Apur Sansar (1959) - film review

Apu has completed his studies but, despite being a graduate, he is unable to find work.  Living in a small rented room in Calcutta, he just manages to survive by pawning his books and giving private lessons.  He hopes one day to be a great writer and so he occupies himself by writing a novel based on his life experiences.  One day, he is visited by his university friend Pulu, who invites him to attend his cousin’s wedding in his ancestral village.   When the bridegroom is found to be a deranged cripple, Apu is persuaded, against his will, to marry the bride, Aparna, to save the family’s honour.  The couple return to Calcutta and, after a strained period of adjustment, begin to enjoy their new life together.  Apu finds work as a clerk and abandons his novel, without regret.  He could not be happier.  But then tragedy strikes again.  Aparna dies in childbirth and Apu is thrown into despair.   He cannot bear to see his son, who is being reared by Aparna’s parents, and pursues the life of a wanderer.  Several years later, Apu, now a mineworker, is reunited with Pulu, who is shocked to see the change in his friend’s appearance and demeanour.  Apu is the wreck of a man, his spirit broken, his dreams shattered.  Pulu persuades Apu that he must take charge of his son, Kajal, who has grown wild without his father’s care and attention.  As soon as he sees his son, Apu is overwhelmed by an unconditional love for the little boy.  But Kajal is not yet ready to accept him as his father...

With Apur Sansar (a.k.a. The World of Apu), the acclaimed Indian filmmaker Satyajit Ray concludes his spellbinding masterwork, The Apu Trilogy, and emerges as one of the finest creative talents of the Twentieth Century.  This third instalment goes way beyond the detached neo-realist melodrama of the previous two, Pather Panchali (1955) and Aparajito (1956), and takes us on an intensely lyrical journey to discover the true meaning of life.  The subject of the film is simple, a portrait of a young man assuming the burden of adulthood, yet Ray handles it with such sensitivity and delicacy that no one who watches it can fail to be moved to tears by the sheer potency of its eloquence and humanity.

Much of this film’s haunting power of expression lies in Subrata Mitra’s cinematography, which conveys, with blistering vividness, the mood of the film’s protagonists, be it carefree elation, angry frustration or abject despair.  The landscape is so much a part of Apu’s existential voyage of discovery that it almost becomes part of his persona, an expression of his inner angst, and also the means of his deliverance.  Yet the film also owes much to Soumitra Chatterjee, an inexperienced 24-year-old actor who portrays Apu’s transition from free-spirited bachelor to a reluctant father with heart-wrenching conviction.  Remarkably, this was Chatterjee’s first film appearance, and he would go on to become one of India’s most sought after actors, returning to star in several of Ray’s subsequent films.   

Satyajit Ray is one of a very small minority of auteur filmmakers who consistently made films having an impact far beyond his own country, films that would touch the hearts of audiences across the world.  Apur Sansar illustrates Ray’s ability to tell a very simple story to maximum effect, stimulating our emotions and holding our interest without resorting to the cheap tricks of Hollywood-style melodrama.  The raw poetry and authenticity of this film help it to transcend the cultural barriers, but what makes it so universally appealing is that it deals with the most fundamental truths of human experience.  This is a film not for one audience but for all mankind.

© James Travers 2010

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