"Charulata" (1964) was my first Ray, I think, some ten years ago. I haven't seen it since, but thanks to the Criterion Collection, it can now be viewed in beautiful high definition. They have, at this writing, released "Jalsaghar" (1958) and "Mahanagar" (1963) in addition to this (speaking of Blu-ray), and have thrown in "Kapurush" (1965) as an extra on the latter, and a DVD of later Ray. Not only this, but Artificial Eye, the European rights-holders, have already released some more not available on Criterion yet, "Nayak" (1966) and "Mahapurush" (1965).
All I can remember from that magical first viewing is I fell in love. Not sure why, or how, but that the feeling was strong, and as if mutual. And true enough, Ray's cinema makes us learn about ourselves and others: music and song, writing and reading, seeing and not seeing. As if I had seen myself, not as I truly see myself but as I wish to have been seen, or even further than that, how I could have been seen.
Ray frames many introductory shots through doorways. To lead us into her life? To observe the observer? To confine the confined? To hint at the escape? Ray has the one of a kind ability to make one feel present, like one's really there; nothing has to happen, and it's spellbinding. By the way, has the hypnotic first shot been taken by Jane Campion to her "Bright Star" (2009)?
Books are introduced in the very beginning, as are the binoculars used by Charulata. Both motifs used in the sense of seeing afar, yet not seeing close. And when they finally do, they will discover themselves. The genius that he is, Ray is able to show inner turmoil in nature's violence (the wind), just as he did in "Jalsaghar". That moment of discovery is laden with great anxiety to bursts through so strongly one can feel it deep in the fibre one's being: the longing, the disappointment, the reconciliation.
All I can remember from that magical first viewing is I fell in love. Not sure why, or how, but that the feeling was strong, and as if mutual. And true enough, Ray's cinema makes us learn about ourselves and others: music and song, writing and reading, seeing and not seeing. As if I had seen myself, not as I truly see myself but as I wish to have been seen, or even further than that, how I could have been seen.
Ray frames many introductory shots through doorways. To lead us into her life? To observe the observer? To confine the confined? To hint at the escape? Ray has the one of a kind ability to make one feel present, like one's really there; nothing has to happen, and it's spellbinding. By the way, has the hypnotic first shot been taken by Jane Campion to her "Bright Star" (2009)?
Books are introduced in the very beginning, as are the binoculars used by Charulata. Both motifs used in the sense of seeing afar, yet not seeing close. And when they finally do, they will discover themselves. The genius that he is, Ray is able to show inner turmoil in nature's violence (the wind), just as he did in "Jalsaghar". That moment of discovery is laden with great anxiety to bursts through so strongly one can feel it deep in the fibre one's being: the longing, the disappointment, the reconciliation.