Certainly one of my very favorite films, Satyajit Ray’s The Music Room bathes its viewers in gorgeous Indian culture while remaining universally accessible with its masterful photography and stunning music. Masked beneath the beauty, though, is one of the saddest portrayals of crumbling patriarchy imaginable. Biswambhar Roy, the last in a line of feudal lords, is nearing bankruptcy. Despite constant pleas from his wife, he refuses to shut down his splendid music room, his lone sanctuary from reality. Maintaining the dancers, musicians, and other such luxuries slowly siphons away Roy’s money, until he realizes the errors of his ways. He closes The Music Room, but it’s too late…his inability to adapt to the times has drained away most of his soul. With his last iota of strength, he reopens the room for a glorious finale, a swan song concert that will never be forgotten. After its conclusion, a drunken Roy insists on riding his horse for one last time, despite being disabled…and in a heartbreaking denouement, falls to his death. Having seen the palace lights burn out, he’s decided that his own life must be extinguished.
There are several subplots, like the wedding of Roy’s son (told in flashback) and Roy’s sleazy underling who attemps to weasel special privileges by taking advantage of the kingdom’s decay. All are important thematically, but what makes The Music Room such a remarkable picture is its ability to tell its story almost exclusively through music and visuals. Removing every line of dialogue would hardly diminish the film at all. Ray captures the landscapes with extreme long shots, complementing them with slow zooms that magically take us to precisely where he wants us. Consider the horse galloping towards the palace early on, signifying that some optimism remains; the abode is still somewhere desirable. By the end, the horse bears Roy away in an eerie twin composition, taking him far from the final sorrowful memories of his kingdom.
Breaking down the first concert:
To truly illustrate The Music Room‘s rare ability to narrate without dialogue, I will break down the four minute concert that occurs about fifteen minutes in, during the flashback. Observe the picture to your left. In the still alone, we see the men’s relaxed poses (there are no women) enhanced by their loose-fitting white robes and the smoking of hookahs. Clearly, The Music Room removes tension and toil, firmly planting the men in the moment. Although Roy is in the front, he has no qualms about being surrounded by those of a lower status. Further examination beyond the still unlocks much more. A long tracking shot glides through the room, displaying the pristine details in every piece of art, the giant mirror, the mass of people gathered on the rug to enjoy the performance. Occasional close-ups capture dreamy faces that eschew the thought of returning to reality. The finest shot, though, is a gentle zoom into Roy’s face just as the singing hits a particularly beautiful note. We see the quiet love etched in the corners of his mouth, The Music Room‘s importance to his life. The entrancing music gracefully plays the entire time, lulling us into the director’s world. While Ray’s Apu Trilogy tackled a greater scope of Indian culture, his approach in The Music Room is no less impressive, always planting the viewers in the lovely palace, making us forget about Roy’s impending financial doom, in the same manner that he eventually allows his empire to collapse…
If you don’t find Indian music as beautiful as I do, The Music Room won’t be nearly as enchanting. Ray went all-out, hiring some of the best musicians and dancers of the period to perform the concert scenes. They occur at intervals, breaking up Roy’s social devastation with bittersweet melodies. During the second concert, Roy’s son and wife drown in the river during a terrible storm. The lightning crashing down, the insect that finds itself trapped in Roy’s glass, all symbolize the impending tragedy as the music tries to eliminate worry and woe. The final concert is staged out of jealousy—Roy doesn’t wish to be upstaged by his slimy neighbor. Of course, the end result is the picture’s conclusion…one that puts the final stamp on a wrenching tale of decadence gone wrong. In all its tonal and visual splendor, The Music Room demands to be seen by anyone tired of the same ol’ talky bullshit.
94/100
To these eyes, making a *perfect* Harry Potter movie is an insurmountable task. Because Rowling’s world is so rich, so steeped in countless little details that would take a mini-series to cover, it’s really best in written form. So much of the magic stems from being able to imagine every nook and cranny of Hogwarts or Hogsmeade, every delightful—and evil, or potentially evil—character just the way we want, etc. There can never be a film that matches the books, because it’s just not as good a display-case for Rowling’s vision. Christopher Columbus’ first two movies (Sorceror’s Stone and Chamber of Secrets) captured Harry Potter’s story but not its soul; they felt like Harry Potter done by the director of Home Alone…which is precisely what they were. I still enjoyed them because I love the stories so dearly, but there was always something missing. Some spark, some vitality, something to make the movies stand apart from the novels as their own impressive entity.
“The Prisoner of Azkaban” is Rowling’s crown jewel thus far (at least two more books are to be written); the story is full of finite details and subplots as Harry’s heartbreaking past continues to be unlocked. Frankly, I couldn’t think of a worse director to take these wizards & witches through puberty than Columbus…so I was ecstatic when I heard that Alfonso Cuarón (of Y Tu Mamá También lore) was taking the reins. Like or dislike Y Tu Mamá, there’s no disputing that Cuarón’s creative spunk and talents are far better suited to Azkaban than Columbus’ soppy, childish ideals. As such, Cuarón takes more liberties from the books than in the first two films; nothing earth-shattering, but things that needed to be done to justify its 2 1/2 hour run-time, and make it cinema. Cuarón understood that he didn’t have to cater Azkaban to children exclusively. He understood he could make a film.
Much to my delight, Cuarón expertly handles Azkaban’s climax (my favorite moments in Rowling’s entire series); the swirling camera capturing the whomping willow from all angles, the outstanding Patronus sequence, Snape’s encounter with Sirius, Pettigrew’s escape, etc. Dark interior lighting and shadowy camera angles make Hogwarts and its grounds a far more sinister place, effectively matching the growing broodiness of Rowling’s writing. Cuarón utilizes John Williams much more effectively than Columbus; where the latter insisted on the music overpowering even the quietest moments, Cuarón mixes silence with a more somber and diverse score. Deep sexual undertones also exist, and they go beyond Ron & Hermione brushing hands. There’s a clear envy in Harry present, as he feels left behind by his friends’ clear (if not yet admitted) feelings for one another—look only to the moment after Buckbeak’s execution. Hermione throws her arms around Ron’s neck in tears, and Harry puts his arms around her soon after, trying desperately to remain as integral a part of the triangle as his first year at Hogwarts. Parts of that theme are more developed in the film than the book! But so what? Cinematically, it makes for a richer experience, and it’s refreshing to see Cuarón authoritatively take control of the franchise. It’s too bad he won’t be directing Goblet of Fire (Mike Newell of the excellent Donnie Brasco and *gulp* Mona Lisa Smile has signed on. Why mess with a good thing, I say…)
It obviously helps that I’m a huge admirer of Rowling’s “Harry Potter books”, and love the core story so much (especially that of “Azkaban”) that I’m apt to overlook some minor quibbles. The post-climax is too cheesy (Cuarón’s only such blip), and Daniel Radcliffe’s limited acting talents force Cuarón to compensate with his camera, providing emotion that Radcliffe’s unable to deliver (Emma Watson, on the other hand, is a star and knockout in the making). For instance,during the scene where Harry faints from the dementor’s presence, Cuarón uses a sly editing technique to show Harry’s loss of consciousness.. If Radcliffe were forced to emote, he’d be frequently overmatched; indeed, it’s a good thing he looks the part to perfection, or else he’d be getting a lot more flak for his weak abilities. Elsewhere on the acting front, Alan Rickman continues to excel as the greasy Severus Snape, though I’d have liked to see more of him. Gary Oldman is outstanding as Sirius Black (my favorite character from the novels), and while I hadn’t exactly pictured Lupin like that (that mustache could have gone…), David Thewlis does a good job of capturing his haggard yet noble persona. Michael Gambin insures that the role of Dumbledore doesn’t miss a beat; his calm, dignified presence may actually be better than the late Richard Harris’ raspy (if effective) portrayal.
I would’ve loved to have seen more quidditch, more of Hogsmeade, more of Hogwarts’ changing seasons…but I understood that I couldn’t have it all. I’ll always have the books for that; meanwhile, in terms of a cinematic adaptation, this is about as good as it gets. Cuarón doesn’t neglect the little things that make HP’s world so wondrous; the paintings, the knight bus, the shrieking shack…all are done much more sharply than the first two pictures, and it adds up to one of the better pictures of the year. All us Potter-ites should thank Cuarón for injecting HP with some much-needed energy and maturity. And for you non-Potter fans? See it anyway, but temper your expectations; without loving the story, this is merely a very good movie. For those of who cherish every one of J.K Rowling’s words, though, this is the first real summer treat.