I need to cop to some ignorance right from the giddy-up: I’m not familiar with the literary works of beloved director, documentarian, illustrator, and composer Satyajit Ray. As such, I’m not really in a position to judge the fidelity of Netflix’ Ray, a new four-part anthology adapting four of the auteur’s short stories: Bepin Choudhury’s Lapse of Memory, Bahurupi, Barin Bhowmick’s Ailment, and Spotlight. All I can really tell you is whether or not the series stands on its own.
And the answer to that is, unfortunately, a bit complicated. Judged as a mini-series—and Netflix certainly pushes that interpretation by referring to the collection of four shorts as “Season 1″—Ray is a tonally and stylistically inconsistent mess of
a thing that is unified only by its name.
Mind you, there are flashes of brilliance throughout the entire run. With the exception of the fourth short, the performances are captivating across the board. The first three episodes also do a fantastic job of establishing mood and conveying feeling.
There’s more that works about those first three episodes than doesn’t. But that’s not really how we determine whether or not something is worth our time, is it? We—well, I should say I, since I can only speak for myself—don’t really sit down and make a list of pros and cons and tally up the results before judging a movie or TV series or whatever the heck Ray is. Instead, I sort of intuitively gauge whether a work gave me more than it took from me.
And in that respect, three of the four installments of Ray have to be written off as intriguing failures. The first, “Forget Me Not,” an adaptation of Bepin Choudhury’s Lapse of Memory, does a lot right. It’s beautiful to behold (although perhaps not by videophile standards, since it’s intentionally
RAY AT A GLANCE
This Netflix anthology of works inspired by Indian filmmaker Satyajit Ray is highly uneven, but features one standout that more than makes up for the series’ shortcomings.
The third, worthwhile episode is richer, more colorful, warmer, and more vibrant than the other three, with deeper blacks and more penetrating highlights, all accentuated by the Dolby Vision presentation.
The music in the third episode is on a whole other level of artistry from the other three, and its mix manages to be atmospheric and inviting instead of over the top and off-putting.
flat and muted) and the acting is sublime. But at 64 minutes, it overstays its welcome. By 45 minutes in, I was ready for it to be over. Soon after that mark, the story shifts to a twist ending that flubs the landing, rendering the entire journey—as worthwhile as it is in spots—unfulfilling. The Dolby Atmos sound mix for “Forget Me Not” is also aggressive to the point of abusiveness.
My biggest problem with the second installment, “Bahrupiya,” adapted from the story Bahurupi, is that it’s mean-spirited and depressing, but for no real reason. To drag this short into a wholly Western context that’s borderline unfair, “Bahrupiya” had the potential to be something like Todd Phillips’ Joker, but somewhat more grounded in reality. In fact, it ends up being less so, and it fails to really convey any meaning in the end, aside from some obvious moralizing. Kudos to the makeup and prosthetics departments for some truly world-class work on this one, but it’s simply too soul-sucking to recommend.
The third entry, however—”Hungama Hai Kyon Barpa,” based on Barin Bhowmick’s Ailment (aka Barin Bhowmik-er Byaram)—is simply an amazing way to spend 53 minutes. My only complaint is that while other shorts in the series could have benefited from the loss of 20 or 30 minutes of runtime, “Hungama Hai Kyon Barpa” could have kept me glued to the screen for at least a couple hours.
This installment was directed by Abhishek Chaubey (showrunner Sayantan Mukherjee helmed the first two and Vasan Bala directed the last), with cinematography by Anuj Rakesh Dhawan, and it’s the latter’s contribution in particular that I’m most smitten with. This simply doesn’t look like any of the other installments in that it’s richer, more colorful, warmer, more vibrant, and benefits from deeper blacks and more penetrating highlights, all of which the Dolby Vision presentation accentuates.
The episode also sounds different from the rest, in that the music is on a whole other level of artistry altogether, and the mix manages to be atmospheric and inviting instead of over the top and off-putting.
By the way, I’m speaking of the original language track there, which is labeled as Hindi, but is in fact a mix of Hindi, English, and Urdu. Skip the English track, the default track when you load up the series for the first time. The dubbing is horrible throughout, but perhaps most importantly for our purposes, the English mix loses a lot of the atmospheric ambience of the original Hindi Atmos track. It’s flatter, more constrained, and less naturalistic.
“Hungama Hai Kyon Barpa” is, in many respects, a simple tale. It’s the story of a kleptomaniac singer, something of a local celebrity, who finds himself sharing a train compartment with a fellow traveler from whom he stole a beloved (and ostensibly magical) pocket watch many years past. The bulk of the runtime is devoted to the tension that develops as he first recognizes his old mark, relives the original theft in his vivid imagination, then tries his best to right his old wrong. That’s it, really. That’s the whole story. But it’s told in such an imaginative way that one cannot help but be mesmerized by it all.
The less said about the fourth episode, “Spotlight,” the better.
So, my recommendation would be to check out the third episode and skip the rest. Make sure to switch over to the Hindi Atmos track, though. It’s not all in Hindi, mind you—the characters bounce around from language to language, sometimes in the course of a single sentence. And even in the English dub, you’re going to have to turn on the subtitles for at least some of the Urdu exchanges that couldn’t be translated and overdubbed for contextual reasons.
“Hungama Hai Kyon Barpa” is, in many respects, everything you could hope for from a good home theater experience. It looks and sounds fantastic, Netflix’ presentation is unimpeachable, and it’s a lovely little tale to boot. Again, I cannot speak to its fidelity as an adaptation, but as a work of motion-picture entertainment, it’s a lovely and surprising experience from beginning to end. I only wish the other three episodes had been anywhere near as good. But they’re self-contained, so you can safely ignore them.
Dennis Burger is an avid Star Wars scholar, Tolkien fanatic, and Corvette enthusiast who somehow also manages to find time for technological passions including high-end audio, home automation, and video gaming. He lives in the armpit of Alabama with his wife Bethany and their four-legged child Bruno, a 75-pound American Staffordshire Terrier who thinks he’s a Pomeranian.