(India, 1965)
Nayak, which has recently received its' first ever DVD release in the United States, remains one of the more stylistically more daring entries in the long and fascinating cinematic career of Satyajit Ray. It isn't quite the knockout that some of his other films are, but it remains one of his more obscure works (unfortunately) to Western film aficionados, and there are more than enough intriguing experiments going on here to make it worth seeing.
At a basic level, Nayak presents a character study, of matinee idol Arindam Mukherjee (Bengali star Uttam Kumar) as he travels by train from Calcutta to Delhi. The casting choice of Kumar was a brilliant move on the part of Ray, who was interested in creating a film that would focus less upon a star's star-power, and more on a star's inner world. Ray was known for literary and intricate dramas, which were the antithesis of the sorts of more conventional films that Kumar had become known for, and Kumar's revelatory performance is an unexpected display of theatrical prowess, with great psychological implications revealed through drama, but also through the slightest of gestures or expressions.
Kumar is paired here with Sharmila Tagore. Tagore - along with Soumitra Chatterjee - appeared in many of Ray's films, and this is one of her finest performances; among other qualities, her character offers an image of a very specific sort of 60s cool, a stylishness that could perhaps rival that of Jean Seberg in Godard's Breathless. This noted, her character here - an initially reluctant journalist who approaches Mukherjee in a dining car for an interview - is predominantly striking for more cerebral qualities: her tough confidence, her independence and her persistence.
The interview and conversation between the two rapidly shifts away from expected star-meets-paparazzi territory into something more psychologically intrepid, with hopes and fears and any number of personal anxieties delved into. Ray's decision to build a narrative out of the unguarded moments of two individuals who would normally (for personal and professional reasons) be considerably less open is ambitious - a certain amount of 'demystification of celebrity' goes on, and I would guess that it had to make for difficult filming: how to cinematically visualize a story built entirely upon inner moments? Ray elects for a nonlinear approach, with an abundance of flashbacks, and a spectacular and surreal dream sequence (centered around Mukherjee's greatest fears). This approach is a bit disjointed, and the film has a certain difficulty in sustaining it's rhythm, but the film is also always visually very inventive and interesting, affording Ray the opportunity to delve into a variety of new-wave influences, which lends the film a brisk stylishness.
Gaining a first-ever official home video release in the US, one would hope that this portends further releases - Ray's most famous films have gone out of print in the US, and a handful of Ray's finest films - Kanchenjungha, the sublime Days And Nights In The Forest, and the magical Adventures Of Goopy And Bagha have never made an appearance on DVD in the US. As another of his key works, it's great to see Nayak finally getting a long-overdue release.
At a basic level, Nayak presents a character study, of matinee idol Arindam Mukherjee (Bengali star Uttam Kumar) as he travels by train from Calcutta to Delhi. The casting choice of Kumar was a brilliant move on the part of Ray, who was interested in creating a film that would focus less upon a star's star-power, and more on a star's inner world. Ray was known for literary and intricate dramas, which were the antithesis of the sorts of more conventional films that Kumar had become known for, and Kumar's revelatory performance is an unexpected display of theatrical prowess, with great psychological implications revealed through drama, but also through the slightest of gestures or expressions.
Kumar is paired here with Sharmila Tagore. Tagore - along with Soumitra Chatterjee - appeared in many of Ray's films, and this is one of her finest performances; among other qualities, her character offers an image of a very specific sort of 60s cool, a stylishness that could perhaps rival that of Jean Seberg in Godard's Breathless. This noted, her character here - an initially reluctant journalist who approaches Mukherjee in a dining car for an interview - is predominantly striking for more cerebral qualities: her tough confidence, her independence and her persistence.
The interview and conversation between the two rapidly shifts away from expected star-meets-paparazzi territory into something more psychologically intrepid, with hopes and fears and any number of personal anxieties delved into. Ray's decision to build a narrative out of the unguarded moments of two individuals who would normally (for personal and professional reasons) be considerably less open is ambitious - a certain amount of 'demystification of celebrity' goes on, and I would guess that it had to make for difficult filming: how to cinematically visualize a story built entirely upon inner moments? Ray elects for a nonlinear approach, with an abundance of flashbacks, and a spectacular and surreal dream sequence (centered around Mukherjee's greatest fears). This approach is a bit disjointed, and the film has a certain difficulty in sustaining it's rhythm, but the film is also always visually very inventive and interesting, affording Ray the opportunity to delve into a variety of new-wave influences, which lends the film a brisk stylishness.
Gaining a first-ever official home video release in the US, one would hope that this portends further releases - Ray's most famous films have gone out of print in the US, and a handful of Ray's finest films - Kanchenjungha, the sublime Days And Nights In The Forest, and the magical Adventures Of Goopy And Bagha have never made an appearance on DVD in the US. As another of his key works, it's great to see Nayak finally getting a long-overdue release.
1 comment:
Nice review. Nayak is indeed a movie of moments.
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