Staff Writer Billy Steven Tay reflects on the iconic film, Two, by the late multi-hyphenate filmmaker Satyajit Ray and rethinks the age-old question: What makes a good story?

1964 was a heartstopping year for world cinema. Jacques Demy snagged the Palme d’Or for The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, while Alfred Hitchcock waved goodbye to casting icy blondes with Marnie. Across the hemisphere, Satyajit Ray had just wrapped up production for Charulata, which would go on to clinch a Silver Bear at the Berlin International Film Festival. By the mid-sixties, Ray had become a superstar of world cinema, sweeping international accolades and catching the attention of directors like Akira Kurosawa and Abbas Kiarostami, due to works like The Apu Trilogy, Jalsaghar and Devi. Among the critics, filmmakers and cinephiles, heads of the American oil company Esso were part of Ray’s audience.

Esso funded the Esso World Theatre, aiding in the convening of a weekly programme which featured artists from various countries. Ray represented his home country, India, and was possibly handpicked for being the most recognised amongst the rest of his counterparts. Nonetheless, this is unconfirmed.

The Esso World Theater was a cultural showcase presented on public broadcast television. At their request, Ray was asked to contribute a film in a Bengali setting in English. For Ray, whose Bengali identity was at the core of his work, he refused to make a film in any other language than Hindi. Even the idea of doing a Bengali-esque film in English was akin to misappropriation and white-washing. In response, Ray sought to make his film without dialogue as a tribute to the silent films that inspired him years before, opting to soundtrack it himself.

From the opening scene to the end, camera movements are kept simple. No sweeping pans, tilts or dollies — Ray opts mostly for static shots. Inspired by photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson, Ray is a keen believer in the use of natural light whenever possible — Two is no exception. Even though he shot on 35mm, Two was filmed on 16mm black and white film for television. It’s quite possible that Two was done as a throwaway project, without the foresight to preserve such a miniscule work in the auteur’s canon. It’s not surprising that Two was only preserved in 2016, 52 years after it was aired on PBS.

I often believe that what separates a good filmmaker from a great filmmaker is their ability to create a lot out of little. Every single prop, costume detail or item in Two has a clear purpose and intention.

Wanna show how bored and how mischievous your character is? Make him pop balloons over a flame. If he’s rich and spoiled, he sips Coca Cola, wears a fancy watch and plays with battery-powered robots. If he’s poor, he wears rags, plays with an improvised kite and lives in a hut.

Referring back to the deceptiveness of Two, I only realise certain details long after the emotional punch of his 12-minute bender has faded. Ray’s contrasts are striking; the caged rich versus the free-spirited poor. I shall not spoil the ending here, but it’s one that has left me dazzled since watching Two years ago.

Unfortunately, Two remains forgotten, amidst a sea of Chungking Express worshippers and Nolan admirers. If it’s so great, why have we forgotten about it? Have we become too distracted by special effects, IMAX prints and the other conventions of contemporary tech-driven filmmaking?

As audiences in the modern age, our attention spans and need for constant visual stimulation makes films like Two a difficult watch for many. So should all films be kept simple and plain? Not at all. When done right, technicality and pushing the boundaries of what’s possible can be truly outstanding.

Balance here is key, for viewers and filmmakers. For viewers who have become accustomed to the visually stimulating frames of modern cinema, we must allow great stories to stir our soul emotionally over visual awe. For filmmakers, we must not get carried away with making every frame worthy of inclusion in every ShotDeck library, and to remember that a great story doesn’t need endless VFX to be told well.

Pushing the boundaries of what film can illuminate is always a good thing; film is a fluid, evolving medium that cannot remain in stasis or confined to the bare minimum. But we mustn't forget what lies at the heart of every great film: A story. When the dust settles, no one will remember the aspect ratio, the 3D, the film stock or the colour grading. But they’ll remember the boy who shot down a kite in the sky, 52 years later.