Focus on SATYAJIT RAY: The Big City (1963)

Early in The Big City (Mahanagar), Satyajit Ray has one of his characters, a middle-aged, moderately salaried bank clerk, remind his wife that the English have a saying: "A woman's place is in the home."

Even with my minimal exposure to Ray's work thus far, this statement feels starkly out of place in the director's ideology. Yes, to this point, all of Ray's women, with the possible exception of The Expedition's Neeli, have stuck close to the hearth, but Ray has displayed a notable insight into female characters. His ability to explore the constraints of womanhood in Indian society is exceptional, thanks in no small part to the impressive contribution of his actresses. Even in the briefest of interludes, Ray is able to uncover the bitter hypocrisies at play, to slice almost lovingly through the self-centred martyrdom of his protagonists, and to do so without being overtly polemic.

Subrata, the bank clerk, played by Anil Chatterjee, pulls out the old adage in trying to reassure his wife Aarti, played with astonishing depth by Madhabi Mukherjee, that she need not take a job to supplement his income. They are struggling in their cramped home with his parents, his sister, and their own son, but they will cope. "If you were not so beautiful," he says, "I would let you take a job." Beautiful women, you see, are a distraction for their colleagues. For all his cushioning, Subrata's line  is a familiar one - the wife doesn't work - and it is a line supported by his father, his mother and their young son. Aarti, knowing no better, demurely concedes.

But necessity is a hard task master. Aarti's care for the wellbeing of her husband pushes her to press the point. And so, with Subrata's help, Aarti emerges into the big city of the film's title: Kolkata. She takes a job as a knitting machine saleswoman and she quickly excels. Things don't go quite as well for her husband. The family are soon back to living on one income, and it is not his.

For Ray, the burgeoning Capitalist framework, though perhaps not ideal, was a social leveller. Money drives Aarti's family at ever level. Her son desires ever more fabulous toys, her husband is challenged by her earning prowess, and her father, despite identifying completely with a bygone era, is pushed to debase himself and his son in order to gather enough to survive. Money is not just a means to survive, it is social capital and Aarti is liquid.

One would think with such a clear feminist agenda The Big City would come across as heavy handed but it is anything but. Yes, the film's considerations of equality and many of its themes of expectation, social change and moral empowerment may seem predictable to contemporary Western audiences but the way in which Ray allows them to flow so naturally from a traditionally conservative source grants the film a truthful naturalism. There is nothing overtly political here; common sense and believable progression circumvents the need for placards and bra burning.

Ray's approach still resonates today, an age where women-centric film's are the remain exception rather than the rule. Mukherjee, recounting her first meeting with Ray in her autobiography, 'My Life, My Love', recalls her shock at his intentions to place her character at the centre of a film:

"He read me the entire story, 'Mahanagar'. I was stunned. This was the first woman-centered screenplay I had encountered. I was not going to play second fiddle to the main male character as in all plays and films I had acted in or was familiar with."

Ray's subtle approach to Aarti's tentative growth outside the walls of her family home provides little avenue for dissent. Though her independence may flourish, Aarti never defies her husband. It is circumstance that propels their situation forward, and Ray is in control of that.

Ray gives his characters very little agency and in withdrawing their agency, withdraws the audiences ability to judge. Because of this, Subrata's desperation to reassert his control is easily dismissed, especially once Ray pushes him into ever deepening reliance on Aarti's income. His suspicion at her transformation is painted as increasingly pitiful but isn't ever criticised. Importantly, Ray diverts the insidiousness of Subrata's jealousy and suspicion before it careens towards a tragically domineering climax.

Instead, Ray allows Subrata to see Aarti's strength of character in its full glory. He learns, as she learns, that the powers that be can be challenged and that they can be conquered. In giving Aarti her glorious moment of moral assertiveness, and allowing Subrata to marvel at it, Ray steps beyond the question female equality. He treats it as moot and latches instead onto other pressing injustices, beginning with the not so subtle racism of Aarti's boss.

With The Big City, Ray and Mukherjee gave the world an unlikely champion and audiences responded in kind, as Chandak Sengoopta describes in his excellent essay to accompany the recent Criterion release:

The Big City was awarded the Silver Bear for best direction at the Berlin Film Festival in 1964, but it was at a festival nearer home that it had its greatest impact. When screened during a 1964 international film season in Dhaka (the capital of Bengali-speaking East Pakistan, now Bangladesh), enormous crowds, including thousands of women, queued for tickets for the three scheduled shows. The lack of seats precipitated a mini riot, and after more than a hundred people were beaten up by the police, the festival organizers were forced to schedule ten extra shows, running consecutively over twenty-four hours.

A remarkable reaction to a remarkable film.

Next up, Charulata...


This post contributes to Director Focus: Satyajit Ray.