Director: Jean Renoir
Writers: Rumer Godden, Jean Renoir
Photography: Claude Renoir
Music: M.A. Partha Sarathy
Editor: George Gale
Cast: Nora Swinburne, Esmond Knight, Thomas E. Breen, Patricia Walters, Arthur Shields, Adrienne Corri, Suprova Mukerjee, Radha
Director and cowriter Jean Renoir’s first color movie is something of a departure from his acclaimed pictures of the ‘30s, Grand Illusion and The Rules of the Game, which in many ways set terms for European cinema to come. The River not only flashes with vivid technicolor but is set and was wholly shot in India. Heck, Satyajit Ray is even on the crew as an assistant director, speaking of the greater connections of cinema. The narrative style is familiar to Renoir, an easy-flowing stream of incidents, anecdotes, and storylines in the lives of British colonialists with their families. The main family has a patriarch (“Father,” Esmond Knight), a matriarch (“Mother,” the regally maternal Nora Swinburne), a boy, and four girls, plus Indian servants. The oldest girls, Valerie (Adrienne Corri) and especially Harriet (Patricia Walters), are as close as we get to main characters. It’s told from the point of view of Harriet as an adult, reminiscing, and it’s fair to call the overall picture a coming-of-age tale for both girls.
In my latter-day state of woke I was immediately uncomfortable with the spectacle of British patricians in India, however well meaning (debatable), with their Indian servants and attempts to understand Indian culture, especially via the point of view of white adolescent girls. Father, for example, operates a jute mill (“exploiting resources”—it’s hard not to see it glaringly that way). But Martin Scorsese, in an interview on the Criterion Channel, scoffed at the idea of looking at this movie through a colonial frame. It’s a movie that means a good deal to him personally, and as usual in his interviews he argues eloquently, even emotionally, for the picture. OK, maybe, I’m with him on Renoir, truly, but I could never entirely shake my misgivings even as, of course, The River stands up to all of Renoir’s films.
Director and cowriter Jean Renoir’s first color movie is something of a departure from his acclaimed pictures of the ‘30s, Grand Illusion and The Rules of the Game, which in many ways set terms for European cinema to come. The River not only flashes with vivid technicolor but is set and was wholly shot in India. Heck, Satyajit Ray is even on the crew as an assistant director, speaking of the greater connections of cinema. The narrative style is familiar to Renoir, an easy-flowing stream of incidents, anecdotes, and storylines in the lives of British colonialists with their families. The main family has a patriarch (“Father,” Esmond Knight), a matriarch (“Mother,” the regally maternal Nora Swinburne), a boy, and four girls, plus Indian servants. The oldest girls, Valerie (Adrienne Corri) and especially Harriet (Patricia Walters), are as close as we get to main characters. It’s told from the point of view of Harriet as an adult, reminiscing, and it’s fair to call the overall picture a coming-of-age tale for both girls.
In my latter-day state of woke I was immediately uncomfortable with the spectacle of British patricians in India, however well meaning (debatable), with their Indian servants and attempts to understand Indian culture, especially via the point of view of white adolescent girls. Father, for example, operates a jute mill (“exploiting resources”—it’s hard not to see it glaringly that way). But Martin Scorsese, in an interview on the Criterion Channel, scoffed at the idea of looking at this movie through a colonial frame. It’s a movie that means a good deal to him personally, and as usual in his interviews he argues eloquently, even emotionally, for the picture. OK, maybe, I’m with him on Renoir, truly, but I could never entirely shake my misgivings even as, of course, The River stands up to all of Renoir’s films.
A second British family, neighbors of the main family, receive a visitor, a young relative who was wounded in the war and lost a leg, Captain John. He’s played by Thomas E. Breen, who had lost a leg himself. Captain John is young and dashing enough to stir Valerie and Harriet to heated crushes on him and some competition between them. With the two British families Renoir has effectively sealed them into their own insular world, making it more like a European narrative transposed to an exotic setting. I will say that Scorsese also defends that charge, vouching for the authenticity and factually grounded approach of Renoir on India. I’ll take him at his word, noting that the picture is beautiful not least because it is full of Indian exotica.
The other patriarch, Mr. John (Arthur Shields), is widowed now but was married to an Indian. They had a daughter, Melanie, played by Radha, who may quietly have the most impressive performance here. She is an interesting figure, far more Indian than British. She is out of the running for Captain John as his cousin, which means any competition between a white woman and a woman of color is precluded as well. Even making Mr. John a widow spares us the sight of active ongoing miscegenation, which I know is a cynical way of putting it, and cynicism has little place in a picture like this that is so full of humanity (mostly, but not entirely, British humanity, but there I go again).
I liked Harriet and even identified with her. She has a literary bent and ambitions to be a poet. Maybe she became one. Indeed, she is telling some of the story in voiceover, presumably from some reputably published memoir. The picture is based on a novel by Rumer Godden, who also contributed to the screenplay. Harriet sounds authoritative telling her story, as if she earned literary bona fides. These events are her memories. The adolescent hijinks veer toward cringy, I admit, but never completely give in to it. Walters brings a lot of fresh energy in her first role.
I feel like the title, The River, is a bit misleading. It all takes place near the Ganges River, true enough, and that affords much beautiful and evocative B-roll and can lend a nice brooding mood to the action. The river is obviously sacred to Indians. But the river has little to do directly with anything going on in the narrative. Maybe I’m complaining about the title because try searching on “the river” and see how long it takes you to get to this movie.
And speaking of Indian culture, Radha gets a spectacular traditional dance sequence, which is set apart almost like a song and dance number in a musical, filmed very simply, with Radha in costume medium-long, full body, sometimes approaching the mostly stationary camera. Everything is focused purely on Radha and the dance, which is utterly fascinating and the music is good too. There’s an argument it’s the main reason you even want to watch this leftfield picture at all but I’m going to go with Scorsese and argue for the Renoir qualities. You can see maybe some benightedness in it, but it’s closer to the country simplicity he pulls off in places like Grand Illusion or the shorter picture A Day in the Country. And the exotica is handsomely mounted, no one can deny that. (Note to self: stop thinking about the colonialism so much.)
The other patriarch, Mr. John (Arthur Shields), is widowed now but was married to an Indian. They had a daughter, Melanie, played by Radha, who may quietly have the most impressive performance here. She is an interesting figure, far more Indian than British. She is out of the running for Captain John as his cousin, which means any competition between a white woman and a woman of color is precluded as well. Even making Mr. John a widow spares us the sight of active ongoing miscegenation, which I know is a cynical way of putting it, and cynicism has little place in a picture like this that is so full of humanity (mostly, but not entirely, British humanity, but there I go again).
I liked Harriet and even identified with her. She has a literary bent and ambitions to be a poet. Maybe she became one. Indeed, she is telling some of the story in voiceover, presumably from some reputably published memoir. The picture is based on a novel by Rumer Godden, who also contributed to the screenplay. Harriet sounds authoritative telling her story, as if she earned literary bona fides. These events are her memories. The adolescent hijinks veer toward cringy, I admit, but never completely give in to it. Walters brings a lot of fresh energy in her first role.
I feel like the title, The River, is a bit misleading. It all takes place near the Ganges River, true enough, and that affords much beautiful and evocative B-roll and can lend a nice brooding mood to the action. The river is obviously sacred to Indians. But the river has little to do directly with anything going on in the narrative. Maybe I’m complaining about the title because try searching on “the river” and see how long it takes you to get to this movie.
And speaking of Indian culture, Radha gets a spectacular traditional dance sequence, which is set apart almost like a song and dance number in a musical, filmed very simply, with Radha in costume medium-long, full body, sometimes approaching the mostly stationary camera. Everything is focused purely on Radha and the dance, which is utterly fascinating and the music is good too. There’s an argument it’s the main reason you even want to watch this leftfield picture at all but I’m going to go with Scorsese and argue for the Renoir qualities. You can see maybe some benightedness in it, but it’s closer to the country simplicity he pulls off in places like Grand Illusion or the shorter picture A Day in the Country. And the exotica is handsomely mounted, no one can deny that. (Note to self: stop thinking about the colonialism so much.)
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