Charulata

An undeniably beautiful film on Satyajit Ray’s part, and provided none of his less significant films which I haven’t yet seen supersede this, the best work he did post Apu. Charulata’s boredom and lack of understanding from her husband and acquaintances makes for what is a subtly tragic film. The flame of artistry burns inside of her, but is constantly smothered in the form of apathy. And the one source of true joy that manifests from her artistic understanding between herself and her cousin-in-law (shown in one of the singular greatest scenes I have ever witnessed, with that swing shot which I imagine is a reference to Renoir’s similarly delightful A Day in the Country evoking feelings of indescribable pleasure) cannot be. The cinematography here is reminiscent of Ophüls, as it playfully moves from composition to composition in an exceedingly excellent manner, something I don’t think I’ve really seen Ray do since Pather Panchali. I wasn’t entirely sure about the greatness of this film, for it does sort of narratively meander a lot around her husband’s affairs surrounding his newspaper firm, but that ending cemented this as something truly special. I wasn’t expecting something so cold and deliberately aloof from the generally intimate and humanistic Ray, so that floored me. I suppose it’s appropriate that the master of Indian cinema adapted from the master of Indian literature, one of his greatest pieces.