From the very first moment of this film, we are inducted into the rhythm of life at the top of the world: the pacing is glacially slow, and the filmmakers were extraordinarily successful in pulling us into the same calm world. The lives depicted are simple and unhurried: there is a time for everything, and everything takes its own time.
Now I’ve seen films that aspire to this slow beauty but fall short, and manage only to make the audience twitchy with boredom and unfulfilled expectations. This is not the case here: I know I’m thrashing this point, but I found it remarkable. The 138 minutes passed easily, with not even an urge to glance at a watch to see how much time was left. A minor part of this was due to the scenery. After all, breathtaking mountainscapes, clear blue sky with wisps of cloud, and rocky deserts are all about as picturesque as it is possible to get without computer enhancement. The monastery, the village and town, and the several hermitages, all had distinct character and charm.
A major part, though, was due to the care invested in the creation of the mood. From virtually the first frame, when we meet the monks on their way to bring Tashi back from the hermitage, the focus is on characters. There’s no haste, or even interest, in moving the plot forward: instead, there is a loving attention paid to developing the mood. On breaking into the hermitage and finding Tashi, long-haired, long-nailed, and still deep in trance, the monks move quietly and respectfully about the task of bringing him back. One monk draws a pestle slowly around the rim of a brass bowl to make a soft chiming, while another unfolds the curled fingers one by one. Once in the open air, the blindfolded and still motionless Tashi is monkhandled onto a horse for the slow journey back down to the monastery.
Similarly, the sexual awakening is treated in detail and unequivocally, but nonetheless gently. Tashi is the epitome of monkish innocence, becoming lost in wonder at the sight of a woman breastfeeding a baby, to the consternation of his elders. Their attempts to persuade him to reject this awakening succeed only in pushing him to a decision to leave the monastery and try the world, where his awakening is completed by Christy Chung (who, for doubting readers, carried her quiet role with assurance and credibility that surprised me). Again, the love scenes are detailed but gentle: sensual rather than erotic. I believe that most of the supporting cast were non-professional actors from the region, and this contributed a subdued realism. This was enhanced by the characters: all ordinary and believable, but not in the least cliched, which helped to keep the focus on the present, rather than guessing at the future. Overall, a simple story that conveys some complex themes with great beauty. Anyone who is willing to slow their pace to the filmmakers’ will get a great deal out of it.
ADDENDUM:
SPOILER ALERT: If you don’t want to know what happens at the end, don’t read further, but I really want to talk about it, because it’s important, and it is one of the factors in my enjoyment of this film.
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Okay, that’s enough. You might have guessed that, after being married to Pema (Christy Chung) for several years, and having a son, Tashi decides to resume his journey towards enlightenment. To this end, he sneaks out of the house in the early morning, and travels his path in reverse, pausing for the almost ritual washing in the stream (a beautiful image that is almost worth the price of admission by itself). As he approaches his goal, he pauses by the stone wall within sight of the monastery, and finds Pema there waiting for him.
And this scene I found almost sublime: Pema circles her husband, dressed in his monkish garb, and talks about Yasodhara, Prince Siddhartha’s wife. “Everyone knows the name of Siddhartha, the Buddha, but who knows the name of Yasodhara?” she asks. In the space of a few minutes, Pema turns Tashi from a virtuous man into a selfish ascete, abandoning his family, his responsibilities, and his opportunities to live a virtuous life in the world for the promise of Enlightenment by denial. By drawing on the story of Siddhartha, she demonstrates the arrogance and selfishness of those who abandon what they see as the mundane world for the lure of a more refined one, in the one step gratifying their own desires (for personal Enlightenment) and denying those of others (the desire of the family to have their loved ones around them).
Once done, she leaves the shamed Tashi, who abandons himself to bitter tears at what he has wrought. He is not to be allowed to delude himself about what he has left behind. There will be no melancholy, no gentle reminiscences on his part, no illusions of sacrifice of happiness for a greater good. He is made to realise that his actions deprive his family just as much as they deprive him, for no real reason other than his whim, his desire for spiritual perfection. A perfect ending: the pursuit of virtue revealed as just another desire, and the man virtuously relinquishing the mundane world forced to face the consequences of his action.