Around the World in 24 Frames 06.19.09: The Music Room
Posted by Len Archibald on 06.19.2009
Decades before "Slumdog Millionaire", India had already proven that it can uplift the craft of film into art - Without the aid of Danny Boyle.
Good Friday, Motion Picture world travellers! It's been a slower than normal week, but I am here – reliable as ever to provide your weekly fix of movies from around the globe. I'm gonna try something new this week – we've received specific instructions to try and make our columns look more "appealing" through format. I am an anarchist at heart, but I love my gig here at 411, so here goes – Let me know what you think of it, as I am always willing to give you, the reader – the best possible experience coming into this column.
The Rant
* Mitsuharu Misawa – R.I.P.
* Congratulations to the 2009 Stanley Cup Champion Pittsburgh Penguins. You fought hard, beat my Red Wings in seven – You guys wanted it more. Sydney Crosby definitely deserves it. Dude got ROCKED last Friday night.
* Hooray for 411 getting some exposure lately! We were cited as a source for an ESPN story a while back, then Mick Foley goes on a tirade on the commentors and now HOWARD STERN! C'mon, Oprah!
* I expected last week that Solaris was going to get some flack for being boring and slow. Solaris is one of those films that fall into "love it" or "hate it" category. Definitely one of the more polarizing movies ever made. I've grown to "love it", but I think that's the thing with pretty much any of Tarkovsky's films: Most people HATE them at first but after repeated viewings, it is possible to gain a fondness for the craft – at least a respect for the man who goes above and beyond the call of duty as an artist to make something truly unique. Thanks for all the comments last week!
* So I've received some emails asking to pop off a list of my favorite films, or what I feel are the greatest Kurosawa/Fellini/Bergman films: I will say this right away so there will be no future debates…
I don't do lists. Not that I consider myself to be some sort of film elitist or anything like that. I enjoy reading lists – Like Entertainment Weekly's 100 Greatest Movies they did a few years back, or watching the various AFI: 100 Years, 100 (random genre)…. Or Lucas Huddleston's 50 Great Westerns (there's a plug for ya!) I appreciate the time and effort it takes doing a list of 10, 25, 50 or 100 of…Anything. My simple problem is one born from being a simple-minded human being: My tastes change. One day I'll feel for spaghetti, another day I will want linguine. I cannot and will not take something subjective as art (film, music, paintings, sculpture) and try to define what is "good" or "better". Hell, my favorite film rotates between Citizen Kane, The Godfather, The Seven Samurai, and 2001: A Space Odyssey on a daily basis. I am not fit to attempt a compilation of "the best" – actually, I feel what I am doing right now is listing "the best of the best", just not in any particular order with no rhyme or reason to it. I've found it easier to just enjoy each film on its individual merits: stylistically, technically and creatively than to say, "but it's not as good as (random movie)". [/end rant]
I love movies. They represent escapism, art, intellect and spirituality. Some are nothing more than popcorn flicks, designed to ease the burden of "real-life" for a couple of hours. Some bring important issues to the forefront that challenges how we perceive our surroundings. The most important thing for me – if one is a serious film goer – is to constantly expand and discover new movies. This includes experiencing stories told outside of North America.
Yes, I know: "I don't like to read while I watch movies". Well, neither do I, but I won't use that to prevent me from finding a great story within the screen. It is important, as human beings to discover other cultures and expand our perceptions of those different from us and how they see the world. There are reasons that Bergman, Kurosawa, Fellini, Ozu and Truffaut are important in the movie world – They are just great at what they do.
I intend to highlight a new film every week that is considered "foreign-language"; now that definition is simple, yet broad and complex. For example, if you need subtitles to understand the events of the plot, I will discuss it. If it is a film from a primarily English-speaking nation, but is *NOT* in English (i.e. Leolo or Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner from Canada), I will discuss. If it is a film from outside the U.S. and it *is* in English, I will not discuss (sorry, Brits & Aussies) – for now. My goal is to shed light on some of these gems, and help quell the insatiable appetites for those who can't live without seeing a new movie. Enjoy!
Jalsaghar: The Music Room (1958)
India
Dir: Satyajit Ray
Runtime: 100 min
While growing up in a housing complex in Rexdale, I befriended two East-Indian boys, Vic and Mannish. We were next door neighbors and played dodgeball, soccer and Vic's new Commodore 64 (man, I remember when Spaced Invaders and Pitfall were NEW). Their parents were cool, the food was good (but smelled weird) and their movies were…Interesting.
See, at a young age I was already deeply fascinated with film, and did my best to see as many movies as possible, from wherever I could get it. So it comes as no surprise that I would watch films with my two curry-loving friends (that may seem mildly racist, but I come from Jamaican descent, so I am also a curry-loving man myself.) I always remember something about the films from India being somewhat being more "alive" than the films from my side of the hemisphere, despite most of the ones I saw were old, black and white and on grainy VHS (man, I remember when that was NEW technology.) I think one of the aspects of this "liveliness" was born out of the music from these films. It seemed so much more emotionally engrossing to me, like the notes and chants came from an ancient place, telling stories of myths and legends. Those were good times.
I remember those times fondly as I look back at Satyajit Ray's Jalsaghar (The Music Room). The story, which focuses on an old landlord who is stubborn about holding onto his position but not his wealth, is pure joy to me. The story is told simply, the characters are sharply drawn and the visuals stick.
The Music Room opens on an extreme close-up on the face of Huzur Biswambhar Roy (Chhabi Biswas). It is the late 1920's. His eyes look off into space, his face holds back an indifference that masks deep sadness. The image pulls back, revealing he is on the roof of his large crumbing palace that stares out to a wide riverbank. He is the final heir in a line of landlords who grew in riches and power in Bengal during the last century; the time of landlords have ended and Huzur finds he is losing his wealth.
His servant scurries out with a hookah, which is nothing more than a really large bong. A moment. Huzur inhales some smoke. He asks what month it is. He is informed that his neighbor, the common and crude Mahim Gangul (Gangapada Basu) is holding a rather lavish party. He asks if he was invited. "Yes". Huzur sighs and rhetorically asks if he ever does anything. "No," calmly dismisses the servant. The sound of music rises in the air and Huzur remembers a time when he was truly happy…
Huzur Roy, played by Chhabi Biswas – staring into the past.
The film then goes some years back in time to when his house was full of servants, and his wife and son were present. Huzur loved (still loves) music, and expressed his joy through his music room where he hosted lavish concerts for his guests, who would sit down on fluffed pillows with his male counterparts and relatives as they were fanned by servants. The room is epic in its scope with it's high ceilings, several portraits of ancestors and a chandelier – one that dangles and glistens in the darkness in the opening moments of the film. The Music Room tells the story of the last three concerts held in this hall.
The first, a coming of age "thread ceremony" is thrown for his son, Khoka (Pinaki Sen Gupta). Huzur mortgaged family jewels for this event, exclaiming that he will spare no expense in honoring his only son. The music is classical Indian, complete with sitar and a booming vocal. The camera pans through the faces of the various guests enjoying themselves until it finally pauses on Mahim. He fiddles, is bored, reaches for a drink and fakes his enjoyment. Mahim, despite his vulgarity is a self-made man who has found fortune in the moneylending business. He has a truck that says "Gangul & Co" in English on the back, as Huzur rides his white horse in the desert. In the distance, the puttering of a generator – the early sounds of electricity emit from his house. Huzur was a great man, respected based on who he is – more importantly, who his family *was*, but now must keep up with Mahim, whose future generations may share the same respect because he has found his own riches. The film is a glorified version of "Keeping Up With the Jones'".
The events leading to the second concert is where Ray as a filmmaker and artist shows his talent. Huzur's son and wife go away to visit family. Before they depart, Huzur's wife (while bowing) simply tells him to "behave" – a modern expression. Another event is planned in the music room, this one out of spite. Mahim approaches Huzur to invite him to a concert he is holding in his home. Huzur pretends to barely notice him on his sofa and counters that he cannot attend because he has a concert planned for the very same evening. This takes everyone – even Huzur's servant, by surprise.
Ray doesn't attempt to manipulate plot with situations that lead to contrived events. He instead uses visual subtext to express events off screen. Huzur has sent word that his son and wife must be in attendance for the next concert. They do not arrive. The singer, an old man, sings and chants as if a storm is approaching. It is. The chandelier sways. Lightning strikes in the sky. Huzur attempts to take a drink, but finds a fly drowning in his glass. It is the most powerful moment in the film.
After a period of depression, Huzur decides to open the music room one final time. He is broke, but will go out with a bang. He has nothing left to lose as he is a man who has lost it all. He will show up Mahim one final time – a last gasp at defiance to what we today call "new money". Huzur pawns the last of the jewels. He outbids Mahim for the services of a famous female singer and dancer. The music room is dusted and cleaned. The chandelier is shined. Friends and family gather. It is as if tragedy never happened.
I will take a moment to explain that I love musicals – more specifically, films where music is integral to the plot. While I am a sucker for West Side Story or My Fair Lady, the music isn't especially *needed* for the narrative, as opposed to films like The Sound of Music, Once or 8 Mile, where music is part of the characters' lives, and is in fact a character itself. Perhaps the reason why Jalsaghar moves me when I watch it is because the music is so important in the film – it isn't just characters singing and performing, but there is an expression in the notes that help tell the tale. I have never discovered the words sung by the three performers in The Music Room - I'm not sure I want to. It is akin to observing a great opera, where the emotion of the notes - and not the words, sell the story.
The final concert in Huzur's music room is a sight to behold in my opinion. Slumdog Millionaire may have tapped into the Western world's curious obsession with India and its culture, but it is a direct descendant from moments like this. The female dancer and her band jump, dance, twirl, chant and play with percussion and time with such joy and fever that it is remarkable when remembering the scene previously was filled with such loss. Vilayat Khan created the score (not Ravi Shankar, who the Sony Pictures Classics video mistakenly credits) and along with performers Begum Akhtar, Roshan Kumari, Ustad Bismillah Khan and Company, Waheed Khan, and Salamat Ali Khan created an atmosphere of tone and pitch that perfectly evoked the events of the story. "Bollywood" owes a LOT to the final concert sequence – just for the pure celebration of music displayed in the film. It ends with Huzur's final moment of triumph – one that I will not reveal, but has always given me a smile.
Roshan Kumari, one of India's premier performers.
Chhabi Biswas was Satyajit Ray's favorite actor. He was able to express empathy through his eyes and nobility through his voice, which is needed since he is in almost every frame of the film. When he died in 1962, Ray simply stopped writing important middle-aged roles. Biswas played Huzur as a man so completely trapped in his past that he has no vision for the future. After the final concert, Huzur, in a drunken stupor panics because his candlelit chandeliers are about to give off the last little bit of light, while Mahim has electricity and light bulbs. Even when he decides to get off his seat on the rooftop, he delves into his past vices. What actually surprised me upon my first viewing of The Music Room was the amount of English in the film. It's scattered, but Huzur tends to go back and forth between that and his native language. One of the final great moments, where he toasts portraits of his ancestors before seeing a spider crawling up the leg of his own is pretty much in English.
Satyajit Ray (1921-1992) was a tall, handsome man who could have starred in feature films himself. He was a commercial artist in Calcutta in the late 1940's for an ad agency and founded a movie club that bought a print of The Battleship Potemkin and imported films from all over the world. When he made Pahter Panchali (1955), the first of his famed Apu Trilogy, he won a top prize at the Cannes Film Festival and was thrust into the limelight as India's premier filmmaking talent. The Apu Trilogy are great films (ones which I will dedicate time to), but for me, Jalsaghar is Ray at his best emotionally and technically. He fills the screen with details – the fly in the glass, the joy of an elephant being bathed, the galloping of Huzur's prized white steed, the way when one of Huzur's servants sprinkle guests with scent he adds an extra spiteful snap for Mahim. He made this film between the second and third film of his trilogy.
Satyajit Ray & Akira Kurosawa - International Genius.
Ray's filmmaking experience is one that any up-and-coming filmmaker can take great pride in. Upon shooting the first film of The Apu Trilogy, Ray had never directed a single scene and his cinematographer, Subrata Mitra had never exposed a single foot of film. What a career has been made since then. Satyajit Ray has made other great films such as The Big City (1963), Days and Nights in the Forest (1970), Distant Thunder (1973), and The Home and the World (1984), a slight reverse of The Music Room about a landowner who prides himself on his modern ideas, until his wife falls in love with his friend.
Satyajit Ray
I have not seen Vic or Mannish since we moved to Brampton in 1987. I remember them, the films we watched together, the games we played and the fun we had as children – those memories resonate in my mind. The Indian culture is one of those things that has always fascinated me, partially because of the way they hold onto tradition, partially because of the food, partially because of the music – but mostly because of their unique point of view when it comes to films.
Here's a sample of The Music Room:
Coming Attractions: WEEK 10 of "Around the World...", where I focus on one of the modern great films: A tale of love, longing...and KUNG-FU!
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Questions or comments? Email me at aa24frames@aol.com!!!
