Take Me to the River

Back after our little vacation, I need to write a bit about The River (1951), which we watched before we left. But, after all this time, I don't have much to say, except that it was beautiful, sad and sweet. 

It is narrated by Patricia Walters. As a girl, say 14, she lived in India on the river with her upper class family - her father ran the jute factory. She had four younger sisters and a younger brother. She was friends with Adrienne Corri, an older (17?) girl from a slightly richer family. She lived next door to Arthur Shields, a trader whose Indian wife has died, leaving him to rise their mixed race daughter, Radha Burnier (20). 

Shields has a cousin from America, Thomas E. Breen. Breen has been in the War, and lost a leg. He is moody and handsome and all three girls are infatuated with him. Walters, the youngest, wants to share her dreams of being a writer with him, and tells a story of Indian peasants and gods. Corri, convinced that she is a worldly adult woman, flirts with him, sitting on his lap whenever she can. Breen indulges them in a friendly but distant way. He is more interested in Bernier, a beauty of a more appropriate age. But she is informally engaged to a wealthy Indian boy, who lovers her. This is important, because she is a bit of an outcaste, by the Indian and English societies. She shares her unhappiness with her lot with Breen as he shares his with her.

There are events like a Diwali dance, stolen kisses and an encounter with a cobra. In the end, Breen can't be satisfied to stay in India, and leaves, searching for peace. The three girls, each in their way, mourns his going.

The story flows and meanders like a river - except more in fits and starts. There are longish sections of jute being unloaded and processed, of Indian festivals and markets, and just life. Director Jean Renoir fills the movies with brilliant colors and Indian music. It's also a bit of a documentary on India in the 40s. But mostly a sweet coming-of-age story, from the novel by Rumer Godden.