Satyajit Ray’s rural family drama is patient, funny and deeply moving, with performances that make every generation matter. Its loose pace occasionally drifts, but the attention given to this poor household makes the time feel well spent.
Pather Panchali is a deeply moving family drama, and its patience is worth ours. Satyajit Ray follows a poor household in rural Bengal with enough attention to make the smallest change in its fortunes matter. The film gives childhood pleasure room to exist without pretending that poverty becomes easier when seen by a child. There is humour here, and curiosity, alongside the effort of getting through the day. We recommend it even to anyone who suspects that a film this patient must also be solemn.
Kanu Banerjee’s priest Harihar Roy and Karuna Banerjee’s Sarbajaya Roy give that daily effort an adult weight. Karuna Banerjee makes the business of keeping a family going feel tiring, and sometimes exasperating, without reducing Sarbajaya Roy to her responsibilities. We understand why she might have little patience left for anyone else’s needs. Satyajit Ray lets that strain remain uncomfortable instead of smoothing it away with affection. The strain is there in Karuna Banerjee’s performance even when the children give us something else to watch.
Subir Banerjee’s Apu and Uma Dasgupta’s Durga Roy move at a different pace. Their curiosity gives the film movement even when there is little conventional plot to push it along. As a coming-of-age drama, it is unusually willing to let a child have an experience without turning it straight into a lesson. Satyajit Ray trusts us to notice what separates the children’s pleasure from the adults’ worries. We have time to enjoy their interest in the village on its own terms.
Subrata Mitra’s black-and-white photography gives water as much attention as faces, keeping the family close to the natural world around them. The uncluttered compositions allow us to take in people and surroundings together; we are rarely being told to look at one detail and ignore the rest. Bansi Chandragupta’s production design makes the village convincing as somewhere people have to live. Its poverty never seems arranged simply to make an affecting picture. The pleasure of looking is considerable, but the images do not make us forget the difficulties of living there.
Dulal Dutta’s editing lets daily life set the pace, rather than cutting each passage down to its contribution to the plot. That freedom matters: time spent watching can begin to feel like time spent in the family’s company. Ravi Shankar’s ragas supply energy without forcing every moment into the same emotional shape. The music responds to the film’s changes of feeling, helping its playfulness as much as its sadness. Its liveliness keeps the film from becoming a dutiful exercise in concern for the poor.
Chunibala Devi’s Indir Thakrun moved us more than we expected. An elderly face is given the same sustained interest as the children’s discoveries, and we found ourselves watching her with a tenderness the film never orders us to feel. Satyajit Ray does not hurry past her to get back to the young. Giving old age this much room makes the household more convincing, with needs that cannot all be met at once.
The reservation is pace. At 125 minutes, there are stretches when the gentle accumulation of daily life becomes a little too gentle, especially early on. Dulal Dutta’s loose rhythms can cost the film urgency, though more insistent cutting would take away much of its pleasure. A viewer who needs a steadily advancing plot may struggle with that. Choose a quiet evening and let it take its time.
