The 10th Odeon Festival appropriately chose to promote new local productions of Tagore. These have now begun regular runs. Although one should not bite the hand that feeds, in all fairness to principle, I should point out that of the five Tagore shows, one had already been staged in 2009 and reviewed here that year, defeating Odeon’s declared commitment to premieres.

Rangakarmee’s Chandalika, reworked by Usha Ganguli from an adaptation by Debashish Majumdar, is significant on three counts. First, it bypasses the commonly performed dance-drama, spotlighting the inexplicably neglected original prose play written in 1933. Second, it is the first Hindi version of Chandalika in years, perhaps even decades. Third, being in a position to exploit Rangakarmee’s touring network, it has the potential to spread Tagore’s message against untouchability to the large Hindi-speaking audiences in North India. Much more than any Bengali production of Tagore, therefore, it can project Tagore outside Bengal.

Ganguli contrasts the mother as a coarse and cynical woman with her daughter, Prakriti, as a delicate and sensitive girl yet to realize the ways of the world. Turna Das (picture) conveys Prakriti’s journey to enlightenment with deep feeling, especially her sense of empowerment at giving water to Ananda and her concluding apotheosis. As director, Ganguli uses collective blocking and loud singing and drumming to present village earthiness, but at other times uncharacteristically falls back on typically Tagorean aestheticism, the clashing styles not mixing well. For instance, costumier Minakshi Chandra gives mother and daughter nearly identical and carefully pleated urban saris.

Abhash’s Gora has an equally important agenda — the question of national as well as religious identity; what makes one an Indian, or a Hindu. Sekhar Samaddar has the courage to take on the onerous task of dramatizing Tagore’s longest novel, for its 76 chapters statistically translate into an average playing time of two minutes on each. Even Tagore, who converted several of his novels into theatre, stayed clear of this masterpiece. Understandably, Samaddar has to delete characters and episodes. Among the former, the omissions of Satish (Sucharita’s brother) and Sashimukhi (the silent onlooker girl) hurt the most, erasing the presence of the future generation. Among incidents, one misses more time and space for the women, so integral to Tagore’s master plan.

Samaddar’s direction stresses Gora (Debshankar Halder) as an angry young man and Sucharita (Mili Samaddar) as a model of quiet virtue, though Tagore does not suggest such diametrical opposites. To make their characterizations fuller, Halder should tone down his voice and Samaddar work toward expressing Sucharita’s intellect. The extremes of orthodoxy — whether Hindu or Brahmo — come out more clearly in Tanmoy De’s reserved Krishnadayal, Ashok Roy’s dogmatic Haran-babu and Aloknanda Roy’s stern Baradasundari. In contrast, Dulal Lahiri’s Paresh-babu and Suchita Roychowdhury’s Anandamayi exude love and compassion. Sekhar Samaddar himself acts as an indecisive Binay, and Sanghamitra Chakraborty an impulsive Lalita, following Tagore in subtly reversing the lead couple’s equation.

Natyam’s revival of Raja after 10 years finds Abhijit Sen moving closer to the structure of Arup Ratan, my own preferred text of the same drama, also shown at the festival. So Odeon watchers saw two university professors directing their interpretations of this interchangeably-titled classic in its centenary year. Sen definitely scores with Debashish Ray Chaudhuri’s music — possibly the most crucial element in Tagore’s play — as well as his singing in the role of Thakurda, partnered by Ushashi Gangopadhyay as Surangama. In fact, the absence of instrumental accompaniment gives the sound a pristine quality. The generally stiff acting, however, needs to improve. Saswati Guha Thakurta should consider Tripti Mitra’s observation about performing Sudarshana: “how does one remain a human individual on stage while portraying the spiritual travail of mankind in all its time?”

As for the famous and problematic dark chamber, I still cannot understand why directors without fail light up Tagore’s scenes that he specified in pitch blackness. And while by removing the intermission Sen improves on his previous attempt, he inserts explanations by an announcer holding a mike instead, a bit like Laurence Olivier introducing his cinematization of Hamlet with, “This is the tragedy of a man who could not make up his mind.”