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March 07, 2005

Travellers and Magicians

I just saw Travellers and Magicians, which is apparently the first fiction film ever made in the Kingdom of Bhutan. I was particularly curious about the film because its director is apparently also a Buddhist monk, and the film's been promoted for its Buddhist sensibility, as was Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter . . . and Spring Again, the South Korean drama released last year. As somebody very interested in Buddhism - at least the Americanized variations taught by Pema Chodron, Jack Kornfield, Shinzen Young, and others - I was both intrigued and frustrated by both films. This film's structure is pretty standard world cinema fare. A young man in a rustic small town wants to escape to see the world - in this case, specifically to move to the US. Over the course of the film, he learns to appreciate the beauty, slow pace, and community of his life at home, and abandons his plans to emigrate. I always worry that movies like this have less to do with authentic expression than with playing to international audiences' stereotypes and vanity. The American viewer is made to feel both smug and envious. On the one hand, we think, of course our hero wants to move here - doesn't everybody? On the other hand, we wonder, "how could he possibly want to leave the stunning Bhutan countryside, the leisurely pace of life, the rich sense of belonging?"

But as with Bride and Prejudice, the movie involves a performative contradiction. While it preaches staying down on the farm, it only exists because its director discovered the bright lights of the big cities - Sidney (where it was edited), Cannes, and the rest of the stops on the international film circuit. And of course, we Americans can only enjoy the film because we lead lives cosmopolitan enough to catch films from Bhutan at the local artplex. If I embraced the equivalent "simple life" - living without a TV in Vermont, say - I'd never be exposed to a film like this. So can't I feel a little bad for our protagonist, who wears an "I Love NY" t-shirt, but learns to accept the limited horizons of his hometown and never see the Big Apple?

The best thing in this movie is the Buddhist monk who bonds with our hero as he hitchhikes to the capital, from whence he plans to head out for the states. The monk tells a story which becomes a film-within-the-film about another restless young man who learns the value of settling down, and that part is a little too didactic. But the monk character himself is wonderful - calm, twinkling, always generous without ever being a sap. It's the vibe I feel in people like him that makes me so impressed by Buddhism. Growing up Jewish, I always found my rabbis pompous and distant - why would I want to grow up to be like them? I've similarly never been impressed by the presence of most other religious leaders I've seen - whether TV preachers, nuns, or the pope. But Buddhists like the Dalai Lama, Pema Chodron, and this character radiate a wonderful sense of wisdom and peace. (It's not just Buddhists who can find this peace, of course - I saw Desmond Tutu on the Daily Show last year, and he just blew me away with his palpable sense of joy and compassion.) Anyway, that's what spiritual wisdom ought to look like, I think. Maybe it's easier to acheive isolated in the Himalayas than info-overloaded in the Atlanta exurbs. (The monk warns at one point, "avoid the city. It's depressing.") But maybe there is a middle ground. How about a cabin out in the country, but with a DSL line and a Netflix account?

Posted by tedf at March 7, 2005 10:35 PM

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