In the early 1980s, when I was studying in the Uni, we used to go gaga about films made by three Bengali directors: Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen and Ritwik Ghatak. Satyajit was elite, and like his tall physique and rich baritone much different from an average Bengali, his films used to come as if with a Post-it tag: No criticism please. Much like the films of Fellini, Goddard or Antonioni. Mrinal Sen used to attract for his left leanings (I was an active member of SFI at that time), and Ghatak mesmerized us for his bohemian life, and the use of unusual imageries in his films. That was the time when we were starry eyed, and used to strive to find out newer ways and superlatives to describe these films.Today, when revisited, most of Satyajit Ray’s films appear to be living room drama, shots predictable and clichéd, sets a tad artificial. Mrinal Sen’s political films (that means nearly 90 per cent of his films) feel like Russian propaganda movies and are extremely boring. Ritwik’s films, on the other hand, appear still meaningful, dialogues potent, and imageries fresh and startling.
Subarnarekha impressed me again. The storyline is complex, but predictable, and Ghatak has thrown in too many coincidences into two hours of celluloid. Ishwar (Abhi Bhattacharjee), an educated unemployed takes break from the fights for their colony, and goes to Chhatimpur on Subarnarekha river, after a college friend offers him a job as cashier in his iron foundry. Ishwar takes with him his kid sister Sita (Madhabi Mukherjee) and an orphan Abhiram (Satindra Bhattacharya). Sita and Abhiram fall in love while playing at the riverbanks and singing songs in the forest, and elope as Ishwar makes arrangements for her marriage. Abhiram sees her estranged, low-caste mother die on the platform, and in Calcutta struggles to make ends meet. A child is born but Abhiram dies in an accident. Meanwhile, Ishwar takes to drinking. One day drunk and without vision (the specs break while drinking), Ishwar visits Sita’s house in search of further pleasures. Sita commits suicide. Two years later, Iswar is released as it is proved that it was suicide rather than murder. At the end, he takes Sita’s child to Chhatimpur, promising him a new house.‘Finding a new house’ has been the refrain of the movie—in the beginning we see the refugees trying to find a foothold, Sita comes with her brother to Chhatimpur in search of a new house, Abhiram searches his roots all his life, and the film ends with Sita’s son looking forward to a new house. But what I missed 25 years ago was the connection of this refrain with the title Subarnarekha.
Subarnarekha is the name of a river, and rivers cross unknown terrain on their way to find their ultimate home, the sea. While in spate, rivers wash away people’s abodes, pushing them to search for new dwellings; they also create new lands to help people settle. The name Subarnarekha (meaning golden thread or golden line) also denotes hope and prosperity that people look forward to in settled life.
The re-view of the film also made me think about Ritwik’s use of locale and imageries. Satyajit Roy used to be very fussy about the location of his films, and used to take a lot of time in searching them out. I remember an interesting story he once told. The shooting of Jalsaghar (The Music Room) was getting delayed as Satyajit was not being able to find out an old, dilapidated palace that would be appropriate for depicting the decadence in the movie. Finally, he found a huge mansion at Murshidabad, a little away from the river Ganges. Satyajit wrote to Tarashankar Bandyopadhyay (the writer of the story) about the house, requesting him to visit the palace once. Tarashankar wrote back, “But that is the palace on which my story is based on!”
However, Satyajit hardly strayed from his scripts, and avoided using new imageries and elements even if he found one in the location. That might be of the reasons of his films being so smooth, well-strung, and no-frills affair. Ritwik, befitting his Bohemian lifestyle, used the location to the hilt, and never thought twice before putting into new imageries and elements found in situ. Even if that needed making drastic changes in the script. And that gave a new dimension to his films.
While shooting Subarnarekha, Ritwik spent a lot of footage on the deserted World war II aerodrome that he found at the location. The abandoned airstrip became an integral part of Sita’s transition to womanhood, her affair with Abhiram, and her coming to terms with the dark side of life (facing a beggar dressed as Goddess Kali). In fact, the last imagery became the most talked about scene in the film. (In a recent film Sarisrip, Nabyendu Chattopadhyay also used the beggar dressing up as Kali incident, but the scene failed to give the goosebumps that Ghatak’s film gave.)
The narration of Subarnarekha has been too doctored at places: incidents fall into place like they never do in real life, and most characters talk in theatrical mode. In fact, that is why like most of Ghatak's films, Subarnarekha was totally rejected by the public. But I feel Subarnarekha is a classic and as an important landmark in the history of Indian Cinema. I would see the film again because the poignant passions that the characters portrayed, the exquisite imageries that Ghatak used, and as Sita in many occasions looks like my fiancé.Director: Ritwik Ghatak. 1965. Black and White
7 comments:
It is true that because of so many coincidences in the movie, it looks unnatural and highly melodramatc. I would request you to read how Ghatak himself explains this shortcoming (?):
"I agree that coincidences virtually overflow in Subarnarekha. And yet the logic of the biggest coincidence, the brother arriving at his sister's house provoked me to orchestrate coincidence per se in the very structuring of the film. It is a tricky but fascinating form verging on the epic. This coincidence is forceful in its logic as the brother going to any woman amounts to his going to somebody else's sister."
I agree with Ghatak. Subarnarekha is very much like a Greek Tragedy, where circumstances overwhelm the protagonists again and again.
Altaf Khan
What mesmerised me in Subarnarekha was also the music composed by Ustad Bahadur khan. I read a small review of the film in bwtorrents.com, from where I was downloading the movie. It was posted by mikekhan. Let me put up a little portion from it:
“Subarnarekha is a film in which we see Ritwik's mastery over the integration of sound and the picture. It’s easy to see how he has repeatedly used the Rabindrasangeet "Aji Dhaner Khete..." to evoke memories and accentuate a tragedy. Ghatak also uses a variety of folk and traditional music to embellish his characters. The discerning viewer will notice how Sita sits on the banks of the Subarnarekha and sings a Krishna Kirtan. It defines her loneliness - like that of Radha - but his use of the wide camera angles also depicts her separation from her homeland - partition echoes again. In fact, her songs also reflect various stages in Sita's life - her growing up, so to speak. Finally, take a look at the scene in which Sita commits suicide - all the way from the visual of the knife to the the clash of cymbals to the first focussed shot of the dead Sita - in a death masque and the absolute silence that accompanies it. No words can describe the sonic and visual impact of the scene – it’s an amazing integration.”
Avinash Fotedar
Mumbai
I beg to differ with mikekhan, whom Avinash quoted in his posting. If you listen to it carefully, you’ll find that the Krishna kirtan which Sita was singing on the banks of the Subarnarekha was ‘Aju ki anand, jhulat jhumar shyamar chand’ (what a happy day is today, Shyam is sitting on the swing). How can that happy song “define the loneliness of Sita – like that of Radha”?
Of course, the song reflects an important stage in Sita’s life—but that is of her budding love for Abhiram.
Rupali Datta, San Jose, CA
“…most of Satyajit Ray’s films appear to be living room drama, shots predictable and clichéd, sets a tad artificial.”
This comment is also a cliché.
It is true that because of his ill-health, Satyajit Roy could not do much outdoor shooting for his last few films. That’s why Shakha Prashakha, Agantuk, Ganashakti and even Ghare Baire may appear to some as “living room drama”. But they are all extremely well-made movies, and received many awards in India and abroad.
Also, you should not forget that Pather Panchali to Teen Kanya, Asahni Sanket and Kanchanjangha to Jai Baba Felunath are all outdoor movies. In fact, I would request you to read his essays like Feludar Sange Kashite (In Benares, with Feluda) and Hundi-Shundi-Jhundi to get a feel of how Ray used to manage the location shooting for his films.
Sahil Burman, Kolkata
To understand the repeated mention of ‘finding a new home’ in the film, we need to understand the basic theme of Subarnarekha. Meghe Dhaka Tara was the first, Komal Gandhar the second and Subarnarekha, last of the Trilogy of films by Ritwik Ghatak on refugee families and their struggle for rehabiliatation.
In Subarnarekha, Ghatak has shown the great economic and socio-political crisis eating up the very entrails of the existence of Bengal from 1948-1962; How the crisis has first and foremost left one bereft of one's conscience, one's moral sense. In the film, the problem of homelessness or rootlessness no more remains confined to the refugees from the partition. Ghatak extends it further as an important concept for the modern man, uprooted from his traditional moorings. The geographical sphere is thus merged into a wider generality.
It’s a conscious use of melodrama to relate a tale. But intertwined in the melodrama is the story of Bengal, the desecration of its cultural moorings and a masterly interpretation of life's tragedies.
Parul S.
Mumbai
As we are on the topic of use of songs and sound in Subarnarekha, I would request the readers to remember the scene of the nightclub towards the end, where Haraprasad parodies an episode from the Upanishads using an East Bengal dialect. I feel in this scene Ritwik is at his best as far as usage of verbal imagery and references is concerned. Haraprasad also quotes from TS Eliot’s poem The Waste Land; Ritwik also uses the music of Fellini's La Dolce Vita.
In La Dolce, Fellini used this music to denote the degeneration and decadence of the Western civilisation. By using the same tune, Ghatak lashed out at the degeneration in the Bengali society. In fact, Sita’s acceptance of being a prostitute also depicts this degeneration—it’s a powerful metaphor.
Avinash Fotedar, Mumbai
Rupali, I suggest you see the film once more.
There are three song sequences at that part of the movie. In the first scene where we see grown-up Sita, we find her (Iswar also finds her as he comes to give the news of his being promoted to the post of Manager of the mill) singing a dawn melody sitting on the riverbank: “Oli dekho bhor bhayi/Log jage, pavana jage…” More than loneliness, it denotes the sense of growing up, maturity in Sita.
A little later, Sita meets Abhiram as he returns from the hostel after a year. Sitting in the forest, Sita sings, “Aju ki ananda, jhulat jhulan shyamara chanda..” This Rupali has rightly pointed out, points to the budding love in Sita.
Then catastrophe strikes. Abhiram meets her dying low-cast mother. Ishwar sends Abhiram to Calcutta and arranges Sita’s marriage. We find Sita sitting on the deserted airstrip and singing, “Mora dukhwa kaise kahu/Mohana niya jiya hahi jaye/Dekho bhor bhayi, dashadishi jage/More tu kahe rulao…” I think this is what Mikekhan calls the song of loneliness—like that of Radha. But mike has mixed up the sequences.
Interestingly, none of these song sequences last for more than a minute. Their purpose was not to offer a break or entertainment, but to translate the mood, and push forward the film. They have been woven intricately onto the fabric of the story.
Atanu Roy
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