|Director: Satyajit Ray
|Adaptation: Satyajit Ray (based on the story by Tarashankar Banerjee)
|Stars: Chhabi Biswas (Huzur Biswambhar Roy), Padmadevi Devi (Mahamaya, Roy’s wife), Pinaki Sengupta (Khoka, Roy’s Son), Gangapada Basu (Mahim Ganguly), Tulsi Lahiri (Manager of Roy’s Estate), Kali Sarkar (Roy’s Servant), Waheed Khan (Ustad Ujir Khan), Roshan Kumari (Krishna Bai, dancer), Sardar Akhtar (Singer), Bismillah Khan (Musician), Salamat Ali Khan (Khyal singer)
|MPAA Rating: NR
|Year of Release: 1958
For a filmmaker who has professed on numerous occasions that music was his first love, it is not surprising that director Satyajit Ray chose music as the binding theme of his third film, The Music Room (Jalsaghar). Ray, who started in advertising before moving into filmmaking, had already made a name for himself with his first two films, the independently produced Pather Panchali (1955) and its sequel Aparajito (1956), both of which were highly acclaimed, nuanced portraits of rural village life that won awards at international film festivals and helped redefine Indian cinema for the rest of the world as something other than brash, colorful song-and-dance kitsch. However, Aparajito was a box-office failure in Ray’s native country, and in searching for a topic that might hold more commercial appeal, he was drawn to Tarashankar Banerjee’s much beloved 1937 short story “The Music Room,” which told of a declining raja in the early 20th century whose love of music was his downfall.
Ray and Banerjee had much in common: Both were artists who hailed from the West Bengal region of India, and both had focused their work primarily on village life. In describing Banerjee’s literary style in The Handbook of Twentieth Century Literatures in India, Sudipto Chatterjee and Hasan Ferdous could very well have been writing about Ray when they wrote that Banerjee’s novels and short stories “are marked with a remarkable clarity of expression, a keen sense of drama, and a heartfelt sympathy for rural folk.” Thus, even though the centrality of the aristocracy in The Music Room was a departure for both artists, they each brought to the story their characteristically humane and empathetic voice, essentially turning what could have been a simple condemnation of myopic aristocracy into a complex, moving portrait of human failure. Ray had already established himself as a unique Indian filmmaker whose quiet, understated dramas ran contrary to Bollywood’s typical melodrama and exaggeration, and with The Music Room he further defined his artistry by reimagining the traditional Indian musical. Rather than having unmotivated song-and-dance numbers suddenly explode out of and temporarily halt the narrative, he employed musical performance as an integral part of the story, which allowed him to showcase great classical talent (including Wahid Khan and Begum Akhtar) without breaking or otherwise compromising the narrative flow. Indian audiences and critics at the time didn’t quite make sense of it, but hindsight shows it to be a brilliant means of modifying the expected.
To understand The Music Room, which is set primarily in the 1920s, one must appreciate the historical and cultural crossroads of Indian culture in the early 20th century. At the time, India was still under British colonial rule and its social system was stratified according to a British-supported feudal class structure. At the top of this structure were zamindars, land-owning aristocrats who collected taxes for the British from the peasants who worked their land. The protagonist of The Music Room, Biswambhar Roy (Chhabi Biswas), is a zamindar, albeit one whose power is beginning to erode with the depletion of his family fortunes, a situation that is literalized by the land outside of his columned palace being slowly washed away by the force of the Ganges.
Although Roy is a hereditary aristocrat whose privileged social position exists at the expense of the rest of the country, Ray views him as a kind of tragic fool, a man who is so in love with classical Indian music that he is largely blind to his own undoing, despite the constant foreshadowing of various tragedies to come (an insect drowning in his glass of wine, a spider scuttling across his portrait, the lights on his prized chandelier burning out). We are first introduced to Roy as a reclusive, lonely old man who is so lost in his own head that he has to ask a servant what month it is. The story then flashes back many years earlier when Roy lived in the palace with his wife (Padmadevi Devi) and adolescent son (Pinaki Sengupta), the latter of whom also shares his love of music. But, even at this time the writing is on the wall, as Roy must sell the family jewels in order to pay for his son’s lavish initiation ceremonies. He also begins what will turn out to be a losing competition with his new neighbor, a nouveau riche moneylender named Mahim Ganguly (Gangapada Basu) who represents the new class of self-made businessmen who don’t need heredity to claim wealth and influence. Ganguly’s success is signified by his desire to host music recitals in his home, which had previously been Roy’s exclusive domain (this threatens Roy’s standing both economically and culturally, as he is no longer the area’s primary patron of the arts).
In adapting Banerjee’s well-known story, Ray made a few key changes that brought it more in line with his style of psychological drama, the most important being Roy’s decision to ask his wife and son to return early from a trip in order to attend a recital that he organized for no other reason than to trump a housewarming party Ganguly was planning. The superficial selfishness of this act turns out to have dire consequences, which lays a crucial layer of guilt over the story and heightens the tragic impact of Roy’s slow decline. He is a victim of his own indulgences, but also of a wider cultural shift that his ancestors never had to face. The rise of modernity frequently cuts through The Music Room, whether it be Roy being disturbed by the clanking sound of an “electrical machine” next door or the classic image of an elephant grazing in a field being obscured by the dust clouds kicked up by a rattling lorry. That these cultural motifs exist so comfortably within a film that is both a nuanced psychological portrait of an aristocrat in decline and a showcase for India’s best musical talent is testament to Satyajit Ray’s unique dexterity as a filmmaker.
|The Music Room Criterion Collection Blu-Ray|
|The Music Room is also available from The Criterion Collection on DVD.|
Bengali PCM 1.0 monaural
Satyajit Ray (1984) documentary
Video interview with biographer Andrew Robinson
Video interview with filmmaker Mira Nair
Excerpt from a 1981 French roundtable discussion with Ray, film critic Michel Ciment, and director Claude Sautet
Insert booklet featuring an essay by critic Philip Kemp, a 1963 essay by Ray on the film’s location, and a 1986 interview with the director about the film’s music
|Distributor||The Criterion Collection|
|Release Date||July 19, 2011|
|VIDEO & AUDIO|
|Criterion’s new high-definition transfer of The Music Room, which marks the film’s Region 1 digital debut, was taken from an original 35mm fine-grain master positive (as detailed in the liner notes, this is the best generational element currently in existence since the original negative was destroyed in the early 1990s in a fire at a London film lab, where it was ironically sent to be preserved as part of the Academy Film Archive’s Satyajit Ray Preservation Project). Criterion has employed their usual array of additional digital restoration, which has greatly improved the image from previous presentations. There are still some unfixable deep scratches and hairlines, especially during the optical process shots like fades and dissolves, but otherwise the image looks impressive. Detail is sharp and clear, blacks are generally solid, and contrast is excellent throughout, which benefits the extensive location photography (a rarity in Indian cinema at the time). The image also maintains a strong filmlike look, with a clear presentation of the inherent grain structure. The lossless monaural soundtrack was transferred at 24-bit from the original 35mm sound print and digitally restored. It is just a bit tinny at times given the film’s age and the equipment used at the time, but is free of pops and hiss.
|There is no audio commentary on the disc, but Satyajit Ray biographer Andrew Robinson appears in a 17-minute interview to discuss the filmmaker and the historical and artist relevance of The Music Room, as does filmmaker Mira Nair, who recounts her own professional relationship with Ray and what she admires in his work. From the archives we have an excerpt from a 1981 roundtable discussion with Ray, film critic Michel Ciment, and director Claude Sautet, which played on French television just before The Music Room was given its long-delayed theatrical release in France. The biggest supplement, however, is Satyajit Ray (1984), a 130-minute documentary by Shyam Benegal that chronicles Ray’s career through extensive interviews with Ray, family photographs, and clips from many of his films. The documentary was shot during the production of The Home and the World (1984), and the first 15 minutes or so is simply footage of him on the set, giving us an unadorned first-hand look at his working process. The insert booklet features an essay by critic Philip Kemp, a 1963 essay by Ray on the film’s location, and a 1986 interview with the director about the film’s music.
Overall Rating: (3.5)
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