Sure, Mitra (Utpal Dutt) drops in on his long-unseen niece in this film, but in effect he also pays a visit to the viewer. And what a fascinating encounter it is!
At first, Uncle isn't certain of whether he is welcome -- "Let me assure you, I am used to experiences both bitter and sweet" -- but he shows up anyway. (What a role model for intrepidness!) And he's only getting started.
We meet a personality here who is entirely uninhibited, lilting into an enchanting melody after asking Anila's son, Satyaki (Bikram Battacharya), if he knows the 108 names of Krishna. In the notes of his song, Anila (played exquisitely by Mamata Shankar) remembers the voice of her own late mother. And, despite the reservations of her husband, she starts to believe in his identity.
"It's good to recover something one had taken as lost," she says. And how!
We learn that Mitra has "broken free of (his) moorings" and nurtured his wanderlust -- spending decades visiting tribes of the world. He has emerged from his travels with a depth of understanding, and, in words that are relevant today, doesn't "believe in something which creates barriers between people."
When an increasingly trusting Anila readies a meal, Uncle tells her, "I'm omnivorous and a small eater, so you have nothing to worry about." Which again points to excellent adaptation.
Mitra embraces his challenges. "I don't call it a struggle," he explains, but, rather, "nutrition for the mind." (What a helpful guide for us all!)
At one point Anila, triggered by something she reads in an Agatha Christie book, is seized with doubt about Mitra. If he is who he says he is, has he visited only to claim his part of an inheritance? "Why did I have to think of it? Why, why?" she asks, in tears, as a torsion-pendulum clock turns and turns, like her mind.
Mitra is steeped in ancient understandings. He silences a silly friend of Anila's family in quoting the ancient Greeks, and skewers the benefits of modern engineering -- "What technology is there," he asks, "to stop the violence and self-destructiveness of Man?"
The movie ends on a powerful note, as our Uncle retreats to grounds of the Kol, whom he describes as original inhabitants of India. As in some other compelling works by director Satyajit Ray, we're treated to a dazzling sequence of instrumentation, song, and dance -- rising in splendor as lovely Anila sheds her inhibitions and joins in.
This was Ray's final work, and it stands up well against the rest of his canon. My only quibble is with Mitra's final, generous gesture toward Anila. She didn't need the money, and I'd have expected a more creative move from such an original.
In watching this film, I couldn't help but remember "My Dinner with Andre" of 1991, and "The Prime of Miss Jean Brody (1969). Each involved a protagonist offering fascinating conversation -- a true, anti-ADHD experience.
At first, Uncle isn't certain of whether he is welcome -- "Let me assure you, I am used to experiences both bitter and sweet" -- but he shows up anyway. (What a role model for intrepidness!) And he's only getting started.
We meet a personality here who is entirely uninhibited, lilting into an enchanting melody after asking Anila's son, Satyaki (Bikram Battacharya), if he knows the 108 names of Krishna. In the notes of his song, Anila (played exquisitely by Mamata Shankar) remembers the voice of her own late mother. And, despite the reservations of her husband, she starts to believe in his identity.
"It's good to recover something one had taken as lost," she says. And how!
We learn that Mitra has "broken free of (his) moorings" and nurtured his wanderlust -- spending decades visiting tribes of the world. He has emerged from his travels with a depth of understanding, and, in words that are relevant today, doesn't "believe in something which creates barriers between people."
When an increasingly trusting Anila readies a meal, Uncle tells her, "I'm omnivorous and a small eater, so you have nothing to worry about." Which again points to excellent adaptation.
Mitra embraces his challenges. "I don't call it a struggle," he explains, but, rather, "nutrition for the mind." (What a helpful guide for us all!)
At one point Anila, triggered by something she reads in an Agatha Christie book, is seized with doubt about Mitra. If he is who he says he is, has he visited only to claim his part of an inheritance? "Why did I have to think of it? Why, why?" she asks, in tears, as a torsion-pendulum clock turns and turns, like her mind.
Mitra is steeped in ancient understandings. He silences a silly friend of Anila's family in quoting the ancient Greeks, and skewers the benefits of modern engineering -- "What technology is there," he asks, "to stop the violence and self-destructiveness of Man?"
The movie ends on a powerful note, as our Uncle retreats to grounds of the Kol, whom he describes as original inhabitants of India. As in some other compelling works by director Satyajit Ray, we're treated to a dazzling sequence of instrumentation, song, and dance -- rising in splendor as lovely Anila sheds her inhibitions and joins in.
This was Ray's final work, and it stands up well against the rest of his canon. My only quibble is with Mitra's final, generous gesture toward Anila. She didn't need the money, and I'd have expected a more creative move from such an original.
In watching this film, I couldn't help but remember "My Dinner with Andre" of 1991, and "The Prime of Miss Jean Brody (1969). Each involved a protagonist offering fascinating conversation -- a true, anti-ADHD experience.