Charulata (1964)

The striking opening sequence, all of the first almost ten minutes, captures the entire universe of the eponymous Charulata with an effortless grace. The depiction of desolation and ennui, usually more associated with Antonioni, is portrayed with a lucidity and perfection that is rare.

Charu (Madhabi Mukherjee) glides through her palatial mansion, its set design meticulously constructed to reflect the era in which the story is set. Its vast emptiness mirrors Charu's lonesome existence, while her newspaper owner husband Bhupati (Shailen Mukherjee) continues to be preoccupied with his work, which he is also quite passionate about, even comparing it to Charu, stating it to be her Souten or a second wife (translated as 'rival' in the Criterion English subs!).

A lover of literature and poetry, a big fan of Bankim Chandra Chaterjee and perhaps a hidden literary genius herself, we see Charu biding her time roaming about, browsing through books, humming songs and sewing. But more importantly, she also kills her boredom by taking a curious look at the outside world through the half covered windows with a gaze that often switches between contemplative and childlike. The latter quality is more evident in the way she moves from window to window, simply to catch a glimpse of a portly man with an umbrella passing by, her opera glasses always acting as her lens to observe a world that seems distant or inaccessible to her.

In a not-so-subtle manner, Ray shows how Charu feels at a distance even from her husband who fails to notice her as he walks past, following which she fixates the opera glasses on him, watching him walk out of the frame.

Bhupati isn't the stereotypical wife-neglecting husband, however. He does love his wife. He is just so preoccupied in his business and passion of voicing out his political beliefs through his paper (Charu's rival, as mentioned) that he is temporarily unaware of his wife's presence and her needs. It suddenly strikes him that she may be lonely when he finally notices that she has enough time to embroider a nice handkerchief for him! He is also quite the naïve one, bestowing his trust on his family members without giving it second thought. One betrays him, the other stops short of doing so! Bhupati is a well written flawed character; a good human being, designed to be sympathized with, but one who's so preoccupied with his paper and armchair activism that he is totally ignorant of what’s brewing under his very nose; including his wife's loneliness, her attraction to his cousin and an evil scheme at work.

The dark void of Charu's existence sees some light with the arrival of Amal, Bhupati's younger cousin, who is introduced with an overtly symbolic entry of a storm (a literal storm brings in an emotional storm to come!). Amal is a young, vibrant chap, quite passionate about literature and poetry. Charu is gradually swept away by his charm and a common interest. She feels liberated, merely in experiencing this attraction!  The fabulous garden scene that's a highlight of the film, demonstrates this perfectly.

Some great camera wizardry at display right there; with the camera itself possibly mounted on a swing and capturing the beautiful Charu humming away and then cutting to Amal, who sways in and out of her line of sight. The joyous stupor comes to an abrupt halt, however, when Charu notices a woman with a child and is reminded that she is also childless; and perhaps can never have one with her husband. And then the worried gaze shifts towards Amal; a sense of sudden guilt perhaps makes her quickly snap out of it!

What's often brought up as a commonly applied motif is the women shot behind bars of windows, obviously symbolizing a woman's emotional imprisonment despite the lavishness that surrounds her. It isn't just Charu but Manda (Gitali Roy) and others as well, filmed behind the bars, perhaps extending Charu's plight and making her an epitome of the 19^th century Indian woman, a prisoner of her own fate and of the male-dominated society, married off to some rich man in an arranged ceremony and forced to give up her personal freedom. It was an era when it was not very common for married women to venture out or socialize and hence the entrapment was a real deal; emotional as well as physical, symbolized further by the caged birds.

Ironically, Charu's husband is an advocate of liberalism, a vocal supporter of the renaissance movement as well. Raja Ram Mohan Roy, the father of Indian renaissance is mentioned; he was famous for abolishing the infamous Sati system in which a woman was forced to die with her husband in his funeral pyre! And despite his liberal views, Bhupati also belongs to this very segment of society in which women are left to languish in their trapped existence, rarely at liberty to be independent, and forced to be at the mercy of their spouses.

Charulata's empty existence does find some meaning eventually when she goes ahead and writes and publishes an article in vengeance, just because Amal asks her to "show some respect". Bhupati's reaction to this is a complex one; one of astonishment, shock and embarrassment, at being made aware of his wife's talent by his drunk friends. For a second he doesn't know what to think, and it is stupendously conveyed.

For a film so delicately balanced and executed, the denouement, specifically when Charu breaks down into an unrealistic monologue, "Why did you leave me Amal?" conveniently timed, just as Bhupati happens to be at the door is a tad clumsy, contrived to deliver him the double blow and eventually reach the broken nest, tragic freeze frame.  It feels like a cop-out, and an obvious writing deficiency. There could have been other well thought out ways to make him aware of the fact that Charu loved Amal. Also, one wishes the line delivery of Shailen Mukherjee was less affected and artificial, especially when he speaks in English. 

Amal fleeing overnight because of Umapada's  (Shyamal Ghoshal) betrayal is a bit abrupt as well. Why not stay around and offer his cousin some moral support instead? While Charu's feelings for Amal are quite explicitly exhibited, Amal is never shown reciprocating to that extent, hence it seems a bit of a stretch for him to act so impulsively and clear out fearing another betrayal.

Lilting music, great cinematography, great writing, carefully executed mise en scène and an extraordinarily splendid performance by Madhabi Mukherjee make the film.

Score: 8/10

Le Grand Amour (1969)

"Le Grand Amour" (1969) is a delightful, surrealist French comedy, a celebration of free form filmic narrative that employs a wholly playful visual approach to the stream of consciousness device. A routine plot of a bourgeois French businessman falling for his beautiful young secretary is given a refreshingly original and unconventional treatment that would please the fans of Luis Bunuel and older silent era slapstick comedies alike.

Etaix's film is not so much about the premise than it is about its highly inventive stylistic methods of storytelling. It is a testament to the power of cinematic language in conveying the infinite ideas and feelings that occupy the complex human mind. The entire film is narrated by the lead character Pierre, played by writer-director Pierre Étaix, who taps the medium of the motion picture to his maximum advantage in order to tell his story and reveal his deepest thoughts in a visually enchanting, and entertaining manner that has to be seen to be believed.

Random musings of the brain come alive in flashbacks resulting in hilarious visuals. "When I think about it, I could have married lots of others", Pierre muses and instantly we see Pierre getting married to a whole gang of brides! We see, as Pierre narrates. Every little detail of his thought process, no matter how whimsical and absurd, manifests itself visually on screen.

Etaix's comic flair ensures that despite a wafer thin plot, the viewer is hooked and thoroughly entertained throughout the duration of the film. Etaix fulfills the challenge rather effortlessly by showcasing an all-round talent of superlative acting, great writing and its equally great transformation to the screen. A Bunuel-esque bourgeois take-down is evident in the depiction of the mannered existence of Pierre's wife Florence's (Annie Fratellini) family. A wildly funny propagation of a grapevine among gossipy older women shows how Pierre's innocuous doff of the hat to a lady in the park turns into a full-on romp in the bushes!

Ironically, the distortions of facts are not limited to the ladies that Etaix satirizes. He lets the audiences have a good laugh on his own self in that superb gag in which he cannot make up his mind as to where he met Florence, whether on the terrace of a café or inside it. As he switches constantly between the locations, the vexed waiter who is actually part of the recollection jumps out of the story and asks him to make up his mind!

In other funny instances, we see exact contradictions to what Pierre is imagining or narrating. A striking example is the very ignorant notion of how he might have broken two hearts, those of his childhood sweethearts by deciding to marry Florence. Ditto for that deliriously absurd turn in which he declares to Florence's mother that he had decided not to marry Florence, and yet we see them getting married eventually. Or even that very universal bit in which local perceptions of Pierre's marriage are thwarted by juxtaposing disheartening gossip against a visibly healthy marital coexistence.

Considering Pierre's system of habitation and the fact that he has in a way, married into Florence's family perhaps makes him feel suffocated. Pierre and Florence reside just a storey above his in-laws and the fact that he has taken over his father-in-law's tannery business, makes him feel uncomfortable, a situation from which he seeks freedom of the mind. This freedom comes in the form of the comely young secretary, Agnes (Nicole Calfan), all of eighteen, with an extremely cute, innocent face, but not the strictly naïve kind either.

Pierre, who feels he got married much earlier in age and perhaps agreeing that it was wrong to marry a woman his own age, now begins to feel an unrelenting attraction to the much younger Agnes. Etaix makes the viewer see through Pierre's lens as the camera looks lovingly at Agnes, almost as if seeking the viewer's approval about how it is not unnatural for a bored man in his 30s to fall for her charms!

Astonishingly, we almost always see Agnes through the eyes of Pierre and his wildly outrageous fantasies, the best of which comes in the form of the extraordinary bed-on-wheels segment, when Pierre embarks on a hauntingly beautiful dream, snug in bed with Agnes in a teeny nightie; except they aren't really making love on this bed, just lying in each other's arms and travelling freely, as the bed glides along on its wheels (!) along an empty but beautiful country road. Along the way, they pass other dreamers-on-beds by, one of them perhaps a hospital bed, with a man in a cast!

The USP of the film are these fantasies and the seamless blending of these sequences with reality, in a marvelous job of editing which is intelligently thought out, carefully executed, and far from random. The comedic flavor of course, adds to the entertainment quotient, almost to the same degree as the jaw-dropping imagination, a product of the combined genius of Etaix and the great Jean-Claude Carriere. It is interesting to note, that the slapstick part mostly comes only during the bits which aren't strictly real, in a way as to mock the absurdity of stories told, either through a grapevine or through someone’s wild imagination.

Ultimately, "Le Grand Amour" becomes a unique venture that combines slapstick with the psychological realm, thereby distinguishing itself from the considerably broader, literal action oriented comedy of the silent era, and yet retaining its entire comic flavor, evident from a whole lot of incredibly funny moments sprinkled throughout. The heightened colours and use of buoyant music beautifully complement the film's joyful universe.

The only tiny grouse that bothers is the wrapped-up ending that comes off as very convenient and visibly lacking in ingenuity as compared to what comes before it. The cyclical as well as prophetic form that the conclusion takes, making the gossip mongers happy comes off as a bit too conventional for a film so remarkably offbeat.

It is a minor speck that deserves forgiveness, however, for by that point, Etaix has your heart conquered with his charming ode to free love.

Score: 10/10

La Piscine (1969)

The tranquility of an idyllic, romantic summer getaway to a plush French villa is disturbed for a handsome couple, when an old friend and his teenage daughter unexpectedly join the party. The fragility of multiple bonds lies exposed with the arrival of this strange pair of guests in this complex psychological drama surrounding mysterious relationships.

In "La Piscine" aka "The Swimming Pool" (1969), written and directed by Jacques Deray, Jean-Paul (Alain Delon), a failed writer with supposed emotional problems takes a vacation with his beautiful girlfriend from over two years, Marianne (Romy Schneider). Both of them spend most of their time either taking lazy sunbaths or canoodling by the large swimming pool in the property when they aren't taking a dip in it.

Enter old friend Harry (Maurice Ronet) and his attractive 18-year old daughter Penelope (Jane Birkin), and suddenly, there are ripples in an otherwise calm atmosphere, as seemingly healthy, strong bonds begin to show cracks following some startling revelations about all four involved.

"La Piscine" unfolds with a languorous pace, its lazy mood mirroring the leisurely sun-soaked holiday of Jean-Paul and Marianne. The plot and the narrative is mostly minimal, with almost nothing happening for most of the first half hour, but we do get to have a good glimpse of some gorgeous looking people spending their time around the luxurious property. During this time, we are given the chance to soak in in the relaxed environment and observe the body language of the four primary characters. Their interactions seem to hint at a lot more, a whole lot different than what initially meets the eye.

A slow-burning tension mounts gradually as we notice those furtive glances and some visible discomfort. In what seems to be a passionate romance between the lead couple, there suddenly appears to be a strange, uncomfortable distance of sort. The palpable emotional wall between the father, Harry and his daughter Penelope suggest that this is not your ordinary, healthy father-daughter pair, and there is something definitely out of place.

Certain character actions coerce you to form your own questions and formulate theories. For instance, why did Marianne initially refuse to tell Jean-Paul whose call it was when Harry phoned? Could there be something between Marianne and Harry or was she just teasing him? What is the meaning of Penelope's overall awkwardness around the others? Or is she just plain bored among all the older people? Why is Jean-Paul so interested in her age, unabashedly even asking it, despite her father being around?

The dialog is mostly restrained, and there are no explicit dramatic exchanges except in one vital scene. The nature of the complex relationships portrayed is revealed piece by piece, and with a strange, unexpected nonchalance, the kind of revelation that you may even miss if you blink. There is a dysfunction alright, but there is an air of ambiguity as well, even when exposing it to the viewer. Certain aspects of the past are divulged as subtle twists, making you rewind and think back to an interaction, trying to comprehend an exchange, while in other cases it seems to make sense and fall into place.

The tactful handling of these sequences and the steady control exercised here is remarkable indeed. Deray creates an unsettling atmosphere of understated suspense, and we realize that beneath all the glamour and the romance, something very sinister is brewing, only we are unsure where it is all headed. It almost seems like an unusual calm before a storm, like a dormant volcano waiting to erupt, but without a clear knowledge of how and when such an event may occur.

Of course, the third act springs a surprise of shocking proportions, and even this shock is brought upon rather gently, keeping in tune with the languid tone of the film. The film would've been just as effective as an elegantly mounted sensual psychological drama, even without the thriller element introduced in the third act, sans which it would've still retained all its tense, suspenseful qualities.

"La Piscine" is exquisitely filmed and most of the action is confined to the compound walls of the villa and around the swimming pool. This titular swimming pool, serves as the symbol of calm, pleasant waters turned into a deadly vortex that would change lives forever. With a setup and characters like those depicted, not surprisingly, comes the exploration of an existential ennui, a trope already mastered by the Italian master Michelangelo Antonioni.

With talents like Jean-Claude Carrière, Maurice Ronet, Alain Delon and the lovely Romy Schneider on board, Jacques Deray certainly delivers an engaging drama that goes far beyond being a mere showcase of two handsome men sipping scotch and two gorgeous ladies sunbathing.

Score: 9/10