Pather Panchali, il primo film di Satyajit Ray, fu distribuito nell'agosto del 1955. In occasione del 60esimo anniversario, l'attrice Sharmila Tagore dedica un lungo tributo al celebre regista bengali. What Satyajit Ray left us is an inheritance of endless possibilities, The Wire, 11 settembre 2015:
'His films are conversations with the shifting sands of time through which he lived, and which in turn shaped his films. The first phase of his career coincided with the hope and idealism of a newly emergent nation, and saw him make what in effect were his finest films - movies that truly reflects the spirit of the times. They also reflected his own upbringing, his education in music and the arts and his belief in the confluence of east and west. This vision was both Tagorean and Nehruvian. Of course, the political and economic ideals of the Nehruvian period began to disintegrate around the mid-60s and this had its impact on Ray. The uncertainties of the era - the economic, political and social upheavals of the 1970s - found their way in to his films. (...) A secular impulse ran through his films and he often made courageous forays into the domain of blind faith, superstition and religious bigotry. (...) His films were not about political stance. They were about how politics influenced people and altered their moral and ethical values.
Unlike the popular cinema of his time, he did not paint his characters in extremes of black and white. Ray’s characters lived in an instantly recognisable middle ground. There are no heroes in his films; instead you have the brave heroism of ordinary individuals, battling with the demons of their day-to-day lives. Ray’s world was also deeply embedded in the ordinary. Take for instance the iconic image of him we have all seen in print. Sitting in his spartan room in Kolkata surrounded by books, paper, music, pens and paintbrushes. Here was man far removed from the material world, inhabiting a world of imagination and ideas. He had use of money for just two things - books and music, and of course for making films. (...) I don’t think there has been another director quite so versatile and as hardworking. The commitment to his art despite the conditions in which he worked, the steadfastness, the refusal to compromise for any consideration whatsoever are ultimately the qualities that make him stand apart. The trouble with looking at Ray’s cinema is that his own formidable and impressive persona begins to mediate our understanding of his films.
His personal charisma, his baritone voice, his erudition and encyclopaedic knowledge, his familiarity and comfort with both Bengali and English made him a towering personality. It has, therefore, been impossible to extricate him from his films. This has been both good and bad. For those who admired him uncritically, he became the avenue by which to understand his films. For those who did not, he became an art-house figure who was distant, unreachable and obscure. This, combined with differences in regional sensibilities, lack of suitable marketing and distribution, and of course the Bengali language, has continued to impede a more widespread engagement with Ray’s films within the country. (...) Contrary to popular perception, his films weren’t confined to the intelligentsia, but have been enjoyed by a large cross-section of audiences belonging to both the Bengals. Far from being distant, he was deeply and vibrantly engaged with life and with the critical issues of his times. He always answered phone calls himself, and replied to letters in his own handwriting. Visitors to his home would often be surprised to find him opening the door.
Yet sadly, there are those who thought that his international fame was undeserved and that he got his international acclaim by peddling Indian poverty abroad. One would’ve thought that such an absurd viewpoint would by now have been dismissed with the contempt it deserves. However, it keeps cropping up every now and then and this is certainly a lie that needs to be nailed. The implication seems to be that to be a true nationalist one must sweep truths about India under the carpet. This is precisely what Ray’s cinema stood against. (...) As Ray most eloquently put it, “Cinema has its own way of telling the truth and it must be left free to function in its own right”. (...) In any case except for the [Apu] Trilogy and Ashani Sanket, no other films of Ray dealt with poverty.
While being rooted in the culture of Bengal, he was simultaneously international. His films are culture specific and yet managed to transcend language and other cultural barriers. Perhaps that’s why even today, they run to packed houses all over the world. It is not just the Indian diaspora that make up the appreciative crowd, but a diverse international audience, three or four generations removed from Ray at that. (...) In that regard, Ray’s films constitute a truly successful crossover cinema that everybody is aspiring to make. (...) It may seem at first that Ray’s films have nothing to do with the popular cinema of Bombay, but culture travels in mysterious ways. Legacies like Ray’s seep through to become part of the social and cultural landscape. (...) If today, the cinema of Ray is part of our consciousness, then it is because it has the ability across a different time and space to illuminate the “dark rooms of our souls” and offers us an outlook - to live and let live'.
