The
name of Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) brings
up images of lyricism and romance. It conjures
images of tender and slender threads of men and
women in their emotional interactions. It is sad
that most people who decide to explore various
phases of life of the great Rabindranath Tagore
do not have the faintest idea about how to approach
a period film even if it is a fictionalized version
of what is generally known as the truth. The only
exception to this was Satyajit Ray's documentary
on Tagore, the best celluloid representation of
Tagore's life till date. Fortunately, filmmakers
from Debaki Bose, Bimal
Roy, Satyajit
Ray and Tapan
Sinha to Rituparno Ghosh have handled Tagore's
creative writings seamlessly in their own way,
while Tagore's poetry, music and songs continue
to enrich the texture of many a Bengali film till
today. Placed in this perspective, films like
Chhelebela directed by Sukanta Ray exploring
Tagore's childhood till he reached his teenage,
or Bandana Mukhopadhyay's Chirosakha He
define classic examples of filmmaking at its worst
leading to a complete misrepresentation and misreading
of the poet, his life and his relationships.
 Bandana
Mukhopadhyay makes her directorial debut with
Chirosakha He, focussed on Kadambari
herself, extending the borders of the woman's
relationship with the poet to embrace the psyche
of Kadambari. "The project began with my
curiosity in the woman who inspired Tagore so
profoundly and yet was remembered by none other
than Tagore alone. What compelled me to finally
put aside my research and pick up the camera to
recreate her was Kadambari herself. I have not
presented her merely as the muse of a budding
poet, but as a sensitive and artistic woman who
veiled her unhappiness and inadequacies with a
smile and took the final exit through suicide.
More than a century after her death, Kadambari
remains an enigma. Her life is a collection of
elusive shadows, for the most part captured in
Tagore's creativity. I wanted to tell the world
of this woman who 'loved not wisely but too well.'
What makes Kadambari so poignant is that she was
loved as every woman dreams of being loved and
she felt abandoned like every woman fears she
might be. This film is Kadambari's story, told
not just in the words of Tagore who loved her
as a muse, but also with the passion of a woman.
I feel for her as another woman would and so I
decided to make this film," explains Mukhopadhyay.
Tagore placed the resonance of the ambivalent
relationship between Tagore and his sister-in-law
Kadmabari, two years older than himself, in his
novelette Nastaneer turned into a celluloid
poem (Charulata
(1964)) by Ray. Tagore scholar Dr. Prasanta
Pal admits that in some ways, Amal in Charulata
reflects stray incidents from Tagore's personal
life. There is a striking resemblance between
Tagore's physical appearance and the appearance
of Amal as Ray 'designed' him. Soumitra
Chatterjee as Amal is made to dress up and
look like Tagore did when he was Amal's age. His
make-up, costume, hairstyle, height, gait are
a throwback on the young Tagore himself. The other
similarity is in Amal's bonding with Charu, a
reflection of Tagore's much-discussed and debated
bonding with Kadambari. "Ray" writes
Dr. Pal, "tried to keep his characters as
close to the 'spirit' of Tagore's original Nastaneer
as he could." Charu in Charulata
bears a strong resemblance, nature and manner,
to Tagore's sister-in-law Kadambari Devi, wife
of his older brother Jyotirindranath Tagore. Tagore
as a young man was close to both. Perhaps Ray
was inspired to model the Charu of his film on
Kadambari Devi.
Mukhopadhyay's Chirosakha He achieves
none of the above. It does try desperately to
explore the real relationship between the two
through flashbacks into Tagore's mind as he recalls
moments with Kadambari while trying to establish
himself as a poet of talent and renown. But she
fails because her desperation is too obvious and
strained, lacking in subtlety, understatement
and low-key handling of a delicate and fragile
subject that was far too ahead of its time when
Tagore first explored it.
 She
uses the metaphor of another musical drama of
Tagore, Bhanusingher Padavali, to explore
the relationship. Tagore made an effortless and
smooth transition from Bengali to the Vaishnava
poet's language to create a love lyric and recite
it to Kadambari. The benevolent critic in Kadambari
felt it was an original creation of the Mithila
poets. Tagore created Bhanushingher Padavali,
identifying himself with Bhanusingha, a Mithila
poet. But Mukhopadhyay fails to bring this across
because the actors playing Tagore (Sayandeep)
and Kadambari (Deepanjana) fail miserably to deliver.
In marked contrast to the young Tagore's sharp
features and handsome demeanour, the podgy and
empty-faced Sayandeep is worse than an apology.
Deepanjana's Kadambari can neither act nor has
the kind of looks and personality to convince
the audience of a period character from the Tagore
family drawn from real life. They fail to bring
out even a faint echo of the emotional intensity
that the relationship suggests in all literature
linked to stories of the young Tagore and his
muse Kadambari. Wrong costumes, hairstyles, wigs,
and production design grossly misrepresent the
period, 1877. Beautifully manicured shrubs in
gardens with artificial springs forming the backdrop
for what could have been a touching scene between
Kadambari and Tagore stand out like sore thumbs
exemplifying lack of research and attention to
detail. This is sad because the noted Roopchand
Kundu has done the production design. Shakti Banerjee's
cinematography just passes muster. Bhappi Lahiri's
musical score with some Tagore songs recreated
for the film are the film's sole saving grace.
Tom Alter as the British physician and Roopa Ganguly
as Soudamini do justice to their sketchy roles.
Does the fact that the film is produced under
the banner of "Sai Baba Imports and Exports
(UK) Ltd." have something to do with this
lack of historical and literary authenticity?
Tagore and his works still remain too sacro sanct
to be subjected to a filmmaker's interpretations.
Looking at films like Chirosakha He,
one feels it is good that they remain so. For
the auteur, the film is a piece of architecture
whose bricks are not – must not be –
the children of his own body. So wrote Cahiers
du Cinema in its issue no.63, p.55. One wishes
Mukhopadhyay had read this. It would have helped
her understand the difference between the rather
rigid print medium of literature and the fluid,
flexible and complicated audiovisual medium of
cinema.
Shoma A Chatterji is a freelance journalist
who specialises in cinema and gender. She has
won the National Award for Best Writing on Cinema
twice. |
