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The Home and the World (Satyajit Ray, 1984)
🕑 Added 2021-06-02 02:39:39 +0000 UTC
The more Rays I've seen, the stranger it seems to me that the Apu trilogy continues to be regarded as his crowning achievement. This may say less about Ray, and more about the sort of anthropologically-tinged realism that Western critics expect when watching films from the Global South. The Home and the World, another Tagore adaptation, is a complex, nearly flawless examination of various crises, all meeting at the intersection of tradition vs. social change. It demonstrates the ways in which power corrupts, free will demands responsibility, and the fact that Bengalis recognized the waning of British rule, but were largely uncertain where to go next. The film examines the lure of ideology, but does so in a manner nearly free of doctrinaire assumptions.
At the core of The Home and the World is a slowly developing love triangle involving a married couple and the husband's old friend, a political activist. But the very fact that an affair can develop is itself tied to a new set of ideas and principles. Nikhil (Victor Bannerjee) is a wealthy landowner whose Western education has made him a liberal in the fullest sense. Spurning old Bengali traditions involving the sequestration of women within the home and away from other men, Nikhil insists that his wife Bimala (Swatilehka Sengupta) cross the threshold into "the world," that part of the family home that faces outward onto the public, patriarchal sphere.
This is indeed when the trouble starts, but Ray is in no way adopting a pro-tradition, anti-feminist position. Rather, the film is about the complications of free will, particularly when the freedom in question is something that men can simply bequeath to women, and not culturally assumed. Bimala is hesitant, but at Nikhil's behest she agrees to meet Sandip (Soumitra Chatterjee), an anti-colonial activist who is the leader of the Swadeshi movement, an attempt to win independence by boycotting foreign goods. He and his followers wield the slogan "Hail Motherland" as a definitive shibboleth distinguishing friends from enemies, demonstrating how quickly patriotism devolves into nationalist fervor.
A lesser film would follow suit in some regard, delineating these divisions in heavy black marker in order to streamline Tagore's narrative web. To his great credit, Ray fully articulates the multiple positions that determine the course of events. In this respect, The Home and the World is truly an intersectional film. For example, Sandip vilifies Nikhil for his refusal to ban foreign products from the marketplace on his estate. But Nikhil is no colonized dupe. Rather, he recognizes that the boycott would overwhelmingly impact the merchants, who also happen to be poor Muslims. Sandip rallies against the partition of Bengal, but is willing to sacrifice anyone who stands in his way, including the Muslims his movement ostensibly aims to defend.
Bimala, meanwhile, is impressed with Sandip's fervor. She supports the Swadeshi movement and its intent. But Sandip, ostensibly impressed with Bimala's independence and intellect, withholds from her the uglier truths about his organization's motives. She is welcomed into "the world," but only as a symbol of "the home." (Sandip calls Bimala his "queen bee," a nickname whose meaning gradually shifts from political to sexual.) And while Bimala's commitment to the Swadeshi boycotts is clearly inseparable from her growing attraction to Sandip, Ray continually makes clear that this is not the extent of her interest. Rather, she is forced, all at once, to contend with her own conflicting desires.
The greatness of The Home and the World is partly demonstrated by the fact that its sociopolitical lessons are not easily mapped onto any specific league or position. Various contemporary viewers have made obvious comparisons between Sandip's motives and the openly racist Modi government. But in fact, Nikhil's liberal views could just as easily be used to make an argument against the BDS movement against Israel. Within a complex global economy, it's virtually certain that sanctions will disproportionately impact the poor. Bimala criticizes Nikhil for being intolerably passive in a time of social turmoil. (And this active / passive dichotomy is subtly but unmistakably mapped onto Bimala's shifting sexual attentions.) But in the end, The Home and the World validates Nikhil's cautiousness. If you think you completely understand a situation, you are almost certainly wrong. Sadly, Bimala discovers this a bit too late.
I haven't even broached the role of Nikhil's sister-in-law (Gopa Aich), who adheres to strict sequestration although she was widowed in her teens. Her disdain for Bimala's freedom, and what she does with it, is a perfect example of horizontal violence among women. But Ray never condescends to her. With her own thwarted desires, her bitterness, and her commitment to the ancient traditions that have ruined her life, this woman is exactly what her society made her. But then, aren't we all?
Comments
Totally agree with that first sentence. I think the trilogy just became an easy one-size-fits-all intro to Indian (really just Bengali) cinema for the West, and a lack of further curiosity is to blame for the relative neglect of his later, richer work
