The day of the Guru

Saibal Chatterjee on two of the finest films on the Dalai Lama and the people of Tibet

AS a host of celebrities from around the world descended on McLeodganj on July 6 to kick off the year-long global commemoration of the 70th birthday of the Dalai Lama, a much smaller, but equally significant, event in New Delhi’s India Habitat Centre highlighted two of the finest films ever crafted around the life of the great religious guru and the plight of his deracinated people. The two films — Martin Scorsese’s 1998 feature, Kundun, and Tom Peosay’s trenchant documentary, Tibet: Cry of the Snow Lion — were screened as part of a "Celebrate the Dalai Lama" programme organised by the Foundation of Universal Responsibility.

Interestingly, the two films that were on show are as different as chalk and cheese. Kundun is a masterly reconstruction of the life of the Dalai Lama that eschews pat Hollywood conventions even as it assumes the proportions of a true-blue cinematic epic. Cry of the Snow Lion, on the other hand, lacks the touch of a master, but it more than makes up for what it lacks by the way of artistic finesse with its passion and courage.

Scorsese is, of course, a consummate artist and he fills every frame of Kundun with remarkable flashes of insight even as the film strikes a perfect balance between facts of history with the needs of narrative and character development. It makes for absolutely compelling viewing, not the least because of the sheer eventfulness of the Dalai Lama’s life.

Scorsese’s efforts are bolstered no end by the fluid camerawork of cinematographer Roger Deakins, best-known for such worldwide hits as The Shawshank Redemption and Rob Roy, and the exquisite screenplay penned by Melissa Mathison, whose credits include ET: The Extra-Terrestrial. There is a nary a moment in Kundun that is less than riveting.

It blends emotion with integrity, artistry with spontaneity and visual sweep with spiritual depth so seamlessly that the ultimate effect is nearly magical.

Tibet: Cry of the Snow Lion, a feature-length documentary theatrically released in 2003, comes from a completely different box. It is more about politics than art. It makes no bones about taking sides and, therefore, may at times appear just a tad one-sided, but in its unblinking indictment of China’s oppressive policy on Tibet, it is as powerful and effective a film as any that could be made on the subject.

Cry of the Snow Lion examines the cultural and political history of Tibet by stringing together the voices of those who have suffered and lived through turmoil.

Cry of the Snow Lion, which was in the making for 10 years, is unambiguous on the political questions that lie at the heart of the Tibet problem. Peosay addresses the issues head-on and comes up with a cinematic tract that is as moving as it is disturbing. The film exudes more sorrow than rage and yet is replete with passages that could give the most hardened of souls a few goose bumps.

For Peosay, who shot the film over as many as nine visits to Tibet, India and Nepal, Cry of the Snow Lion is obviously a labour of love, an effort that is far more significant than any of the work he has done for American network television over a period of 20 years.

Despite its rough edges — that is inevitable in a film that took its own time to assume its final shape — it works in purely cinematic terms as well. Crammed with never-seen-before footage from inside Tibet, the film is further bolstered by the use of an array of undercover and archival photographs.

The visual elements — the stunning natural beauty of the region plays an important role in giving the film its surface gloss — are interwoven with riveting personal tales of courage and fortitude. Cry of the Snow Lion is sad and rousing by turns. Its impact is helped significantly by Hollywood star Martin Sheen’s commentary. The film also uses the voices of such actors as Tim Robbins, Susan Sarandon and Ed Harris.

Peosay’s film is a fervent appeal to the western world, especially the USA, to stop playing ball with China in order to force the Communist regime in Beijing to lay off Tibet for good. But Cry of the Snow Lion is no romantic yarn; it recognises the difficulties that lie ahead of the people of Tibet as they fight a war to save their culture and religion. The voice of the Dalai Lama advocates sustained pacifism. The less patient elements of the Tibetan government-in-exile, however, unleash their emotions and constantly refer to China’s perfidy.

It is always clear where Peosay’s sympathies lie — while the director is obviously in consonance with the Dalai Lama’s stress on non-violence, he does occasionally let a dissenting voice get in edgewise. That’s just as well: in the Dalai Lama’s philosophy-driven politics, debate is always the centrepiece.

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