Smaran Ghosal

When Smaran Ghosal takes over from Pinaki Sengupta in Aparajito (1956), Apu becomes more self-contained. The younger boy’s directness gives way to a reserve that makes it harder to assume we know what Apu is thinking. Satyajit Ray makes the change of actor part of growing up: we have to get used to someone we thought we knew. We felt an unexpected pang because Sengupta had made us reluctant to let the younger boy go. Ghosal earns his place without trying to make that adjustment comfortable.

Ghosal’s modest manner and curiosity keep that reserve from becoming a blank. His Apu is learning, moving towards city life and changing his relationship with his mother; the performance allows those changes to register without labouring to explain them. Karuna Banerjee, as his mother Sarbajaya, gives us more immediate reason to stay with Ray’s patient drama. We would not make Ghosal its sole attraction. What he contributes is the sense that Apu can still interest us when his feelings are no longer so readily available.

The patience has its limits, and the film’s brooding pace can become restrictive. Ghosal’s restraint does not remove that difficulty, though it does make sense for a boy becoming more independent. Ray’s casting is especially useful here: neither Sengupta nor Ghosal has to persuade us that he can play an implausible stretch of ages. Each is allowed a distinct presence. It is a practical decision that gives the change in Apu more force than a performance straining to advertise his maturity would have.

There is little basis for a wider account of Ghosal’s acting habits. His only other screen appearance was as the young poet in Ray’s documentary Rabindranath Tagore (1961), and he did not pursue acting beyond those two projects. Two appearances cannot tell us what a longer career might have delivered. They are enough to make us grateful for Ray’s choice here. Start with Aparajito, and allow the unfamiliar teenage Apu time to become someone worth following.