Too often a work of art is reduced to a single theme or narrative. While I cannot fully explain why this happens, the most obvious reason is that the obvious reaps attention. Such is the case with Satyajit Ray’s Mahanagar (The Big City), a film that, despite receiving rave reviews, seems to have suffered a lack of deeper critical attention.
Set in 1950s Kolkata (then Calcutta), an extremely volatile decade following the partition of India, Mahanagar is a drama about a struggling middleclass family. No longer can the man of the house be the only earner and support a family that also includes his parents and sister. The woman also has to step out, even at the cost of upsetting the tradition. While a premise like this might seem straight out of a Bollywood snoozer, Mahanagar is the work of an accomplished artist, where things are never quite predictable, nor do the characters go through sweeping transformations due to a single event or revelation. Instead, revelations are implicit in how the characters respond to their circumstances.
Take, for instance, the scene where Subrata (Anil Chatterjee), after allowing his wife Arati (Madhabi Mukherjee) to work—much to the disapproval of his parents—has her sign a resignation letter just because his ego is hurt seeing her thrive in her work. The scene is swift and there is no protest on part of Arati; for her, it’s just a part of her accepted reality. Moreover, she had taken the job because she wanted to support her husband, even as she grew to love it in the process. This is an important distinction, for a conventional feminist portrayal would have showcased this job as a symbol of freedom existing outside of Arati, as a totalizing reality, rather than a newfound reality that was co-created by her—one that had, in fact, become a part of her.
But even if one were to give in to the reductively feminist readings of Mahanagar, things are never that simple. Prior to her job, Arati was well ensconced in her role as a housewife, not ‘imprisoned’. Similarly, her job as a saleswoman is far from ideal, has all sorts of clients, and a snobby racist boss. In a telling scene, Arati interacts with a male client in a tea house, where her husband happens to be sitting nearby. She, who has never worn sunglasses before, has just taken them off and is behaving in a dramatically different manner. Offhandedly, the scene conveys her fidelity to her husband, but more importantly, it highlights the façade Arati has to wear to succeed at her job. Madhabi Mukherjee delivers a remarkable performance as a sensitive yet steadfast woman, rendering Arati too multifaceted to be reduced to a single motivation.
An even better performance is given by Anil Chatterjee as the semi-patriarchal Subarata, coming to terms with his wife’s new role and his own in relation to it. His is the more interesting character, rarely portrayed with such nuance. Yet critics seem to have dedicated all their attention to Arati. Yes, as a de facto protagonist of the film, she easily inspires sympathy and focus, but it is Subarata who must go against his own psychology and force the growth that comes to Arati more easily. Consider the narrative turn when Subarata, after finding out that he has lost his job, phones Arati to prevent her from submitting her resignation. In a lesser work, such would have been used to extend Arati’s arc on her preferred terms, thus cozying up to the viewer’s sympathies, but here it stretches the drama of Subrata as he is subjected to further emasculation vis-à-vis his wife. That Ray also chooses Subrata’s character to open Mahanagar is not a mere happenstance, for his travails are just as dramatically important as that of Arati’s, if not more so.
Another major character is Subrata’s father, Priyogopal (Haren Chatterjee). Formerly a schoolmaster, he has now been reduced to solving crossword puzzles with other elderly men in town, hoping that one day he will win the prize money and relieve the financial burdens his son has failed to meet. Priyogopal strongly condemns Arati’s decision to work, to the point that he stops speaking to the young couple. Instead of accepting earnings from his daughter-in-law, the old patriarch starts visiting his former students—now in high positions—for financial help. While some students gladly accommodate him, not all are as generous. One even dismisses him with what seems to be a meagre sum, but the scene ends before we see the old man’s reaction. Haren Chatterjee is excellent as an aging man rendered helpless for his dependence on others, even for the small necessities like new glasses: an expense his son continually evades, for one senses, despite Subrata’s financial constraints, a pair of new glasses wouldn’t be too big a burden.
It is small details like these, made to reverberate against the more seemingly important concerns, that make Ray’s world startlingly close to real. The serene tone of Mahanagar only further adds to this. What is remarkable is how conflict between the characters is never brought to the center. A good example of this comes when Arati is dropped home by her boss and her husband sees this, but any possible confrontation between them is elided. In moments like these, Ray showcases that reality is far too interruptive for melodrama. The routine overwhelms.
Critic Dan Schneider once compared aspects of Ray’s filmic world to that of Yasujiro Ozu. Such hits even more sharply in this film. Poised against the Indian domesticities, characters are sieved through their day-to-day motion. I doubt I have seen an Indian household in a film so richly portrayed in its ho-hum interiorities. On that front, the cinematography by Subrata Mitra is immaculate in its black, white, and greys, which are fluid only when needed, aptly conveying the mood and character. Aside from direction and screenplay, Ray also composed the sparse yet fitting soundtrack. Effective especially are the sounds used from real life, such as the neighbor’s ever-playing radio, the passing vehicles, and the street hawkers chanting by.
Despite the vulnerable fate of its characters, Mahanagar brims with optimism; from the opening shot of a trolley pole collecting the electric sparks, to the very end where the camera closes in on a light bulb, as our two main characters walk away, and become anonymous with the city. There is an implication of change, not only between them, but also in them. This film may not be as moving as The Apu Trilogy, but then again, it’s a different kind of work that touches the mind in different ways. Where it stands in Ray’s oeuvre is for other critics to decide. For now, I’d call it a worthy addition that any filmmaker would kill to have in their oeuvre. For Satyajit Ray, this seems almost a given.
* * *
If you enjoyed this critical re-appraisal of Satyajit Ray’s MAHANAGAR, consider supporting our film on a great American poet and get patron-only content on Patreon. This will help the growth of this site, the automachination YouTube channel, and the ArtiFact Podcast. Our video essays include an investigation into the death of American journalist Paul Klebnikov in Moscow, the role of white guilt in American politics, and a prediction of Donald Trump’s 2024 election. You can follow us on Twitter @automachination.
More from Waqas Jani: Music of Having Been: on Monica Wood’s “When We Were the Kennedys”, Grace of Greatness: on Jessica Schneider’s “WordShapes” (Selected Poems)