Unlike the rest of the films, so far, in this film history series, I haven’t even heard of this weeks film, Pather Panchali, much less of it’s director, Satyajit Ray. Who, mysteriously, after watching this film is called the “Auteur of Art Cinema.” Unless, of course, you equate “art cinema” with “really fucking boring.” If so, then you can proudly proclaim Satyajit Ray as ”The King of Art Cinema.”

I used to think that The Big Sleep was the most boring movie ever made, but Pather Panchali really takes the cake. This is the movie that they will show in the waiting room of hell itself. Words fail to describe the total craptitude of this movie. I mean this thing really, really sucked.

Pather Panchali breaks one of my cardinal rules of movies: never watch a movie where the main character is a child. I don’t like children in real life and sure as hell don’t want to pay any of my hard earned money to go see them on screen. Strike two comes from the proto Jeff Goldblum looking actor who played the father. I kept thinking throughout this movie: “when is he going to turn into the Fly?”

Strike three came from the fact that Satyajit Ray was unable to craft a piece of cinema that made me care about the plight of it’s characters. “Ok, I get it, they’re poor and their dad is a spineless weakling. Let’s move the story along then.” Also, I found out that Pather Panchali is the first part of a trilogy. Oh my god, you mean that there are two more long boring pointless movies with these same fucking boring characters?

Another major turn off to me was the soundtrack from Ravi Shankar. (As my dad used to say, “people used to think that Ravi Shankar and sitar music was the hot shit back in the 60’s, I just thought he was shit.”) If Ravi got paid to record the soundtrack, then Satyajit Ray should’ve ask for his fucking money back. The majority of the movie, or at least the print that I saw, had long stretches of no background music. Also, on this same note, there where numerous scenes where characters where speaking that wasn’t being translated in the subtitles. WTF, man!?!

Speaking of Ravi Shankar, before the film, my professor introduced Ravi Shankar as the father of Nora Jones (Really? No wonder I think she sucks.) and not as a collaborator with the Beatles. Man, I must be getting old.

next week on the syllabus: Lilies In the Field

jareddriskill