Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay's Datta is an interesting novel, replete with the nuances of early 20th-century Bengal. Exploring the Victorian concept of 'romantic love', the author has created a text full of gentle humour and subtle tragedy. Nirmal Chakraborty's Datta is the third major cinematic adaptation of this text after the versions created in 1951 and 1976. It is certainly significant that in this postmodern era, full of a whole 'grab-bag' of technological applications, the producers and, indeed, the director have chosen to make a film that does not have a frenetic pace; on the contrary, this film has a leisurely pace that gives it a classical feel. It succeeds, for the most part, in being convincing but falls short in a few areas.

The major strength of the production is its uncluttered feel as also the authenticity of some of the performances. Rituparna Sengupta as Bijoya, the protagonist, puts in a great effort as the Brahmo lady who is the statuesque albeit vulnerable owner of a large estate in a Bengal fragmented by several schisms. An actor with great experience, she is able to pull off what is certainly a difficult role; she does this by making Bijoya a thinking woman, full of doubts and uncertainties. She had felt that Bilash was the right person for her but now she is not too sure. Her affections gradually shift to the indigent doctor who opens up a whole new world for her. Rituparna with her measured delivery, replete with pauses, even Pinteresque, is able to make Bijoya someone who is not just interested in material gain. Her gradual realisation of her own aching desire, initially unrequited, is made palpable by her breaking down at certain moments.

Rashbehari, Bilash's father, is played to perfection by Biswajit Chakraborty who walks the tightrope between ironic humour and exaggerated villainy. Biswajit is adroit at subtle changes of expressions for dramatic effect.

Comparisons are odious but the tendency to see Joy Sengupta's Naren in the light of Soumitra Chattopadhyay's performance as the doctor in Ajoy Kar's version of Datta is understandable. What Joy lacks in personality and physique is amply made up by a riveting performance. Sometimes underplaying, often employing an impish grin and often bewildered by Bijoya's proximity, he projects a consistent and authentic doctor, gradually getting suffocated by his impoverishment.

The storyline may seem quite simple on the surface. Banamali, Jagdish and Rashbehari are three friends from three different villages in Bengal. They vow to remain close together and study to become lawyers so that they may serve the nation. However, fate plays a different combination of cards as Banamali and Rashbehari are so impressed by the speeches and sermons of the great spiritual thinker Keshab Chandra Sen that they embrace the Brahmo religion and become active members of the Brahmo Samaj. Further, Banamali inherits a huge estate and acquires considerable wealth, whereas Jagadish, the most brilliant of the trio, fails to make it big and sinks into debt and penury.

Twenty-five years pass. Banamali, on his deathbed, requests his only child, Bijoya, to see to it that Naren, the son of Jagadish, is not evicted because of his inability to pay off his father's debts. Bijoya, a pragmatic woman with considerable intellect, is not impressed with Naren's failure to return what the family owes despite having learnt medicine in England. She develops a slight apathy towards Naren, the doctor who, it seems, is not interested in furthering his own cause. Banamali passes away. Jagadish had left the world earlier. Only Rashbehari remains.

Bijoya and Bilash, the son of Rashbehari, seem to share a friendship that may develop into love and eventually marriage. Or so hopes Rashbehari who, with the somewhat pugnacious Bilash, assists Bijoya in running her estate while secretly nurturing dreams of eventually placing Bilash at the helm of affairs.

Bijoya's attitude towards Naren changes after she meets him in person. She realises that she had misread him earlier. Not only is he an extremely perceptive physician, but also a noble soul devoted to performing charitable service among the poor and the needy.

Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay's text uses playful banter and bittersweet exchanges between Bijoya and Naren to bring out the growing attachment between the two. This has a disastrous effect on Bilash who bursts into paroxysms of rage; this is quite distasteful for Bijoya who gradually begins to recognise Rashbehari and his choleric son as 'gold diggers'.

The film has many twists and turns as also episodes of heartache for the protagonist before the final denouement which may come as a surprise for those uninitiated in the methods of the master storyteller Sarat Chandra who was often dubbed 'popular' by the elite class of the early 20th century. The film is faithful to the storyline, which is not as simple as it may seem on the surface.

Nirmal Chakraborty deserves credit for his choice of subject. His execution of a difficult text, too, is deserving of praise. It may be argued that the straight narrative lacks experimentation but it is also true that the director may have felt that a conventional approach was best suited to this story.

I feel a slight bit of innovation in the mise-en-scene and decoupage could have further improved the visualisation. And yet, it must be said that some of the long shots taken outdoor are breathtaking. The microscope, which is a marvellous 'objective correlative', becomes a symbol of the love that is in the hearts of Bijoya and Naren. The director has used this object in various scenes, making it a character in the drama.

Sarat Chandra's novel does critique the Brahmo Samaj and Brahmoism through the activities of Rashbehari and Bilashbehari; this created a controversy when the novel was published in 1918, considering the immense contribution of Brahmos like Rabindranath Tagore in public life. The film, too, tends to caricature the opinions of some Brahmos but that is because of Sarat Chandra's story and the director cannot be faulted for that.

The overall flow of the film is rhythmic; interest in the film is sustained through judicious editing albeit a few sequences may seem a trifle elongated. The interactions between Bijoya and Naren are quite captivating owing to the mercurial chemistry between the two artistes, Rituparna and Joy. Apart from this, there is a wonderful balance between humour and acrimony in the interactions. The setting, the costumes (by Sabarni Das) and the cinematography (by Mrinmoy Mondal) also contribute to the overall presentation.

The songs are used to good effect, although the repetition of some of the visuals is not always effective. Nevertheless, the music does add to the overall impact of the film.

In conclusion, it needs to be mentioned that the film brings to the fore a combination of romance and jealousy set against the background of politics and religious bigotry. This makes the content a tad controversial; at the same, the subtle romantic undertones in a somewhat puritanical society are what makes the film breathe. One more thing. This is a film that needs to be discussed and debated, particularly because it deals with a bygone era: a period that may seem alien to today's generation. The takings, the performances and the content (as also the context) merit serious conversations, particularly owing to the singular nature of the subject. Not everyone may be in tune with the formal aspects of this film but there will be quite a few curious to know how a period film with a distinctive milieu can be mounted.

The attention to detail is an element of film construction that is often ignored in these turbulent times. It would not be out of place to state that the makers of Datta have tried hard to bring the period alive.