It's insane because of its plot, an extreme version of stalking=love, its creepiness and ethics violations hidden by a white lab coat and the contemporary audience's indulgence of all things Suchitra Sen-Uttam Kumar. Psychiatrist Roma (Suchitra)
|THIS IS SO WRONG.|
From a twenty-first century perspective, one of the things that stands out about Harano Sur is that it frames stalking=love with the woman as the hunter and decision-maker and the man as the object of obsession. In addition to offering novelty in that flip, which fifty-odd years later is still unusual and, if the wild dislike of the brilliant-according-to-me Aiyyaa in 2012 is anything to go by, basically unfathomable to huge swathes of audiences, this inversion also situates the narrative squarely from the woman's perspective. Even when Alok has "returned," living his original life as a wealthy and obeyed businessman in the city,
She is capable, competent, and (perhaps dangerously) confident in her abilities and her correctness. Not only does she know she's doing the right thing for her patient (and no one questions her on this point after she leaves this hospital early in the film, though she doesn't encounter anyone qualified to do so), she knows she's doing the right thing for herself, both professionally and emotionally.
Naach, Abhinetri, and certain Madhur Bhandarkar films, I can't think of many stories that really emphasize a woman's career—even when they are muddled in with the romance. What's most amazing is that all of this happens outside any structure of external validation. She leaves the hospital early in the film, so no supervising doctor is watching the progress of the case, and she never mentions wanting to write up the findings of her course of treatment. She wants to cure Alok because she loves him but also to prove to herself that she can. There is both confidence and a desire to learn. It feels significant that she does not just let him go once she realizes his initial self is present again. She wants —needs?—to know that it is her influence and capabilities that have healed him, not just a random blow from a passing motorist. His love is important, but her own assessment of her work is equally so.
In her book Bengali Cinema: An Other Nation (which I highly recommend to anyone interested in 50s-60s Bengali movies), Sharmistha Gooptu talks about the Uttam-Suchitra oeuvre as mainstream cinema's response to the post-Independence social upheaval in West Bengal, an isolated couple with very little by way of family support or control (their this absence perhaps a silent commentary on the crumbling of traditional social structures) having to make ethical choices before they are finally rewarded with their already-identified romantic love. The couple also represents a balance of tradition and change (romantic love as well as unalterable marriage bonds, for example). (See much more on these ideas in the chapter "Bengali Love Stories.")
Harano Sur is also classic Bengali cinema canon. Even after seeing only half a dozen or so Suchitra-Uttam, I can't keep them all straight, and this one blurs easily into the general pattern of the couple uniting, then being torn apart, then uniting definitively by the end of the film (e.g. Saptapadi, also directed by Ajoy Kar, and Bipasha). This pattern is fascinating, so allow me to share a lengthy quote from Gooptu's book about what's going on in the Uttam-Suchitra texts:
What makes the tormented male figure of these films noteworty is the larger potency it consigns to the feminine persona of Suchitra Sen. In the most emblematic films of the genre, the Suchitra Sen figure emerges as a controlling presence—almost a surrogate mother figure to the male protagonist, displaying an uninhibited openness in initiating the romantic process and an enormous resilience towards sustaining romantic love. While she continues to play the nurturing roles traditionally ascribed to women, her controlling gaze and agency are too potent to be contained within the conventional paradigm of femininity. At the level of diegesis, it is significant that Suchitra Sen is a medial professional in her most icnoic screen portrayals, wherein she embodies the womanly nurture that men cannot give but also claims feminine spaces beyond the scope of the familial.... [In Harano Sur] she strides both worlds, playing doctor and wife, embodying the perfect balance of resilience and vulnerability, subjectivity and objecthood. While her beauty is framed in the soft focus close-ups that are characteristic of the genre, her powerful presence is embodied through POV shots that structure the gaze of the audience.... The impaired families of the world of Uttam-Suchitra are re-ordered through the emergence of the romantic couple. Critical to this re-ordering is the figure of the woman who absorbs the crisis of masculinity without overtly posing a threat to the male order—a perfect balance of permanence and change. [p. 168–9]It may be creepy to me that she marries a former patient (and in fact a current one by her own definition), but that dual role is absolutely critical to what the film is trying to do. She is serving him but very thoroughly on her own terms (and even in contradiction to what other people want). It is significant that in Harano Sur she flagrantly disobeys not only a male authority figure (the senior doctor at the hospital who is originally in charge of Alok's treatment) but later female ones as well (Alok's fiancee and mother).
Somehow director Ajoy Kar (whose output in the year 1963 is seen on this blog: Saptapadi, Saat Pake Bandha, and the little gem Barnali) (and yes, I like the Soumitro ones better than the Uttam ones, though I haven't seen Kar's Parineeta with Soumitro as Shankar yet) is very successful with tricks that could very easily have become too melodramatic.** There is plenty of foreshadowing in very literal terms (at least in the subtitles).
* I asked twitter for movies in which the woman is the stalker in "stalking=love" and got the following answers in addition to Aiyyaa: Chaahat, Pyar Tune Kya Kiya, Darling, Gupt, Pyaar Ki Jeet, Khalnayika, Ohm Shanthi Oshaana, Shraddha, Julie Ganapathi.
** But this film is plenty melodramatic. Never let anyone feed you that line about how Bengali films are less melodramatic than Hindi films. That is bunk. Tell them to watch Saptapadi with their thinking caps on and get back to you.