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Satyajit Ray: The Inner Eye
Satyjit Ray's films include the Apu Trilogy, The Music Room, Charulata, Days and Nights in the Forest, The Chess Players, and The Stranger. He also made comedies, musical fantasies, detective films, and documentaries. He was an exceptionally versatile artist who won almost every major prize in cinema, including a lifetime achievement Oscar in 1992. This is the best-known biography of the film giant, based on extensive interviews with Ray himself, his actors, collaborators, and a deep knowledge of Bengali culture. This second edition contains extensive new material covering Ray's final three films made in 1989-1991, a discussion of his artistic legacy, and the most comprehensive bibliography of Ray's own writings.
432 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1989
About the author
Andrew Robinson
551 books76 followers(William) Andrew Coulthard Robinson is a British author and former newspaper editor.
Andrew Robinson was educated at the Dragon School, Eton College where he was a King's Scholar, University College, Oxford where he read Chemistry and finally the School of Oriental and African Studies in London. He is the son of Neville Robinson, an Oxford physicist.
Robinson first visited India in 1975 and has been a devotee of the country's culture ever since, in particular the Bengali poet and philosopher Rabindranath Tagore and the Bengali film director Satyajit Ray. He has authored many books and articles. Until 2006, he was the Literary Editor of the Times Higher Education Supplement<?em>. He has also been a Visiting Fellow at Wolfson College, Cambridge.
He is based in London and is now a full-time writer.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the Goodreads data base.
Andrew Robinson was educated at the Dragon School, Eton College where he was a King's Scholar, University College, Oxford where he read Chemistry and finally the School of Oriental and African Studies in London. He is the son of Neville Robinson, an Oxford physicist.
Robinson first visited India in 1975 and has been a devotee of the country's culture ever since, in particular the Bengali poet and philosopher Rabindranath Tagore and the Bengali film director Satyajit Ray. He has authored many books and articles. Until 2006, he was the Literary Editor of the Times Higher Education Supplement<?em>. He has also been a Visiting Fellow at Wolfson College, Cambridge.
He is based in London and is now a full-time writer.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the Goodreads data base.
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Displaying 1 - 15 of 15 reviews
June 29, 2015
Satyajit Ray, along with Ingmar Bergman, was my first taste of serious cinema. They taught me that movies not only entertain, but also enchant and edify.
This book is a detailed exploration of Ray and his work - a fantastic journey into the mind of an auteur. Most of his movies are discussed in detail, embellished with beautiful photographs and interviews with the great film-maker himself.
A must-read book for any movie lover.
This book is a detailed exploration of Ray and his work - a fantastic journey into the mind of an auteur. Most of his movies are discussed in detail, embellished with beautiful photographs and interviews with the great film-maker himself.
A must-read book for any movie lover.
January 2, 2013
The Inner Eye by Andrew Robinson, (I.B.Tauris 2004) is an attempt to deal with an unusual problem: a writer, composer, artist and film maker, of world stature, who created in a relatively obscure language and whose works risk misrepresentation and oblivion without some sort of interpreter, both of the works and the culture which gave them birth. Before looking at the book we have to look a little at the problem.
Satyajit Ray is a name to mention when compiling lists of great film directors, but when you ask around, not that many people have actually seen his films. The early Apu trilogy of films are well known, but Ray made 37 films and most of these are unknown, in India and in the West. The reasons are not far to seek. Ray was a Bengali, a Calcutta man to his core, and he preferred to, needed to, make his films in Bengal, spoken in Bengali. He thus missed out on the millions to be earned in the Bollywood film industry: Bengali is a minority language, and few Indians understand it. On the other hand Ray's films were influenced by Western cinema, and his films have been shown there, but nuances, allusions and references obvious to Bengalis pass unnoticed or puzzle the Western viewer and cannot be conveyed in subtitles.
Another way to consider this situation is to look at Ray as a Bengali might. This is not my viewpoint: both Western and Bengali cultures are alien ones to me. I am merely using my imagination. In Calcutta, one finds, there is not one Satyajit Ray but many.
Ray is a best selling and enormously popular author who excelled at detective, science fiction and children's literature, and made his living by writing it. His stories and characters are not just popular, but are known, in a way only possible where an oral culture lingers on. Western influence was strong on Ray, who admired the great British writer Arthur Conan Doyle enormously. It is said one can find fans of the stories who don't even know Ray made films. Ray was also a critic, whose writings on cinema, including his own cinema, is as perceptive as his films.
Ray had an earlier career as a graphic designer. His typefaces are still used, his book jackets are famous. As well, many of his stories are accompanied by his own illustrations, which are loved in their own right. He was an excellent calligrapher and many viewers are familiar with his work through the titles of Ray's films. Each one of his films was first created in a storyboard format with each scene sketched in: each book a work of art.
Ray is a prominent composer fluent in both Western and Indian modes and self taught. He composed the scores of most of his films and is one of the major artists in that genre. Ray was also a song writer of genius, something he could have turned into a fortune by writing for the Bollywood market, but didn't. Song is something hard to classify: the place of song, filmi song, in Indian culture is quite unique. Ray's songs are sung in the streets by those not swamped by Western rock music.
Ray was a man of two cultures and his art is the product of their meeting and at times their conflict. Like the Anglo-Indian of Kipling's time he fell between two cultures, not Indian enough for the Indians, too Indian for the Westerner. To the isolation of genius was added the breadth of cultural interests that few could share with him. To the lovers of the all singing, all dancing Indian film and the Western action film alike, Ray's films are too slow: not enough songs or fantasy for one, not enough car chases or exploding buildings for the other.
Robinson's book tackles the job of interpretation as well, and as badly, as one might expect. It is a very difficult job he has set himself. It has the advantage of including many personal interviews with Ray and his actors, and includes the usual scholarly appendages: notes, bibliography, glossary and filmography.
The bulk of the book is devoted to the Ray most Westerners know, the film maker. Robinson looks at all 37 films chronologically, though some are grouped thematically: comedies, musicals, detective and documentaries. We also learn about some unmade films, including the film that became E.T., the script of which was stolen from Ray and ended up, several years later, on Spielberg's table (Spielberg didn't feel the guilt that Lucas felt for appropriating Kurosawa's Hidden Fortress and denied any connection between his and Ray's film: not cultural imperialism but agressive business practice).
Half a dozen pages outlining each film's action, while hardly redundant, seemed unsatisfactory to me. The impact of Ray's films is not primarily made by the events that are depicted but by delineation of character and the exploration of each character's reaction to events and other people. Of course these precis are not intended to substitute for viewing the film but they'll be forgotten long before you see it. What they try to do is give a verbal picture of each film's ambiance and provenance, something that viewing a single frame could do more powerfully and evocatively. Other facts, such as the novel or story from which Ray's script evolved, how the actors were cast, who financed each film, how certain scenes were shot, all this is fascinating for the films you've seen and loved, not so much for ones you haven't seen. My overall feeling about this section of the book is that reading about films is a poor substitute for seeing them. I found most valuable those comments that explain cultural contexts that aren't familiar in the West, such as the expected relationship between wife and husband's 'brother' or close male relative who becomes something like the wife's own brother, overcoming conventions of purdah where appropriate. This adds a dimension to what happens between Charu and Amal in Charulata for example. I would have liked to read more of this kind of thing. But I realise summing up an entire culture in an aside in a chapter of a book is not possible. Best go there and live there for a while: you'd learn a lot more a lot more quickly. I began to realise a lot of my dissatisfaction was inherent in the actual written form. There was nothing more Robinson could do having decided to write a book (rather than, say, film a documentary).
One thing that did emerge was the extraordinary stature Ray had in the culture. Despite his achievements he was very much the junior member of a very highly esteemed family; his father and grandfather are still household names in Bengal. The second thing emerging from the details Robinson gave was that Ray's was an uncommercial cinema, meaning there was rarely a big budget. When Ray wanted a big star, like Uttam Kumar in Nayak, he got one (Kumar apparently accepted 10% of his usual fee for the chance to work with Ray) but usually he didn't want a big star. Stars became big by working with Ray. Ray's films in certain respects (including production) can be compared to Bergman's or Woody Allen's. Because of his stature Ray was given autonomy over how the films were made, but at the same time he wasn't risking millions of dollars either. The third point to emerge was Ray's amazing range of talents. He had autonomy because he could script, compose, design sets and publicity material (including titles), cast, direct, photograph, edit footage and act ' and do all of these as well or better than anyone else on the project. It made sense to give him autonomy. And lastly one can see that Ray needed autonomy because the films were personal. They expressed his views, philosophy, culture and knowledge of human nature. Not many artists have explored human nature so deeply (a fact totally irrelevant to the folk who go to the cinema to see what it's like when a machine gun bullet goes through someone's eyeball and out the back of their head: the depiction of which Ray would consider a time wasting non-event. But there you go; different strokes for different folks).
The remaining third of Robinson's book is partly biographical, partly a critical summing up. His early life, relationship to his mother, early career, relationship to Tagore, personal hobbies (collecting books and Western classical records, reading scores). There is a chapter on Ray as writer (some of his books are now available in English translation). And one on Ray as film maker.
Overall the book is as comprehensive as it needs to be. I would have liked more detail of Bengali cultural mores and more on Ray's books and less on Ray's films, which really need to be seen to be appreciated. But I realise you have to start somewhere. Perhaps Robinson's book will alert readers that Ray made more than the Apu films (though leaving them with the frustration of finding copies in good condition with readable subtitles). Summing up a genius offers poor rewards. Robinson's book is a starting point, an observation I have a feeling would please him, but Ray needs to be seen and read through his own works. He can himself teach you most of what you need to know to appreciate his achievement.
Personal cinema is not unusual (though always unlikely given the form). Bergman's psychodramas, Fellini's trips to the subconscious, Ozu's vignettes of social interactions that offer unbelievable subtleties of nuances of behaviour ' and Ray's films, with the most complete depiction of human emotions ever attempted in cinema: not the yelling and screaming that others see as profound, but emotions like dismay, trust, indecision, veiled contempt, the stuff that drives our day.
Most of us are interested in the rest of us; people watching is fun. And Ray's films are entertaining, once you realise that they're about real people, not cardboard cutouts (which are entertaining too of course). They say that when Ray died, Calcutta almost came to a standstill. That's a big thing, this is Calcutta we're talking about. Let's hope the rest of the world realises what a good thing it's lost.
Satyajit Ray is a name to mention when compiling lists of great film directors, but when you ask around, not that many people have actually seen his films. The early Apu trilogy of films are well known, but Ray made 37 films and most of these are unknown, in India and in the West. The reasons are not far to seek. Ray was a Bengali, a Calcutta man to his core, and he preferred to, needed to, make his films in Bengal, spoken in Bengali. He thus missed out on the millions to be earned in the Bollywood film industry: Bengali is a minority language, and few Indians understand it. On the other hand Ray's films were influenced by Western cinema, and his films have been shown there, but nuances, allusions and references obvious to Bengalis pass unnoticed or puzzle the Western viewer and cannot be conveyed in subtitles.
Another way to consider this situation is to look at Ray as a Bengali might. This is not my viewpoint: both Western and Bengali cultures are alien ones to me. I am merely using my imagination. In Calcutta, one finds, there is not one Satyajit Ray but many.
Ray is a best selling and enormously popular author who excelled at detective, science fiction and children's literature, and made his living by writing it. His stories and characters are not just popular, but are known, in a way only possible where an oral culture lingers on. Western influence was strong on Ray, who admired the great British writer Arthur Conan Doyle enormously. It is said one can find fans of the stories who don't even know Ray made films. Ray was also a critic, whose writings on cinema, including his own cinema, is as perceptive as his films.
Ray had an earlier career as a graphic designer. His typefaces are still used, his book jackets are famous. As well, many of his stories are accompanied by his own illustrations, which are loved in their own right. He was an excellent calligrapher and many viewers are familiar with his work through the titles of Ray's films. Each one of his films was first created in a storyboard format with each scene sketched in: each book a work of art.
Ray is a prominent composer fluent in both Western and Indian modes and self taught. He composed the scores of most of his films and is one of the major artists in that genre. Ray was also a song writer of genius, something he could have turned into a fortune by writing for the Bollywood market, but didn't. Song is something hard to classify: the place of song, filmi song, in Indian culture is quite unique. Ray's songs are sung in the streets by those not swamped by Western rock music.
Ray was a man of two cultures and his art is the product of their meeting and at times their conflict. Like the Anglo-Indian of Kipling's time he fell between two cultures, not Indian enough for the Indians, too Indian for the Westerner. To the isolation of genius was added the breadth of cultural interests that few could share with him. To the lovers of the all singing, all dancing Indian film and the Western action film alike, Ray's films are too slow: not enough songs or fantasy for one, not enough car chases or exploding buildings for the other.
Robinson's book tackles the job of interpretation as well, and as badly, as one might expect. It is a very difficult job he has set himself. It has the advantage of including many personal interviews with Ray and his actors, and includes the usual scholarly appendages: notes, bibliography, glossary and filmography.
The bulk of the book is devoted to the Ray most Westerners know, the film maker. Robinson looks at all 37 films chronologically, though some are grouped thematically: comedies, musicals, detective and documentaries. We also learn about some unmade films, including the film that became E.T., the script of which was stolen from Ray and ended up, several years later, on Spielberg's table (Spielberg didn't feel the guilt that Lucas felt for appropriating Kurosawa's Hidden Fortress and denied any connection between his and Ray's film: not cultural imperialism but agressive business practice).
Half a dozen pages outlining each film's action, while hardly redundant, seemed unsatisfactory to me. The impact of Ray's films is not primarily made by the events that are depicted but by delineation of character and the exploration of each character's reaction to events and other people. Of course these precis are not intended to substitute for viewing the film but they'll be forgotten long before you see it. What they try to do is give a verbal picture of each film's ambiance and provenance, something that viewing a single frame could do more powerfully and evocatively. Other facts, such as the novel or story from which Ray's script evolved, how the actors were cast, who financed each film, how certain scenes were shot, all this is fascinating for the films you've seen and loved, not so much for ones you haven't seen. My overall feeling about this section of the book is that reading about films is a poor substitute for seeing them. I found most valuable those comments that explain cultural contexts that aren't familiar in the West, such as the expected relationship between wife and husband's 'brother' or close male relative who becomes something like the wife's own brother, overcoming conventions of purdah where appropriate. This adds a dimension to what happens between Charu and Amal in Charulata for example. I would have liked to read more of this kind of thing. But I realise summing up an entire culture in an aside in a chapter of a book is not possible. Best go there and live there for a while: you'd learn a lot more a lot more quickly. I began to realise a lot of my dissatisfaction was inherent in the actual written form. There was nothing more Robinson could do having decided to write a book (rather than, say, film a documentary).
One thing that did emerge was the extraordinary stature Ray had in the culture. Despite his achievements he was very much the junior member of a very highly esteemed family; his father and grandfather are still household names in Bengal. The second thing emerging from the details Robinson gave was that Ray's was an uncommercial cinema, meaning there was rarely a big budget. When Ray wanted a big star, like Uttam Kumar in Nayak, he got one (Kumar apparently accepted 10% of his usual fee for the chance to work with Ray) but usually he didn't want a big star. Stars became big by working with Ray. Ray's films in certain respects (including production) can be compared to Bergman's or Woody Allen's. Because of his stature Ray was given autonomy over how the films were made, but at the same time he wasn't risking millions of dollars either. The third point to emerge was Ray's amazing range of talents. He had autonomy because he could script, compose, design sets and publicity material (including titles), cast, direct, photograph, edit footage and act ' and do all of these as well or better than anyone else on the project. It made sense to give him autonomy. And lastly one can see that Ray needed autonomy because the films were personal. They expressed his views, philosophy, culture and knowledge of human nature. Not many artists have explored human nature so deeply (a fact totally irrelevant to the folk who go to the cinema to see what it's like when a machine gun bullet goes through someone's eyeball and out the back of their head: the depiction of which Ray would consider a time wasting non-event. But there you go; different strokes for different folks).
The remaining third of Robinson's book is partly biographical, partly a critical summing up. His early life, relationship to his mother, early career, relationship to Tagore, personal hobbies (collecting books and Western classical records, reading scores). There is a chapter on Ray as writer (some of his books are now available in English translation). And one on Ray as film maker.
Overall the book is as comprehensive as it needs to be. I would have liked more detail of Bengali cultural mores and more on Ray's books and less on Ray's films, which really need to be seen to be appreciated. But I realise you have to start somewhere. Perhaps Robinson's book will alert readers that Ray made more than the Apu films (though leaving them with the frustration of finding copies in good condition with readable subtitles). Summing up a genius offers poor rewards. Robinson's book is a starting point, an observation I have a feeling would please him, but Ray needs to be seen and read through his own works. He can himself teach you most of what you need to know to appreciate his achievement.
Personal cinema is not unusual (though always unlikely given the form). Bergman's psychodramas, Fellini's trips to the subconscious, Ozu's vignettes of social interactions that offer unbelievable subtleties of nuances of behaviour ' and Ray's films, with the most complete depiction of human emotions ever attempted in cinema: not the yelling and screaming that others see as profound, but emotions like dismay, trust, indecision, veiled contempt, the stuff that drives our day.
Most of us are interested in the rest of us; people watching is fun. And Ray's films are entertaining, once you realise that they're about real people, not cardboard cutouts (which are entertaining too of course). They say that when Ray died, Calcutta almost came to a standstill. That's a big thing, this is Calcutta we're talking about. Let's hope the rest of the world realises what a good thing it's lost.
September 15, 2018
An amazing exploration into the many works of Ray, and the why-hows behind them. I understand that the author grappled with explaining the many talents and sides of Satyajit.
A little less eulogy and a little more into the impression of artists and contemporary directors (especially from India) regarding the subject would have enriched the reading experience.
If you are a Satyajit admirer, do give it a read.
A little less eulogy and a little more into the impression of artists and contemporary directors (especially from India) regarding the subject would have enriched the reading experience.
If you are a Satyajit admirer, do give it a read.
Read
December 29, 2020It's not much of a book about Satyajit Ray, but about his films. I hunted for 'Behind the Scenes' trivia and background, carefully avoiding the parts where it reads like a summary of the film's story. The book doesn't do justice at all to the persona of Ray, who boldly put his opinions (and there were so many of them) in the public just as eloquently with words, as he did with motion pictures.
My hunt for a good biography on Ray would have to continue.
My hunt for a good biography on Ray would have to continue.
June 5, 2026
Though I don't watch cinema anymore, I do have some classics as favourites. The Postmaster by Satyajit Ray ranks very high in my viewed experiences, especially the last scene where the child artist Chandana Banerjee scintillatingly portrays emotions that were nothing short of catharsis when I first watched it more than 3 decades ago. Ray's ouevre as a director, artist, and composer is resplendent with a treasure trove unparalleled in India. His meticulous treatment is not just a stylistic trope, but the foundational philosophy of his cinema reflecting his belief that the profoundest truths are found in seemingly trivial, everyday moments. This philosophy is beautifully captured in Andrew Robinson's biography of the Maestro. Having previously read Marie Seton's biography of Satyajit Ray, I was a bit sceptical of Robinson's scholarship in value added terms, but Robinson turned out to be a Superstructure on Seton's foundational set-up with his astute balancing act between his opinions and those of his contemporaries.
Having made 31 films and 5 documentaries, when Ray was given the Honorary Academy Award in 1992 by his favourite actress, the elegant and stunningly beautiful, Audrey Hepburn, which he received while in the hospital, it was a most fitting tribute to a life that touched versatility intimately. A cinematic journey that began after watching what is considered the best film ever made, de Sica's 'Bicycle Thieves', Satyajit Ray put Indian Cinema firmly on the World Map with 'Pather Panchali' in 1955, ended with 'Agantuk' in 1991, where the ever brilliant Utpal Dutt seemingly portrays a screen presence of Ray himself.
For all the smokers out there, Ray designed the packet of Wills, Navy Cut, and there was a time when his hoardings would dot Calcutta. The packet design was the work of one of the first graphic designers in India, a road that the film maker never took seriously and left Shantiniketan without completing his course before turning to films. His skills at calligraphy and typefacing were acute and have been preserved at the Society for the Preservation of Satyajit Ray Films.
Andrew Robinson, who had previously written biographies of Tagore, Einstein and the polymath Thomas Young has taken the reader to travel along with Ray with a fine balance of delicacy and refinement, thanks to proximity that the author had during extended interview sessions (the third edition includes a prolix interview in the end). Be it during composing music, writing screenplays with precision or designing film posters, Robinson's presence is felt throughout. This constancy is liable to a critique in terms of hagiography, which the book fails to hide. This is accentuated by fleeting mentions of personality traits that any student of the Subaltern Studies would mark out clearly. While certainly a limitation, the biographer neutralizes these deviations by normalising through impressionistic readings of Ray's art and aesthetics.
One of the many achievements in the book is to go further deep into the ouevre from the Appu Trilogy. It is in such a sojourn that Robinson brings out the politics in Ray's cinema, which the film maker himself was reluctant to reveal most of the time. Though left leaning, the first of the Calcutta Trilogy, 'Pratidwandi' follows the ordeal of an unemployed youth navigating through the corrupt bureaucracy, at a time when the Naxalbari movement had picked up steam. The city was facing urban decay, and in the midst of anarchy, two brothers, one who drops out of medical school to hunt for a corporate job and the other with sympathies for the naxal movement are portrayed with enough scope for deifying the breakaway faction of the left, but, which Ray handles without in any way glorifying the movement, and by exhibiting the loose ends, the pliable consequence of which would be ideological dogmatism. The other two films of the trilogy, 'Seemabaddha' and 'Jana Aranya' are equally bleak riding on the moral decrepitude of compromises and dehumanized corruption. The politics of the trilogy are lanes away from lyrical humanism and traverse the angst-filled individualism dragging through the socio-political chaos.
In between the two trilogies is Charulata from 1964, considered to be Ray's masterpiece. The cinema is especially noted for its music. Robinson points out a fascinating cultural cross-connection: the melody for the song “Phule Phule” is “based on a Scottish tune which Tagore heard as a young man on his first trip to England”. The tune recurs throughout the film, sung by different characters, with variations in the singing reflecting their personalities and emotional states. Robinson emphasizes Ray’s belief that the “setting is itself a character”. He describes the film’s bourgeois Bengali mansion as a metaphor for domesticity and even the nation. Key details are highlighted, such as the specially printed wallpaper, which was “similar to a William Morris design,” showcasing the Western aesthetic influences present in 19th-century Bengal. The open balcony overlooking an inner courtyard is also noted as a liminal space between the public and private domains. Before Charulata, 'Jaalsaghar' is yet another jewel, where the biographer analyzes the film's central tragedy: the zamindar (landlord) Biswambhar Roy (played by the legendary Chhabi Biswas) who bankrupts himself hosting extravagant music concerts while a crass, nouveau riche moneylender rises in his place. For Robinson, the film is not merely about a fallen aristocrat but a profound exploration of the clash between tradition and modernity.
Satyajit Ray dabbled into comedy and detective movies as well. His 'Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne' is still the most celebrated cinema in Bengal. Turning back on politics, 'Sadgati' from 1981 starred the iconic Om Puri, Smita Patil and Mohan Agashe in the only Hindi film that Ray made ('Shatranj ke Khiladi' was Urdu)as a short film for Doordarshan. This is Ray's superlative political statement. The story follows Dukhi, who seeks the priest's help to fix an auspicious date for his daughter's wedding. In return, the priest exploits his power, forcing Dukhi to perform exhausting chores. The tone is described as grim, realistic, and "terrifyingly precise" in its control. Robinson's analysis highlights the film's ability to generate unbearable tension from simple, quotidian actions. Dukhi, weak from hunger and illness, collapses and dies while chopping wood. The film's most damning sequence depicts the aftermath: no one from the upper castes will touch the "polluted" body, and even the other Dalits refuse to remove it. Ultimately, the Brahmin himself is forced to drag the corpse away with a rope and a stick, discarding it among animal carcasses. Ray employs a stark, neo-realist visual approach. The camera is often still and observational, which complements the slow, languid pace of village life and intensifies the focus on the physicality of Dukhi's suffering. 'Shatranj ke Khiladi' is often described as a timeless comment on non-involvement, especially at a time when the the history is collapsing and the Lakhnavi nobles have been obsessed in their private engagement of a game of chess. The film is notable for its bilingual nature—dialogues are split between Hindi/Urdu (for the Indian characters) and English (for the British, including Richard Attenborough as General Outram).
Ray's Devi shows his prescience to the hilt. No other movie probably resonates with the idea of 'New India', or the Bharat of today. Devi is a dramatization of the clash between blind faith/religious orthodoxy and Western rationalism/modernity. However, the film is more than a tract; it shows sympathy for the old order and suggests that reason alone is insufficient to combat deep-seated belief. Upon release, the film was controversial and was initially banned from export by the Indian government for its depiction of Hindu orthodoxy, though it was later cleared with the intervention of Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru. It is now regarded as one of Ray’s masterpieces, a "little gem" and a powerful critique of superstition that transcends its 19th-century setting. In Robinson's estimation, Devi forces viewers to look beyond the surface-level debate of faith versus reason. The biography illuminates how the film's true power lies in its intimate, tragic portrayal of a young woman destroyed by the love and reverence of her own family, a fate far more complex and horrifying than mere victimhood.
Ray's has worked with a galaxy of actors, from Soumitra Chatterjee, Uttam Kumar, Utpal Dutt, Madhabi, Sharmila Tagore, Om Puri, Smita Patil, Mohan Agashe, Amjad Khan, Sanjeev Kumar, to name some. Some of them, already doyens of the world ll d of cinema, and some got a launch pad propelling them into stardom. But, Satyajit Ray, the man carried into his old age the loneliness that he encountered as a young child in the illustrious company of a cultural capital that can embed in a mortal the strongest sense of jealousy. The book captures the cultural capital from Satyajit Ray's grandfather to himself via his father Sukumar Ray, who passed away when Satyajit was only two. Though, the biographer is enthralled by Satyajit Ray, any shortcomings are only spelt out by the film maker himself. The book, nevertheless remains authoritative and a must read for any student or aficionado of cinema.
Having made 31 films and 5 documentaries, when Ray was given the Honorary Academy Award in 1992 by his favourite actress, the elegant and stunningly beautiful, Audrey Hepburn, which he received while in the hospital, it was a most fitting tribute to a life that touched versatility intimately. A cinematic journey that began after watching what is considered the best film ever made, de Sica's 'Bicycle Thieves', Satyajit Ray put Indian Cinema firmly on the World Map with 'Pather Panchali' in 1955, ended with 'Agantuk' in 1991, where the ever brilliant Utpal Dutt seemingly portrays a screen presence of Ray himself.
For all the smokers out there, Ray designed the packet of Wills, Navy Cut, and there was a time when his hoardings would dot Calcutta. The packet design was the work of one of the first graphic designers in India, a road that the film maker never took seriously and left Shantiniketan without completing his course before turning to films. His skills at calligraphy and typefacing were acute and have been preserved at the Society for the Preservation of Satyajit Ray Films.
Andrew Robinson, who had previously written biographies of Tagore, Einstein and the polymath Thomas Young has taken the reader to travel along with Ray with a fine balance of delicacy and refinement, thanks to proximity that the author had during extended interview sessions (the third edition includes a prolix interview in the end). Be it during composing music, writing screenplays with precision or designing film posters, Robinson's presence is felt throughout. This constancy is liable to a critique in terms of hagiography, which the book fails to hide. This is accentuated by fleeting mentions of personality traits that any student of the Subaltern Studies would mark out clearly. While certainly a limitation, the biographer neutralizes these deviations by normalising through impressionistic readings of Ray's art and aesthetics.
One of the many achievements in the book is to go further deep into the ouevre from the Appu Trilogy. It is in such a sojourn that Robinson brings out the politics in Ray's cinema, which the film maker himself was reluctant to reveal most of the time. Though left leaning, the first of the Calcutta Trilogy, 'Pratidwandi' follows the ordeal of an unemployed youth navigating through the corrupt bureaucracy, at a time when the Naxalbari movement had picked up steam. The city was facing urban decay, and in the midst of anarchy, two brothers, one who drops out of medical school to hunt for a corporate job and the other with sympathies for the naxal movement are portrayed with enough scope for deifying the breakaway faction of the left, but, which Ray handles without in any way glorifying the movement, and by exhibiting the loose ends, the pliable consequence of which would be ideological dogmatism. The other two films of the trilogy, 'Seemabaddha' and 'Jana Aranya' are equally bleak riding on the moral decrepitude of compromises and dehumanized corruption. The politics of the trilogy are lanes away from lyrical humanism and traverse the angst-filled individualism dragging through the socio-political chaos.
In between the two trilogies is Charulata from 1964, considered to be Ray's masterpiece. The cinema is especially noted for its music. Robinson points out a fascinating cultural cross-connection: the melody for the song “Phule Phule” is “based on a Scottish tune which Tagore heard as a young man on his first trip to England”. The tune recurs throughout the film, sung by different characters, with variations in the singing reflecting their personalities and emotional states. Robinson emphasizes Ray’s belief that the “setting is itself a character”. He describes the film’s bourgeois Bengali mansion as a metaphor for domesticity and even the nation. Key details are highlighted, such as the specially printed wallpaper, which was “similar to a William Morris design,” showcasing the Western aesthetic influences present in 19th-century Bengal. The open balcony overlooking an inner courtyard is also noted as a liminal space between the public and private domains. Before Charulata, 'Jaalsaghar' is yet another jewel, where the biographer analyzes the film's central tragedy: the zamindar (landlord) Biswambhar Roy (played by the legendary Chhabi Biswas) who bankrupts himself hosting extravagant music concerts while a crass, nouveau riche moneylender rises in his place. For Robinson, the film is not merely about a fallen aristocrat but a profound exploration of the clash between tradition and modernity.
Satyajit Ray dabbled into comedy and detective movies as well. His 'Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne' is still the most celebrated cinema in Bengal. Turning back on politics, 'Sadgati' from 1981 starred the iconic Om Puri, Smita Patil and Mohan Agashe in the only Hindi film that Ray made ('Shatranj ke Khiladi' was Urdu)as a short film for Doordarshan. This is Ray's superlative political statement. The story follows Dukhi, who seeks the priest's help to fix an auspicious date for his daughter's wedding. In return, the priest exploits his power, forcing Dukhi to perform exhausting chores. The tone is described as grim, realistic, and "terrifyingly precise" in its control. Robinson's analysis highlights the film's ability to generate unbearable tension from simple, quotidian actions. Dukhi, weak from hunger and illness, collapses and dies while chopping wood. The film's most damning sequence depicts the aftermath: no one from the upper castes will touch the "polluted" body, and even the other Dalits refuse to remove it. Ultimately, the Brahmin himself is forced to drag the corpse away with a rope and a stick, discarding it among animal carcasses. Ray employs a stark, neo-realist visual approach. The camera is often still and observational, which complements the slow, languid pace of village life and intensifies the focus on the physicality of Dukhi's suffering. 'Shatranj ke Khiladi' is often described as a timeless comment on non-involvement, especially at a time when the the history is collapsing and the Lakhnavi nobles have been obsessed in their private engagement of a game of chess. The film is notable for its bilingual nature—dialogues are split between Hindi/Urdu (for the Indian characters) and English (for the British, including Richard Attenborough as General Outram).
Ray's Devi shows his prescience to the hilt. No other movie probably resonates with the idea of 'New India', or the Bharat of today. Devi is a dramatization of the clash between blind faith/religious orthodoxy and Western rationalism/modernity. However, the film is more than a tract; it shows sympathy for the old order and suggests that reason alone is insufficient to combat deep-seated belief. Upon release, the film was controversial and was initially banned from export by the Indian government for its depiction of Hindu orthodoxy, though it was later cleared with the intervention of Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru. It is now regarded as one of Ray’s masterpieces, a "little gem" and a powerful critique of superstition that transcends its 19th-century setting. In Robinson's estimation, Devi forces viewers to look beyond the surface-level debate of faith versus reason. The biography illuminates how the film's true power lies in its intimate, tragic portrayal of a young woman destroyed by the love and reverence of her own family, a fate far more complex and horrifying than mere victimhood.
Ray's has worked with a galaxy of actors, from Soumitra Chatterjee, Uttam Kumar, Utpal Dutt, Madhabi, Sharmila Tagore, Om Puri, Smita Patil, Mohan Agashe, Amjad Khan, Sanjeev Kumar, to name some. Some of them, already doyens of the world ll d of cinema, and some got a launch pad propelling them into stardom. But, Satyajit Ray, the man carried into his old age the loneliness that he encountered as a young child in the illustrious company of a cultural capital that can embed in a mortal the strongest sense of jealousy. The book captures the cultural capital from Satyajit Ray's grandfather to himself via his father Sukumar Ray, who passed away when Satyajit was only two. Though, the biographer is enthralled by Satyajit Ray, any shortcomings are only spelt out by the film maker himself. The book, nevertheless remains authoritative and a must read for any student or aficionado of cinema.
August 23, 2008
An excellent overview of the life and films of the great Indian filmmaker Satyajit Ray. I feel that Andrew Robinson has done a marvelous job in capturing the ethos and nuances of Ray's films. The book begins by covering Ray's early life and education and then delves quickly into a film-by-film analysis, complete with interesting backgrounds notes, in the subsequent chapters.
In the later chapters, Robinson goes into Ray's work as an illustrator and writer and expounds on his view of cinema in general, which are in themselves very interesting to read. The author misses some of his later works as he mentions Shakha Proshakha being a "planned" film and doesn't mention Aguntuk (his last film) at all, but these can be forgiven as the book itself was written in 1989 and the films mentioned were made later. Also, I believe that the book will be more enjoyable to those who have seen the majority of the films mentioned in the respective chapters, although the author goes into the plot details considerably (a bit too much in my opinion).
Personally, I have seen about 90% of Ray's work (sans Sadgati and his documentaries) so I was able to derive great pleasure from reading the book. I am unaware of any other extensive biographies of Ray, and he continues to be an "overlooked" filmmaker in general, so this book fills a void regarding the subject . For those who have never heard of Satyajit Ray I would urge them to check out Ray's Apu Trilogy, Charulata, Jana Aranya and a few of his other classics before reading the book. For Rayphiles like myself, this book proved to be a joy to read.
In the later chapters, Robinson goes into Ray's work as an illustrator and writer and expounds on his view of cinema in general, which are in themselves very interesting to read. The author misses some of his later works as he mentions Shakha Proshakha being a "planned" film and doesn't mention Aguntuk (his last film) at all, but these can be forgiven as the book itself was written in 1989 and the films mentioned were made later. Also, I believe that the book will be more enjoyable to those who have seen the majority of the films mentioned in the respective chapters, although the author goes into the plot details considerably (a bit too much in my opinion).
Personally, I have seen about 90% of Ray's work (sans Sadgati and his documentaries) so I was able to derive great pleasure from reading the book. I am unaware of any other extensive biographies of Ray, and he continues to be an "overlooked" filmmaker in general, so this book fills a void regarding the subject . For those who have never heard of Satyajit Ray I would urge them to check out Ray's Apu Trilogy, Charulata, Jana Aranya and a few of his other classics before reading the book. For Rayphiles like myself, this book proved to be a joy to read.
November 28, 2023
Never really thought that having films described to my instead of watching them could be so much fun.
I've got a long list of movies to watch now, and probably going to read some screenplays too after those. 💀
I've got a long list of movies to watch now, and probably going to read some screenplays too after those. 💀
June 11, 2023
بیوگرافی بی عیب و نقص: عارفانه، کامل و ژرف، کار بی تکلفی از رابینسون که دانش و عشق به موضوع کتاب را میتوان در جای جای کتاب احساس کرد، بدون هیچ گونه افراط و تفریطی.
June 25, 2023
An excellent survey of Ray's work, with enough details of his life to inform without distracting.
September 23, 2012
The definitive book on Ray and his oeuvre. The author is privy to truly amazing access which not simply informs, but illuminates, the viewing of Ray's films. In portions, its chapters are more Cliffs-Note sketches than insightful (a perhaps necessary casualty of its completist aims), in contrast to the depth displayed particularly regarding his 'Apu Trilogy.'
Nevertheless, the sections on Ray's formative years in Santiniketan and Ray's creative familial inheritance; the thrilling backstory to 'Pather Panchali''s complicated gestation and delivery from page to screen (a film-worthy tale in its own right); and the evocative description of Ray's unmade 'E.T.' ('The Alien') and its very possible pillage by Hollywood; are for me its highlights.
A must (among English-language references) for any serious student of Ray and his films.
Nevertheless, the sections on Ray's formative years in Santiniketan and Ray's creative familial inheritance; the thrilling backstory to 'Pather Panchali''s complicated gestation and delivery from page to screen (a film-worthy tale in its own right); and the evocative description of Ray's unmade 'E.T.' ('The Alien') and its very possible pillage by Hollywood; are for me its highlights.
A must (among English-language references) for any serious student of Ray and his films.
July 21, 2015
I've been working my way through the Ray films released thus far on Hulu's Criterion channel and this book provides some good context for those like me who are more familiar with Hindi cinema and don't pick up up on all of the nuances of Bengali society, politics and literature in Ray's films.
December 24, 2015
One of the best biographies that I ever read. Concentrates on the movies of Ray and less on his personal life. Such a prolific creator has not been suitably recognised till now. I intend watching all his movies next year.
May 22, 2017
Contains some interesting biographical information, but altogether too much of the author stressing that western audiences will never truly understand Ray's films (while at the same time lauding them as "universal"). A little too much of a panegyric to be a well-rounded autobiography.
Want to Read
March 22, 2008I own the Apu trilogy and love the cinematography and the characters. I'm thrilled to learn of a biography and that he has several other films for me to check out.
Read
March 30, 2013A tremendous and fabulous introspection about Satyajit Ray,s thought
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