In 1954 John Huston was in India exploring locales for his film ‘The Man Who Would be King‘. In between, however, he saw a 20-minute rushes of ‘Pather Panchali’ in Calcutta. Huston was captivated by the underlying syntax in Ray’s visual detailing to the extent that he wired Monroe Wheeler, the curator at New York’s Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) recommending the inclusion of ‘Pather Panchali’ in the latter’s planned series Living Arts of India. On 3rd May 1955, a good three months before its official release in India, ‘Pather Panchali’ was premiered in MOMA. Most film critics in the audience were enticed by Ray’s kind of songful storytelling. Almost a year later it found its way to the Cannes film festival where it’s official screening took place close to midnight. Having already outlasted four feature films that day the jury members were exhausted and some gave ‘Pather Panchali’ a skip. Meanwhile, the few patient jurors who watched the film were so impressed by what they saw that they insisted on a repeat screening for those who had skipped it the previous night. Eventually ‘Pather Panchali’ fetched the special citation as the ‘best human document’. It was the first Indian film to have earned such accolades in the European art house trail. The perception of beauty, however, proved to be subjective with Ray’s film. Francoise Truffaut was reported to have expressed his disappointment at its slow pace. While it left an enduring impact on a young Martin Scorsese’s sensibilities, Akira Kurasova felt it flowed with the serenity and mobility of a big river.
Much like Faulkner’s Yoknapatawpha, Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay’s 1928 novel of the same title (‘Pather Panchali’) was also set in an illusory hamlet, Nishchindipur (The timeline also coincides; Faulkner wrote ‘The Sound and Fury‘ in 1929). Harihar Roy was a desolate Brahmin priest irate with his struggles about sustaining the family that constituted his pragmatic wife Sarbajaya, the advertent little Apu and Apu’s rascally older sister Durga. Then there is also the manipulative Indir Thakrun, the aged cousin of Harihar who also pokes her head all along as the plot sedately unfolded.
During his short stint with an English advertising agency in 1950 Ray had spent three months in London. By his own admission all the spare time he had, he spent watching movies – 98 of them in all. Some European film critics maintain that Ray has been influenced by the proletarian neorealism of Vittoria de Sica (‘Bicycle Thieves‘). But Ray’s narrative had a demure naivety that made one’s heart ache which was a far cry from the postwar Italian neorealistic objectivity (‘the truth of actors’, ‘photography reminiscent of the reportage style’, ‘refusal of the studio’, etc.).
‘Pather Panchali’ was made in a shoestring budget defying all norms of conventional film production of its time. All except one (Chunibala Devi who played the mercurial aunt Indir Thakrun) of the film’s actors were nonprofessionals. None of them wore make up. Ray’s twenty one year old cinematographer, Subrata Mitra was a novice with the movie camera. Being a first time film maker, Ray himself did not have much success in convincing financiers what he was actually up to. As a consequence, midway through he was left with no other choice except to self-finance his project by parting with his collection of books, vinyl records and even pawning some of his wife’s jewelry. Still falling short of funds Ray approached Chief Minister Dr. B.C. Roy. As the state fiscal budget had no provision for financing a feature film and the title of the film had the term “road” in it, the obligation of project management eventually fell on the Public Works Department! The fidelity with which Ray had chartered Bandopadhyay’s trail left his own contemporaries like Ritwik Ghatak and Mrinal Sen overwhelmed. Only a cinematic prescient like Ray could have chosen the small village of Boral as the Nischindipur model that was located in the outskirts of Calcutta near Garia in South 24 Parganas. The natural habitat that Boral was – the trees, the fruits, the winding paths, the birds, the clouds and most of all the evening sun – as much the citadel of the film as were its central characters.
During a 1975 discourse in Moscow, Japanese film director Akira Kurasova said that not seeing the films of Ray was like “living in the world having not seen the sun or the moon”. Now that they are available in a pristine 4K restoration, it is up to you to choose how you want to live in your world, with or without the sun and the moon, that is.