ganges. The third film, "The World of Apu" (1959), finds Apu and his mother living with an uncle in the country; the boy does so well in school he wins a scholarship to Calcutta. He is married under extraordinary circumstances, is happy with his young bride, then crushed by the deaths of his mother and his wife. After a period of bitter drifting, he returns at last to take up the responsibility of his son.
This summary scarcely reflects the beauty and mystery of the films, which do not follow the punched-up methods of conventional biography but are told in the spirit of the English title of the first film, "The Song of the Road." The actors who play Apu at various ages from about 6 to 29 have in common a moody, dreamy quality; Apu is not sharp, hard, or cynical, but a sincere, naive idealist, motivated more by vague yearnings than concrete plans. He reflects a society that does not place ambition above all but is philosophical, accepting, and optimistic.
He is his father's child, and in the first two films, we see how his father is eternally hopeful that something will turn up--that new plans and ideas will bear fruit. It is the mother who frets about money owed the relatives, about food for the children, and about the future. In her eyes, throughout all three films, we see realism and loneliness, as her husband and then her son cheerfully go away to the big city and leave her waiting and wondering.
The most extraordinary passage in the three films comes in the third, when Apu, now a college student, goes with his best friend, Pulu, to attend the wedding of Pulu's cousin. The day has been picked because it is astrologically perfect--but the groom, when he arrives, turns out to be stark mad. The bride's mother sends him away, but then there is an emergency, because Aparna, the bride, will be forever cursed if she does not marry on this day, and so Pulu, in desperation, turns to Apu--and Apu, having left Calcutta to attend a marriage, returns to the city as the husband of the bride Sharmila Tagore, who plays Aparna, was only 14 when she made the film. She projects exquisite shyness and tenderness, and we consider how odd it is to be suddenly married to a stranger. "Can you accept a life of poverty?" asks Apu, who lives in a single room and augments his scholarship with a few rupees earned in a print shop. "Yes," she says simply, not meeting his gaze. She cries when she first arrives in Calcutta, but soon sweetness and love shine out through her eyes. Soumitra Chatterjee, who plays Apu, shares her innocent delight, and when she dies in childbirth it is the end of his innocence and, for a long time, of his hope.
The three films were photographed by Subrata Mitra, a still photographer who Ray was convinced could do the job. Starting from scratch, at first with a borrowed 16mm camera, Mitra achieves effects of extraordinary beauty: Forest paths, river vistas, the gathering clouds of the monsoon, and water bugs skimming lightly over the surface of a pond. There is a fearsome scene as the mother watches over her feverish daughter while the rain and winds buffet the house, and we feel her fear and urgency as the camera dollies again and again across the small, threatened space. And a moment after death, when the film cuts shockingly to the sudden flight of birds.
I heard a distant echo of the earliest days of the filming, perhaps, when Subrata Mitra was honoured at the Hawaii Film Festival in the early 1990s, and in accepting a career award he thanked, not Satyajit Ray, but--his camera, and his film. On those first days of shooting, it must have been just that simple, the hope of these beginners that their work would bear fruit.
What we sense all through "The Apu Trilogy" is a different kind of life than we are used to. The film is set in Bengal in the 1920s, when in the rural areas life was traditional and hard. Relationships were formed with those who lived close by; there is much drama over the theft of some apples from an orchard. The sight of a train, roaring at the far end of a field, represents the promise of the city and the future, and trains connect or separate the characters throughout the film, even offering at one low point a means of possible suicide.
The actors in the films have all been cast from life, to type; Italian neorealism was in vogue in the early 1950s, and Ray would have heard and agreed with the theory that everyone can play one role--himself. The most extraordinary performer in the films is Chunibala Devi, who plays the old aunt, a stooped double, deeply wrinkled. She was 80 when shooting began; she had been an actress decades ago, but when Ray sought her out, she was living in a brothel, and thought he had come looking for a girl. When Apu's mother angers at her and tells her to leave, notice the way she appears at the door of another relative, asking, "Can I stay?" She has no home, no possessions except for her clothes and a bowl, but she never seems desperate because she embodies complete acceptance.
The relationship between Apu and his mother observes truths that must exist in all cultures: how the parent makes sacrifices for years, only to see the child turn aside and move thoughtlessly away into adulthood. The mother has gone to live with a relative, as little better than a servant ("they like my cooking"), and when Apu comes to visit during a school vacation, he sleeps or loses himself in his books, answering her with monosyllables. He seems in a hurry to leave, but has second thoughts at the train station, and returns for one more day. The way the film records his stay, his departure and his return says whatever can be said about lonely parents and heedless children.I watched "The Apu Trilogy" recently over a period of three nights, and found my thoughts returning to it during the days. It is about a time, place and culture far removed from our own, and yet it connects directly and deeply with our human feelings. It is like a prayer, affirming that this is what the cinema can be, no matter how far in our cynicism we may stray.Despite being rooted deeply in Indian culture, these films evoke a universal humanistic response. That is because the trilogy is all about human relationships. In Pather Panchali – Apu and his sister Durga, in Aparajito – Apu and his mother, and in Apur Sansar – Apu, his wife and his son form the core of the films. Death too plays a pivotal role in all the films. Two decades after its original negatives were burned in a fire, Satyajit Ray’s breathtaking milestone of world cinema rises from the ashes in a meticulously reconstructed new restoration. The Apu Trilogy brought India into the golden age of international art-house film, following one indelible character, a free-spirited child in rural Bengal who matures into an adolescent urban student and finally a sensitive man of the world. These delicate masterworks—Pather Panchali (Song of the Little Road), Aparajito (The Unvanquished), and Apur Sansar (The World of Apu)—based on two books by Bibhutibhusan Banerjee, were shot over the course of five years, and each stand on its own as a tender, visually radiant journey. They are among the most achingly beautiful, richly humane movies ever made—essential works for any film lover.
Pather Panchali would remain incomplete if I didn’t mention Dr Bidhan Chandra Roy, the iconic Chief Minister of West Bengal.
The aspiring filmmaker, armed with his illustrations, went to many producers to talk about making a film on Pather Panchali. He was turned down as none of them were keen on shooting outdoors.When the producers’ doors closed on him, Ray decided to knock on a bigger one. Ray’s mother Suprabha Ray was close to then chief minister Dr Bidhan Chandra Roy,
Satyajit had sold some priceless books and even pawned his wife’s gold to get money. Roy was hurt hearing this. An English-speaking political icon, Roy asked Ray the name of the film in English. Ray replied, “The Song of the Little Road.”
The chief minister then told him jokingly, ‘We do not fund movies. But since the movie is The Song of the Little Road, I could arrange some money from the road department.”
And history was made.
There's the 'right way' and the 'usual way'. Folks tend to confuse both. The right way isn't always the best way, and the usual way leaves you lost in the crowd of the common. Then, there's the 'unusual way', which might be right or 'wrong'; but when it births success, it usually has the power to invalidate the right way and the usual way.
A Rejoinder:
Can the Government not arrange to telecast some iconic documentary films in rural villages free of cost and thus enrich the aesthetic sense of rural folks? Aesthetic enrichment may come from the enjoyment of exposure to a style of art or artist, Aesthetics go beyond just what you can see with your eyes. It's the beauty of the world you experience with all your senses.
Billions of rupees are spent on advertisements. Only a fraction of these billboards will be spent. There is a beautiful world just waiting for us to appreciate it. Don't let fear of losing some money prevent our boys from opening their eyes.
Our government may ponder over it. There is no requirement for sitting arrangements, we will watch standing and enrich ourselves.
(Tripurainfo)