In its long history, India has gone through many changes. In his 1958 film The Music Room, writer/director Satyajit Ray deals with the familiar conflict between the nobility and the unpedigreed rich, between those who dwell in the past and those who welcome the future. Based on the short story Jalsaghar by Tarashankar Banerjee, Ray effectively explores one man’s need for a pampered lifestyle leads to his utter ruin.
The opening prologue quickly sets the tone. A medium close-up shows a middle-aged man sitting quietly atop a rooftop terrace. Alone and obviously depressed—he gazes blankly across the barren landscape. A servant silently enters with a hookah pipe, and the middle-aged man asks, “What month is this?” With that, we are taken into to the shrinking world of feudal landlord Huzur Biswambhar Roy (Chhabi Biswas). He lives in a crumbling palace, staunchly refusing to leave. He is the last in a line of landlords who flourished in Bengal in the 19th century; now the late 1920s, that time has passed and money is growing scarce.
Biswambhar’s wealthy, but uncultured neighbor, Mahim Ganguly (Gangapada Basu), has hired traveling players for his son’s Sacred Thread Ceremony, and Roy is angered by Ganguly’s ostentatious display of extravagance. “Was I invited?” Huzur asks his servant. He was, he learns–and Mahim was much distressed that he did not attend. “Do I ever go anywhere?” “No.”
In nearly every scene, the focus remains on Huzur. A man so steeped in his past that the harsh realities of his present rarely interfere. With no income and a dwindling fortune, he is still called “lord” by the devious Mahim, but as his palace crumbles and only two loyal servants remain, Huzur is oblivious. The only thing that matters in his life is music; more specifically, giving expensive concerts to show off his music room, or jalsaghar, with its shimmering chandelier, ornate decorations, and portraits of Huzur and his family.
After the opening prologue, much of the film is told via flashback, to a time many years earlier, and centers on two concerts given in the room. The first involves a sacred “thread ceremony” for his coming-of-age son Khoka (Pinaki Sengupta). As the best musicians available perform, Huzur is content, surrounded by his family and friends. A camera slowly pans the faces in the room, stopping at Mahim. The newly wealthy man is fidgety. He clearly doesn’t enjoy Indian classical music.
The party is a success. Not long after Huzur goes to sleep, his wife Mahamaya (Padma Devi)—who wasn’t pleased that her husband hawked some of her jewels to pay for the party—and son leave for a river journey to her father’s house. Not long after, the despised Mahim arrives carrying a concert invitation of his own. Ray turns this fairly simply scene into a confrontation between old and new wealth. Huzur lounging on a sofa appears so engrossed in his reading that he hardly notices Mahim. He quickly announces his plans to hold a party that evening.. In the background, a servant aware of Huzur’s precarious finances looks stunned.
The second concert is thick with undercurrents of doom. Even the singer, a man with a sad face, seems to sense trouble in the air. Huzur has sent word that his wife and son must return for the party, but they haven’t arrived. As the chandelier sways and lightning pierces the sky, Huzur looks down to discover an insect drowning in his drink. An omen of tremendous loss.
Back in the present, and pawning the last of jewels, the lord hosts an extravagant party. He invites his neighbor and then upstages him with an extravagant gesture by handing his last gold coins to one of the entertainers. His fate sealed once and for all, Biswambhar gets drunk once his guests have left. When he toasts a painting of himself, a large spider crawls onto his likeness, and the lights go out on his chandeliers—one final sign that his life—defined by his social standing—is over.
Throughout his career, Ray had a gift for using images to tell a story. The Music Room follows that tradition, as the characters faces, the chandeliers and other objects are placed in the frame in a way that provides important clues to the story. The last moments of the film, when a servant opens the heavy curtains and lets in the first rays of sunlight, Huzur mounts his white horse and gallops to his end.
The Music Room arrives on Blu-ray sporting a handsome 1080p full frame transfer. While there are scratches and blemishes throughout—indicative of an original print that was damaged beyond repair in parts—Criterion has managed to deliver a detailed transfer rich in contrast and sporting impressive depth. Considering Rays reliance on imagery, this is the way The Music Room should be seen.
The LPCM mix sounds very good for a film over fifty years old. Hiss and crackle have been cleaned up nicely. While the track won’t blow you over, it enhances the pictures original sound design nicely. The music comes across memorably.
English SDH subtitles are included.
Criterion provides a nice slate of special features:
- Satyajit Ray (2:04:12 in 1080i) from 1984, this feature documentary by Shyam Benegal chronicles Ray’s career through interviews with the filmmaker, family photographs, and extensive clips from his films.
- Andrew Robinson: For the Love of Music (17:36, 1080p) in a new interview, Ray’s biographer Andrew Robinson provides some interesting thoughts on the director, particularly how music informed his work.
- Mira Nair (15:44, 1080p) the director of Monsoon Wedding discusses Ray, and his influence on filmmaking and her career.
- Excerpt from a 1981 French roundtable discussion (1080i, 10:36) with Ray, film critic Michel Ciment, and director Claude Sautet.
- Booklet: the 36-page booklet features an essay by critic Philip Kemp, a 1963 essay by Satyajit Ray on the film’s location, and a 1986 interview with the director regarding the film’s music.
