The Goddess (1960)
The lead actress gives her own views
19 October 2008
Warning: Spoilers
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."
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