An artist of the floating world

In Soumitra Chatterjee, the auteur Satyajit Ray found an Everyman who could embody the fallibility and resilience of the Indian middle class

In discovering motion pictures, we may have found a way to dream with our eyes open. Its immense possibilities led many filmmakers to tell near-fantastical, larger-than-life stories to demonstrate the magnificence of the medium. But as cinema evolved, so did storytelling. In post-independence India, complex social realities demanded complex narratives on screen. These stories came to Bengal in the 50s and 60s when student movements and labour agitations marked a period of political turmoil. In Satyajit Ray’s films, the human condition found an articulation. Poverty was as real as the aspirations of the youth trying to rise above it. Moral certitude could be as damaging as blind faith. Technical brilliance aside, Ray’s films are an exercise in looking inwards. This morally ambiguous universe needed a face and voice that could convey the fallibility and resilience of the average middle class. In Soumitra Chatterjee, Ray found this Everyman.

Reams have been written about their friendship off-screen that contributed to path-breaking cinema. Chatterjee, who passed away at the age of 85 owing to Covid-related complications, is said to have delivered his best work with the auteur. There are many other reasons why their collaboration could offer something more unobvious to the audiences. Ray and Chatterjee were both more than the sum total of an actor-filmmaker duo. Both had individual creative pursuits that went beyond films. Ray had been a writer and an illustrator while Chatterjee was a poet, essayist, and a playwright. Imagine the exchange of ideas between two incredibly gifted artists of such stature.

By the time Chatterjee forayed into Bengali cinema, the moniker of mahanayak (superstar) had already been taken. Uttam Kumar was a star for all seasons and reasons. His spontaneity was as much a calling card as his infectious charm. Chatterjee, with classic good looks and demure disposition, presented an alternative to the idea of a morally invincible leading man. In one of his interviews, Chatterjee explained why the audiences could welcome him with open arms. “Uttam Kumar alone was not able to fulfil every part of the hero that Bengali audiences wished to see on the screen… there are different kinds of people in life… other kinds of young men, other kinds of romances… possibly that is why audiences found a parallel screen hero in myself.”

It also helped that Chatterjee could be cast into any mould. He would as convincing as the sleuth Feluda as he would be as a revolutionary Sandip in Ghare Baire. If there was ever a complex role, he would break it down for the audiences so meticulously that it almost seemed that he as born to inhabit the character. It is also a sign of a self-assured actor when he takes up a supporting role in a script that spotlights a woman’s travails. Which is why, despite Charulata spotlighting a married woman’s dilemma who falls in love with her brother-in-law or Devi revolving around a woman who is believed to be an incarnation of a goddess, Chatterjee stands out for his subtlety and nuance. While he may seem to have been less experimental in his latter years, he often pinned it down to the fact that scripts for ageing actors were often limited. At no point, however, was he any less sought-after.

Outside the films, what made Chatterjee more relatable, even if contentious, public figure was his refusal to conceal his political leanings. A Leftist at heart, he had been an equal opportunity offender. His political involvement did invite fair share of criticism when he supported West Bengal’s Left Front government during the Nandigram violence. But largely, his faith in the core principles of the Left remained intact all through.

Today, if Soumitra Chatterjee’s death feels like a personal loss to every avid viewer of Bengali cinema, it may just have to do with the fact that at one point or another, we may have spotted ourselves in the many characters he’s essayed. It may also have to do with the fact that with him gone, we have lost remnants of the golden era of Bengali cinema. Alas, with Soumitra Chatterjee no more, we may have well and truly lost a thinking man’s actor. —anamika@khaleejtimes.com