Completed in 1955, Satyajit Ray’s astonishing debut, Pather Panchali creates a wonderfully detailed picture of a Bengali village where a mother gets into debt while raising a daughter and a small son and caring for an ancient aunt without much help from her husband, a dreamer, who thinks his education has placed him above physical norms. She’s irritable, worn down by work and injured pride, and though resilient, she eventually gives in and moves to the city with her family after the daughter’s death and the destruction of their home in a storm. The picture is made with subtlety and imagination. Its images by first-time cameraman Subrata Mitra are as memorable as anything in the movies of De Sica and Kurosawa he foreign directors Ray admired.
Most of what transpires is shown through the eyes of either Sarbojaya or Durga, and, as a result, we identify most closely with these two. Harihar is absent for more than half of the movie, and before the final scene, Apu is a mere witness to events, rather than a participant. Until the closing moments, we don’t get a sense of the young boy as a fully formed individual, since he’s always in someone else’s shadow. With its poetic black-and-white images and heartfelt method of storytelling, Pather Panchali speaks intimately to each member of the audience. This tale, as crafted by Ray, touches the souls and minds of viewers, transcending cultural and language barriers. In Pather Panchali, each scene builds upon what has come before. This is the kind of motion picture that will stay with you for hours, or perhaps even days, after you’ve left the theater, and that’s a rare characteristic for any movie.
Geoffery StJulien 