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Remembering Subrata
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IFFK 2002 pays homage to Subrata Mitra, celebrated cinematographer
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The real success of a movie, it can be said, lies in its ability to stand as one complete being, with none of the components claiming the credit for its immortality. If this is the truth about cinema, then Subrata Mitra is undoubtedly one of the greatest cinematographers ever.
He was among the first in world cinema to realise that the off-white rectangle was not meant for visual orgies. The space allotted was as precious as the world itself, and the task was to create a world without the `big bang', to speak without being loud.
The effect Subrata Mitra had on Satyajit Ray films was phenomenal. The measured telling pattern of Ray was perfectly complemented by Mitra's diligent `view-finder'. The camera was not capturing the scenes anymore. It was just reacting. It was an emotional presence.
When Ray called upon Subrata to wield the camera for `Pather Panchali', all Mitra had with him was a resume rejected by none other than the great Jean Renoir. (Renoir had gone to Calcutta to shoot `The River'. Mitra tried to get a job on the film, but was turned away)
The world fell head over heels to the magic of `Pather Panchali' (1955), and the rest is Satyajit Ray's story. Subrata Mitra's too.
Mitra cranked the camera for such Satyajit Ray movies as `Apur Sansar', `Aparajito', `Jalsaghar', `Devi', `Kanchenjunga', `Charulata' and `Nayak'.
Among these films, `Jalsaghar', `Charulata' and `Nayak', arguably, offer the ultimate challenge for the cinematographer. The job here is not just to pan through a story line, a theme or an idea. The role of the cameraman is not that of a painter. The camera is almost a character in these films, and it is expected to involve in the emotional tangle without ever indulging in it.
While `Jalsaghar' portrays the tussle between ambition, dreams and reality, `Charulata' depicts the war between the inward and outward realities of life.
Charulata, the protagonist, lives the privileged life of the 19th century Bengali upper class.
She is highly intelligent and creative, but her social status limits her opportunities for personal growth.
Her husband, Bhupati, an idealistic intellectual, is adoring and supportive, but is consumed by the publication of his new political newspaper -- his `second wife'.
In a deceptively innocuous scene, Satyajit Ray subtly exposes Bhupati's marital complacency when he literally passes by Charulata without noticing her.
When Bhupati's younger cousin, Amal, aspiring writer, comes for a visit, Bhupati enlists him to help cultivate Charulata's interest in literature. Charulata and Amal discover that they have much in common. The two become inseparable...
Ray does not dilute the gravity of the situation with an act of adultery or violence, but with the subtle gaze of realization and the heartbreaking weight of consequence. Mitra has a job here.
He uses the lenses perfectly and the technique is to lay stress on the distance between characters, their personal space and perspectives. Mitra also developed a `softlight' technique for `Charulata' by which tender tones could be achieved even without bouncing lights.
The complexities of the plot are dealt with disarming simplicity. The viewer is allowed to read between the light and shadows. And the impact is deep.
Apart from his brilliant work on Ray films, Mitra also shot four films for Merchant Ivory Productions in the 1960s - `The Householder' (1963), where he photographed most of the film with six photoflood lamps, `Shakespeare Wallah' (1965), `The Guru' (1969), which was the first Indian film shot entirely with halogen lamps, `Bombay Talkie' (1970) and `New Delhi Times' (1985). He also achieved much acclaim for his lyrical imagery in the Raj Kapoor-Waheeda Rehman starrer `Teesri Kasam' (1966) directed by Basu Bhattacharya. Mitra also composed music and played the sitar for `The River' and `Pather Panchali'.
In this age of Gladiators and Godzillas, where `big is beautiful' and `size does matter', the art of cinematography is often identified with desultory computer antiques, over-used steady cams and never-ending aerial shots. Subrata Mitra (and his `camera with a mind') may not apply to these times and aesthetics.
But for those who believe that cinematography is the art of `seeing the world in a grain of sand, and heaven in a wild flower...' his works offer the world (and heaven).
V. G. MURALIKRISHNAN
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