Page 168 - The Apu Trilogy_ Satyajit Ray and the Making of an Epic
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From Calcutta to Cannes             155

                   first professional motion picture job. Any picture as loose in

                   structure or as listless in tempo as this one is would barely pass
                   as a ‘rough cut’ with the editors in Hollywood.
                     But, oddly enough, as it continues – as the bits in the mosaic
                   increase and a couple of basically human and dramatic incidents
                   are dropped in, such as the pitiful death of the old woman and
                   the sickness and death of the little girl – the poignant theme
                   emerges and the whole thing takes a slim poetic form. By the
                   time it comes to its sad end, it has the substance of a tender
                   threnody.

                     Much of the effect is accomplished by some stunningly
                   composed domestic scenes, well performed – or pictured –
                   by an excellent Indian cast, and exquisitely photographed by
                   Subrata Mitra in tastefully filtered blacks and whites. And

                   a finely conceived and sympathetic original musical score,

                   composed by Ravi Shankar, in which native instruments
                   are employed, sets the whole sad story in the frame of a
                   melancholy mood.
                     Karuna Banerji is touching as the mother who is most dis-
                   tressed by poverty and Uma Das Gupta is lovely and sensitive
                   as the girl. Chunibala Devi is fantastically realistic and eff ec-
                   tive as the aging crone and Subir Banerji is wistful and beguil-
                   ing as the small son of the family.
                     As we say, it is quite exotic. The dialogue often sounds like

                   a Gramophone record going at high speed. English subtitles
                   barely make some sense. But there are lovely little threads

                   in the strange fabric. It’s a film that takes patience to be
                   enjoyed.

                   It was Crowther’s habit to publish his further thoughts on
                a newly released film in the Sunday section of the New York
                Times. On 28 September 1958, he duly wrote again about
                Pather Panchali, as Ray recalled in  Sight and Sound. In this
                second review he was compelled to recant his criticism, at least
                to some extent, such was the hostile public response to his








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