Jalsaghar

 Satyajit Ray's Jalsaghar (1958) begins and ends with the shot of a swinging, ominous, almost spectre-like chandelier. This single object in the music room of music connoisseur Biswambhar Roy's mansion will go on to symbolize the disintegration of the wealthy landlord. Its swinging motion further on forebodes an oncoming tragedy in his life added to his shaky fortune, and one hour into the film, cobwebs decorate the grand chandelier that once witnessed great performances and crowds. Most frames beginning with the first close-up of Roy are reminiscent of Bergman films. Befitting the title, music augments the scenes of splendour and desolation alike.

*Spoilers ahead* 

The death of his wife and only son throws a pall over Roy's waning prestige, and he abandons his passionate love for music. The huge mirror in the music room ruthlessly reflects his debilitating frame; he has aged rapidly in the four years after their death.The palace becomes a shadow of its former self. A stray dog wanders about the courtyard and pigeons have build nests atop the pillars. Times have changed, machines have crept in, and self-made upstart neighbours like Mahim, who once bowed to him, have accrued more wealth and arrogance. As Mahim grows in stature, he no longer greets Roy with the former servility, but arrives in a car to sardonically invite the now reclusive man to his newly-built modern home. 

Roy stoically struggles to maintain his dignity by steadfastly holding on to his horses and elephants, the remnants of a grand past and memories of his late son, and also arranging recitals to convince himself that all is not lost yet. A few faithful servants remain loyal to him, much like Gerasim in The Death of Ivan Ilyich, even as many others leave, and parts of the land and objects in the house have to be sold. But even as his wealth is ebbing away, he stubbornly holds onto his ways, and with Ray's sensitive treatment of the story, one can't help but empathize with the man. When the music room is finally reopened in a last attempt to prove his stature, bats are aplenty and the chandelier is home to spiders. But the ensuing dance recital draws in a crowd as in the usual days, including Mahim, who scorns Roy's desperate attempts. He who was sniffling in the back of the crowd in earlier days now takes the front seat near the host, demanding to be fanned by the servants, and carelessly dropping coins out of his pocket (these are the little ways in which Ray adeptly shows us how the tables have turned). Though the  gold coins and silver trays of old are fast disappearing, Roy authoritatively insists that he be the first to gift the dancer after her performance, when Mahim is about to shower a few coins. Roy is almost hysterically gleeful at the success of this dance recital that afterwards, he makes a show of his lineage to one of his servants, just to delude himself that no upstart like Mahim can ever match up to his success and noble blood. Even as he makes a toast to his ancestors and then to himself, a huge spider crawls over the self-portrait he had commissioned for himself, and the well-lit chandelier is reflected in his drink. But as he looks on with increasing trepidation, the flames start flickering and soon all of them die out. Devastated by this poignant reflection of his reality, he falls to the ground. He is doomed to fail. As the sun rises, he defies his servants only to ride into oblivion on his favourite steed, Tufan. In the final scene, the noble blood he was so proud of flows from his mouth as he lies prostrate on the beach in final surrender, with only two of his loyal servants to mourn him, as his turban lies abandoned nearby. 

". . . Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away." (Ozymandias, P.B. Shelley)