by Shubhajit Lahiri
One of the most fascinating aspects in the world of arts or music or literature or cinema, is how two artists sometimes end up becoming conjoined, pop-culturally as well as in more serious and self-conscious discourses, for reasons that may range from complex friendships to bitter rivalries (or a curios combination of both). Or perhaps, in the way they inspired one another to newer realms while pursuing distinctively different routes and choices to artistic expression. Or, for that matter, in the way they simultaneously converged and diverged.
Picasso-Matisse, Van Gogh-Gauguin, Camus-Sartre, Hemingway-Fitzgerald, Márquez-Llosa, Lennon-Dylan, Klimt-Schiele, etc. are all enduring examples. Godard-Truffaut, Ozu-Imamura, Fellini-Antonioni, Chaplin-Keaton, etc. were similarly memorable elucidations specific to world cinema. And then, a pair like Buñuel-Dali even took that beyond the confines of their respective mediums.
Those who’re well acquainted to these two contemporaries of Bengali cinema, would agree that Satyajit Ray and Ritwik Ghatak, too, unequivocally belonged to this interesting club.
I’d become aware of Ray much earlier in my life – his popularity went significantly beyond just “serious” cinephiles because of his diverse filmography, his many artistic involvements beyond cinema, and his easy accessibility. Ghatak entered much later in my life, and that’s perhaps understandable since he’s not as universally known, albeit immensely admired by a small group of intense aficionados.
Ghatak was a rebel, a radical and a recluse. He was never easy to endear personally – he was embittered, alienating, abrasive, unpredictable, innately non-conformist, oftentimes contrarian, and yes, a self-destructive alcoholic too. As an auteur, as well, he’s an acquired taste (though one, once acquired, is difficult to let go) – he made just eight films in his life (except for a dazzling burst of 5 films, viz. Ajantrik (The Unmechanical / Pathetic Fallacy), Bari Theke Paliye (Running Away from Home) and the ‘Partition Trilogy’, made between 1958-’62, he was never a very prolific filmmaker); his films were seeped in a milieu and style and context that were singularly his own and hence often tad difficult or uncomfortable for those who’re not well accustomed to them; and, most importantly, his cinema was inextricably linked to a complex combination of his resolutely formal vision and avowedly leftist politics.
While I’m deeply fond of his entire ‘Partition Trilogy’, as well as Ajantrik and Jukti Takko O Gappo (Reason, Debate and a Story), the one that I’ve come to acknowledge, over the years, as perhaps his single greatest work, is Subarnarekha (The Golden Thread). And that, therefore, is my choice for today. I revisited it last weekend (after a gap of over 7 years), and what I’m sharing below is my flawed attempt at reviewing this revisit at my personal movie blog Cinemascope…
Ritwik Ghatak was forever haunted by the memories of the 1947 Partition; that, combined with his defiant Marxist lens, meant that the uprooted, the displaced and the dispossessed formed a recurring motif in his filmography. His ‘Partition Trilogy’ comprised of three radically and ferociously beautiful masterpieces, viz. Meghe Dhaka Tara (The Cloud-Capped Star), Komal Gandhar (E-Flat / A Soft Note on a Sharp Scale) and Subarnarekha, and the latter remains the most unforgettable of the lot. Ishwar (Abhi Bhattacharya) and Haraprasad (Bijon Bhattacharya, a doyen of left-bank Bengali theatre), refugees from the erstwhile East Bengal, join hands to rehabilitate a refugee camp in Calcutta; however, to his friend’s utter dejection, Ishwar takes up a conventional job (courtesy a schoolmate, a typically philistine petit-bourgeois businessman) and, along with his kid sister Sita (Indrani Chakraborty), relocates to a remote village on the banks of the Subarnarekha river; he also takes along the orphaned Abhiram who, unbeknownst to Ishwar, belongs to a lower caste. His tranquil, secured life, years later, takes a debilitating hit when the adult Sita (Madhabi Mukherjee) defies his commands, borne out of selfishness and prejudice, and elopes with Abhiram (Satindra Bhattacharya). And it gets shattered a few years later when, upon getting reconnected on a fateful night with the now-irrevocably disillusioned Haraprasad and after a night of uncharacteristic revelry – captured with Felliniesque dash – he has a tragic chance encounter with Sita. Ghatak was mesmeric in his infusion of harsh realism and melodramatic bursts while portraying the elusive quest for home and thus roots, and the accompanying loss of innocence and idealism; that, along with Ustad Bahadur Khan’s stirring Classical score, and incredible cinematographic compositions – the abandoned airstrip sequence was especially memorable – made this a lacerating, haunting and brutally poetic cinematic experience.
The film is available on YouTube, but, unfortunately, the quality isn’t great (his filmography does call for a facelift); and ironically, the one which has the best quality, is sans any subs. Hence sharing below a link – in case you haven’t watched it and you’re willing to give it a try – which I found comparatively better among the lot. (I did try uploading a copy that I possess, but YT very graciously refused to allow me that petty privilege).