Satyajit Ray, who produced and directed Aparajito, spent less money to film the entire movie than a Hollywood producer would to acquire the services of a single star, say Tab Hunter or Tony Curtis. And Ray's intentions are equivalently modest; he creates no fantastic world of cops and robbers, martian monster, or negligeed chorus girls; no suspense to glue our bodies to the theater seats, and no romance to send our spirits flying to an easier and happier world than our own.

His film merely tells the story of an unexceptional Indian family. Father dies, mother takes job to support son, son eventually goes away to college, mother eventually dies; that's all that happens. Aparajito is an exceptional fine film because of Ray's ability to use the medium to express compassionately the complicated emotions of simple people.

Dialogue is sparce. The "story" is told by the faces on the screen, by what Ray makes us see in a swarm of pigeons, or a moving train, by the expressive music of Ravi Shanker. If Aparajito has a climax, it is the scene in which the boy learns of his mother's death. His wordless tears express his grief, his shame at not having cared enough for her while she liver, and at the same time his selfish need to make his own life a success in spite of his loss. Perhaps the boy brings such dignity to his role because he is not a professional actor, but just an ordinary human being.