One of the most exhilarating experiences one can have is witnessing two incredible, generation-defining artists intersecting, especially when they come from entirely different backgrounds, to the point where any collaboration would have seemed unlikely. There is almost a century separating the births of Henrik Ibsen and Satyajit Ray (in fact, the former died fifteen years before the latter was even conceived), and their geographical division – one making his name in Norway, the other in India – made them seem quite literally to be worlds apart, and no one would have expected that their paths would intersect in any way. Yet, as one of the most dedicated artistic voices of his generation, someone who was adamant in his desire to explore every corner of his craft, Ray was constantly reinventing himself as a storyteller, which we can see occurring right until the end of his career. The present discussion revolves around An Enemy of the People (Bengali: গণশত্রু), which functions as an adaptation of Ibsen’s landmark stage play of the same title. In this film, we are introduced to Dr Ashok Gupta (a proxy for Ibsen’s Dr Thomas Stockmann), a well-respected physician practicing in a small town on the outskirts of Calcutta. He notices a rise in jaundice amongst his patients, and some investigating leads him to conclude that the water flowing from the local temple, which is the primary source for the entire town, is contaminated. In the interest of public health, Dr Gupta tries desperately to warn the population to close the temple until the problem can be resolved, but when he realises that the local politicians have a vested interest in this temple, he comes to understand the true nature of social order. As one of Ray’s final films (some may consider it his last true masterpiece, but that’s a different debate altogether), An Enemy of the People is an undeniably impressive work, a bold and uncompromising examination of corruption, social decay and the importance of doing what is right, it proves to be en effortlessly well-maintained drama that knows exactly how to draw the audience in, delivering a stellar depiction of the human condition in a way that always defined and guided Ray’s astonishing body of work.

Drawing correlations between different artists and finding common ground through their work, even those who existed in completely different temporal and geographical milieux, can be a fascinating and revealing process. Technically, there should not be much shared between Ibsen and Ray in terms of the kinds of stories they told and the issues that they addressed – but this is a very shallow way to assess their work, since despite being very specific in how they represent their respective cultures at the time in which they were working, they were both writers wiith a keen awareness of not only the precise issues faced at the time, but also those that were far more universal, and their work is undeniably timeless in how they address themes that resonate much deeper than we would expect. An Enemy of the People is often considered one of the most important plays of the 19th century, not only for its artistic value, but also as a result of how relevant it remains. We tend to think of political corruption and the manipulation of the public as being a relatively recent phenomenon, which is the result of viewing the past through more rose-tinted glasses that assume people used to be decent. Yet, Ray was one of the many people who saw the value in what Ibsen was saying and chose to bring it to the present day in the form of a film that openly addresses the malice present in the political philandering. The text is quite clear about what it intends to say – a doctor believes he is doing what is right for his community, maintaining his moral duty to the people he pledged to serve, only to be the victim of politicians who would prefer to line their own pockets long before allowing the source of their power and wealth to be called into question. Ray takes this simple premise and elevates it brilliantly, finding ways to assimilate the cultural nuances that come with shifting the film from Norway in the 1800s to India in the 1980s, which gives additional context and allows more intriguing insights to be drawn from what is very clearly a morality tale about a man fighting a system that seeks to silence him, making it clear that he is willing to allow his entire life to crumble around him if it means that he is serving his community and their best interests, a stark contrast from the politicians who see it the other way around.

We tend to view Ray as a director whose astonishing career was the result of his own uncompromising vision, to which everyone who surrounded him was merely working to help him realise these ideas. This could not be further from the truth, since Ray not only considers meaningful collaboration to be important, but entirely necessary. Over the course of his career, he developed strong working relationships with several people on both sides of the camera, many of whom worked with him on several films. In terms of actors, he made it no secret that the most integral of his collaborators was Soumitra Chatterjee, with whom he made fifteen films, right from the start (including being the titular character in The World of Apu, the director’s magnum opus), the pair forging an ironclad bond that made every collaboration feel special. In their penultimate film together, they create the character of Dr Gupta, who is a fascinating individual from both a narrative and philosophical perspective: a man who is possibly the most respected person in his community, and who is so insistent on maintaining the truth of his fellow citizens that he decides to fight against the system, hoping to expose how the local politicians are exploiting them, and in the process having the public turn on him. In the hands of another actor, this would be a hopelessly unbearable character, a navel-gazing idealist crafted to be without any shortcomings or flaws, and who instead represents a kind of honesty and integrity that simply does not exist in practice. Chatterjee can say so much without even uttering a word – the way he carries himself and expresses himself visually is astonishing, and as the film progresses, every expression and gesture shows a man gradually being crushed by the realisation that he is on the brink of being exiled from society, about to become a pariah solely because he dared to speak the truth. It’s a magnificent performance that should not be overlooked because of its subtletly, but rather celebrated for it – there’s something so remarkably poetic about how Chatterjee and Ray find the many complexities embedded in this character, using him as the foundation for what proves to be an unexpectedly moving performance from an actor who deserves to be more universally recognised as one of the most impressive and captivating of his generation.

An Enemy of the People was one of the final films Ray made, but despite having grown older and more frail, he still possessed the strong, steadfast directorial vision that established him as one of the most important cinematic voices of the 20th century. We can divide his work into two broad categories: the deeply daring, innovative works, and those that veer towards a simpler and more subtle style. He was equally adept at both, being capable of crafting a sprawling adventure epic just as easily as a simple chamber drama, the latter being the best description for this film. Taking place mostly in offices, living rooms and (in its climactic moments) a large hall, the film’s origins on stage are very evident, but not at all a burden, since Ray finds ways to make it incredibly dynamic. A large part of this is due to the actors, but his own approach to bringing this story to life through focusing primarily on the message and how it is delivered makes for an unexpectedly engaging work, and one that we can certainly appreciate as more than just a one-dimensional instance of a play brought to the screen without much work to bridge the gap. There’s a unique energy that commands the film, with Ray using his intricate understanding of tone and register to create a film that functions primarily as a morality tale, a tug-of-war between good and evil, but where the message is never overwrought. There are a few moments where we can see it moving towards the heavy-handed at times (such as the final moments, where the protagonist is quite literally surrounded by chanting supporters saying how much they respect him), but it is all part of the nature of this story, which is intended to be a slightly heightened, vaguely theatrical work that underlines the clear message. There are many layers to An Enemy of the People, but it never comes across as intentionally ambigious – we’re asked to assert our own interpretation on a few elements, but ultimately we’re not guided to the point where we are having our own existential crisis, with the clear-cut definitions of right and wrong, while slightly obvious, being well-maintained throughout this fascinating film that may be simple, but is never anything less than compelling.

There is something to be said about Ray’s final three films – this, Branches of the Tree and The Stranger – as consisting of a loose trilogy about older men realising the complex nature of the world that surrounds them, and despite having lived relatively long lives, still fail to understand how the world functions. An Enemy of the People, in its capacity as the final adaptation that Ray made, feels like a fascinating attempt to bridge the gap between different eras and generations, combining several complex ideas into one complex narrative that is evidently the work of a filmmaker who is aware that he is in his twilight years, and is telling stories in which he can reflect on his own mortality and existential quandaries, while also crafting truly incredible, well-defined stories in the process. It may not being as visually stunning as some of his more elaborate works (although the climactic scene in the town hall is incredibly captivating, specifically in how the director commands the screen in terms of tone and atmosphere, becoming one of the landmark moments in his already staggering career), but it makes up for its aesthetic simplicity through a film that carries more than enough meaning in the quieter, more subtle areas that we would often overlook as being fertile ground for some fascinating socio-cultural commentary. Many consider Ibsen’s original play to be one of the most important political statements ever crafted, especially since it presents such a simple premise that builds itself around a mostly binary depiction of good and evil through a straightforward moral dilemma that spirals out of control, leading to a harrowing portrait of mob mentality and the rapidity with which someone previously respected could lose everything. This may not be the most faithful adaptation, but it is one that carries the most meaning, since its close proximity to the present day brings the story to life in a far more familiar way, highlighting the many relevant themes that underpin this work. It’s a fantastic, well-crafted philosophical drama that sees Ray doing some of his most captivating work, proving that some of the most compelling stories are those that take a clear premise and develop it into something that resonates widely, regardless of geographical or temporal boundaries.