User Reviews

"Devi" is one of Satyajit Ray's most compact films. At 93 minutes, it is his shortest feature, and the story is one of his simplest to describe. In the 1830's young woman, Doya, lives in a mansion with her father and extended family. Her husband works far away, but plans to have Doya move with him soon. On day Doya's father drops to her feet and proclaims that she is the reincarnation of the Goddess Kali. At first Doya is skeptical, but when a sick boy seems to be cured in her presence, she too comes to believe that she is the Goddess. Despite her husbands attempt to take her away from the house, she stays. When she is not able to cure a second sick boy, her nephew, she cannot handle the pressure, and despite her husband's pleas, runs away into the mist.

Yet despite the seeming simplicity of the story line, "Devi" is a complex work. Aesthetically, Ray is able to use the space in an incredibly evocative manner. In the beginning of the film the interiors of the mansion are shot in a relatively open manner, and there seems to be a lot of space to move around. As the film progresses, the shots get tighter and there seems to be less space. This contrasts with all the exterior sequences, which are shot using a greater degree of long shots. Yet, this is not a simplistic visual statement by Ray that suggests that the indoor are confining while the outdoors represents freedom. In fact the outdoors too is confining, for along with the open space come oppressive mists and clouds, as well as the tendency to have the characters draped in shadow. It's as if Ray is saying there is nowhere for these characters to go, no escape from their fate.

At the end of the film, when Doya runs away, she is enshrouded in mist, leaving it ambiguous as to what will happen to her, and certainly suggesting that she has not found escape. Although in most plot summaries it is stated that Doya dies in the end, that did not seem to be case with the print that I saw. Perhaps the other writers were thinking of the original story. In any case, by having Doya run away into the mists, Ray makes a more powerful statement than if he were to have her simply die. By dying, we know that although this was the tragic result of her father pressuring her into believing she was the Goddess, she has found some release. By having Doya running away into the mist, Ray creates a much more chilling conclusion, for we know that Doya might never be able to undo the damage that has been done.

In 1860's Bengal, wealthy, powerful, yet mentally fragile landowner Kalikinkar (Chhabi Biswas) dreams that his daughter-in-law Doyamoyee (Sharmila Tagore) is the avatar of the Goddess of destruction, Kali. He falls to his knees in front of her, claiming that she embodies the living spirit of the much-feared deity. When his son Umaprasad (Soumitra Chatterjee) returns from Calcutta after his school exams, he is horrified to see that his wife is being worshipped by floods of people that have travelled to pray. He is unable to convince his father of his folly, and Kalikinkar's influence eventually manages to convince Doya herself.

Bengali director Satyajit Ray's sterling film shows the danger of idol worship, and how easy this influence can spread to people in need of escapism. When a dying child is brought to her, the small boy miraculously awakens apparently healed, convincing everyone apart from her husband and the women of the household of Doya's power. The women remain unconvinced, but as Kalikinkar is head of the household, they have no choice but to worship, exposing Indian's heavily matriarchal society, and women's role as the 'Mother'. Kalikinkar refers to Doya as 'mother' before his dream, and a beautiful song is heard from outside, singing of adoration for the mother.

The standout scene of Devi (meaning 'The Goddess') captures Umaprasad's utter horror at the sight of Doya, fitted out like a deity and confused at the new role flung upon her. There is little to no dialogue in the scene, but Ray understands the power of silence in film. As Doya, Tagore is so beautiful that you could almost mistake her for a goddess, and she carries her performance (at aged just 14 at time of filming) with remarkable maturity. As Umaprasad enters the room and sees her for the first time, they converse with their eyes, and Doya gives a simple and subtle shake of the head. With fundamentalism so commonplace amongst most religions these days, Devi is perhaps more relevant than ever, and with that heartbreaking and memorable final shot, still as powerful as it ever was.

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So evocative are the facial expressions and gestures of the characters (in both dramatic display and awkward suppression), and so expressive the use of music and camera angles, that the spoken word seems necessary only to keep the story moving along. Long periods of silence, with only stirring music or even just the background sounds of everyday life, give the scant dialogue secondary importance. It is testament to the power of the self-contained plot.

At the close of the film, we see Uma (the faithful husband) beholding Doya in an ethereally-sunlit bedroom. She is in despair. We can be forgiven for thinking that he is seeing her ghost, or even that the film is about to take a far-fetched, fantastical turn. But no, the director is simply bombarding us with flooding light: the film ends moments later with Doya's panicked flight into the mist.

As a climax to gradually-escalating tension through the film, the ending feels both open to interpretation, whilst also having a dark, sobering finality. In fleeing, Doya may succeed in liberating herself from her situation and regaining her individuality. On the other hand, it could be a crazed act of desperation condemning her to inescapable turmoil and suffering, now irreparably damaged by the effects of her 'deification' - the religious superstition and fanaticism set in motion by her father-in-law, but which has spread so quickly through the community.

This film, in its slow-paced but mesmerising simplicity, is sublime. In 2001, forty-one years after its release, the lead actress Sharmila Tagore discussed the film (in an interview with Nasreen Munni Kabir):

"I was only fourteen when I acted in Devi, so we did the filming during my summer holidays. Sometimes the lighting took a long time to set up, and dealing with the physical tiredness of sitting still, I found myself fitting into the character. I BECAME the character. The key to that kind of performance is not to think: it is to suspend thought, and just to be. I had to empty my mind of everything and just allow Doya to take over. She is not a thinking person, but a feeling person. It is all filmed in close-ups, so the face begins to haunt the viewer.

"Something once happened on set when we were filming in a studio in Calcutta. In a scene where the girl is sitting there, everybody worshipping her as Devi, a very old man came and prostrated himself before me. It was such a strange, eerie experience. I immediately understood how Doya must be feeling.

"To accept it all as real(istic) you have to understand nineteenth century Bengal. Patriarchy was paramount. Orthodoxy and superstition were also very deeply entrenched. At the same time though, rationalism was just beginning to raise its head, but it was too timid to confront the strong orthodoxy: the father was the head of the family. Nobody could question him. ("Please your father and you please the gods", remarks the brother in law.)

"All Ray's films are culturally specific, and yet they have a timeless quality. You can watch Devi in any era and relate to it, depending on your own experience and your own evolution. I watch the film now and still see things I missed then.

"I would say that it is one my best performances. It was a complex role to play, a challenge. It definitely remains my favourite film."

Shakespeare's famous line from "Twelfth Night" seems to capture lovely Doya's predicament: "...and some have greatness thrust upon 'em." Such is her fate when her religious father-in-law declares her a goddess, with the proof being an image in a dream.

Seventeen-year-old Doya (Sharmila Tagore) assumes the role with scarcely a word, and soon she is lonely at home, so isolated in her holiness that a bird is her only comfort. Calcutta's wretched and poor find their way to Doya barefoot, confessing sins and beseeching cures. And when a dying boy opens his eyes, Doya becomes a phenomenon.

"Devi" is its strongest when Doya's husband of three years, Uma (Soumitra Chatterjee), implores her to run away with him. However, Doya can't bring herself to get aboard the boat, fearful that something bad will befall him. Yet, in resisting, it's she who's at risk.

This film makes a powerful statement against unquestioning faith, while pointing to changing values in India, where sons are daring to challenge their fathers, despite an ancient scripture that says, "Please your father, and please the gods."

A strength of this film is its cacophonous score, which sets one's nerves a-jangle, creating an atmosphere of discomfort and foreboding. If there is a shortcoming here, it's the movie's ending, which to me seemed rushed and disconnected from the rest.

Always-interesting director Satyajit Ray sets his films in a Bengal of decades ago, but his messages resonate today.

Satyajit Ray is remembered for his profound humanitarian look in his motion pictures. Devi is another example of his masterful direction and screenplay. In old days Indian social system was full of superstitions and various religious malpractices. The cast system, sati,child marriage, illiteracy and torture in the name of god darkened the sky of India. Women were the worst victims. Parda was maintained and none of them were allowed to go to school. The idea of humanitarianism was shadowed by the falsehood of spiritualism made by the priests for their own interest. Bengal was not an exception. this is the social background of the movie. Dayamoyee was married to Umarasad,son of Kalikinkar Roy. Kalikinkar was a zamindaar also an orthodox worshiper of Goddess Kali. He liked his daughter in law very much and often called her Maa(mother). The story took interesting turn when one day Kalikinkar dreamed that Doyamoyee is the incarnation of Goddess Kali. In ancient social system these dreams were treated with utmost religious importance. Everybody believed him and started to worship her. News was spread about her holiness and supernatural power. And gradually she lost all of her social relations. Umaprasad returned and tried to save her but failed. Eventually when a child in the family became ill instead of proper treatment family members took the child to Doyamoyee in this misbelieve that she might save the child by her divine power. But the next day the child died. Mother of the child blamed Doyamoyee for her loss. Atlast Doyamoyee became psychotic and lost her life. A simple story which described the dangerous and futile perspective of religious fanaticism. Today Hinduism is one of the modern religions with the principle of tolerance.But we can not ignore the past and many people in all over India suffered a lot because of religion. Satyajit described it properly. A very significant parallel cinema. must watch.

Okay, I've tagged this with a spoiler warning but if you don't believe me, I'll repeat it here. I'll write about the film so openly I seriously encourage you to see it first and then come back. Otherwise I might ruin what is a transcending work of art.

Film, as any art, is like a boat in the river of stories, through which we're steered by great masters. This is one of the strongest works I've seen in a very long time that explicitly – okay, not as explicitly as Welles in "F for Fake" (1973), Imamura in "Ningen jôhatsu" (1967) or Kiarostami in "Nema-ye Nazdik" (1990) – deals with this: the life of a young girl, and thus the film we see, is shaped by the stories that people believe and insist on putting on her shoulders. At first she's made a goddess, something not believed by the mother of a child. Then, because the father believes in her, their son dies, and the mother accuses her of being a demoness. The irony would be there and it would be delicious were the film not so heartbreaking.

The last shot of her running through the field is just as beautiful as the one in "City Girl" (1930).

I haven't seen nearly as much Ray as I'd have liked, but from what I've seen I can say he's beyond words brilliant. I hope this film is among the ones acquired by the Criterion Collection. It really deserves to be released in a beautiful edition to be appreciated more.

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