To those who consider film-watching mostly a small-screen experience and so-called arthouse cinema as too niche, Shambhala offers a powerful and perfect riposte.
Chronicling a pregnant Tibetan woman’s meditative, slow-moving journey across the snow-capped Himalayas, Nepalese filmmaker Min Bahadur Bham’s second feature offers striking vistas only the widescreen could do justice. While its premise revolves around a very culture-specific polyandrous relationship, the film itself could easily be interpreted as a very universal reflection about life, love and death.
Compared to his first feature, the Venice Critics’ Week title The Black Hen, Bham’s sophomore outing is a step up in more ways than one. While his 2015 debut is a more intimate piece about the friendship of two village boys, his latest is an ambitious affair tackling the physical and emotional struggles of adults. Significantly, it is an international co-production backed by funds and resources from France, Norway, Turkey, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Qatar and the U.S.
With something as tender, immersive and accomplished as Shambhala, Bham’s standing as an emerging statesman for Nepalese cinema – and perhaps that of South Asia as a regional whole – is more or less confirmed. Featuring strong performances from his cast and the input of editor Liao Ching-sung and sound artist Tu Duu-chih – both long-time collaborators with slow-cinema specialist Hou Hsiao-hsien – Shambhala should be in the mix for the main competition awards at this year’s Berlinale.
Delivering perhaps one of most nuanced performances in competition this year, Thinley Llamo plays Pema, someone highly regarded in her community for being able to fulfil traditional expectations regarding a man and a woman. Her all-around personality is very much on show from the film’s get-go, when she agrees to a traditional polyandric marriage with three siblings. She is tenderness personified with her one true love, Tashi the eldest (Sonam Topden); amicable to the second brother Karma (Tenzin Dalha), a monk; and a rugged disciplinarian with Dawa (Karma Wangyal Gurung), a football-playing schoolboy.
Earning his living as a trader, Tashi leaves for the city on horseback soon after his marriage to do business. While he’s away, Pema becomes friendly with the unruly Dawa’s handsome and mild-mannered Nepalese schoolteacher Ram (Karma Shakya), an association which might be as pragmatic as it is unconsciously physical. That will remain a mystery, as it’s key to something that Bham has left as an ellipsis: that is, what exactly happened during a night which began with Pema and Ram talking, drinking and getting woozy.
Soon enough, Pema finds herself pregnant – a piece of good news immediately undermined by the more ominous message of Tashi’s disappearance on his way back home. Pema decides to head into the wild to look for him, thus launching – at 50 minutes, with the flash of the title card – Shambhala proper.
Having vanished very quickly in the narrative, Tashi is actually the odd man out in the marriage and merely a cipher of sorts in the narrative. The real central relationship is actually that of Pema and Karma, who accompanies her on the trip as her nominal husband. It’s hardly a surprise that their relationship will become more than just notional: Bham includes the whole relationship arc, with the pair first falling out over mishaps before slowly discovering their real selves and reconciling their bubbling emotions towards each other.
Of course, Shambhala is not some cheesy kind of romantic melodrama. The evolution of the pair’s relationship unfolds tastefully and chastely, the raciest development being Karma’s decision to abandon his monastic aspirations and become an ordinary man again. Perhaps just as importantly, Bham’s script never paints Pema into the corner and forces her to choose between the brothers: her affection for Karma hardly hinders her yearnings for Tashi, as is evident from her persistence in her journey and also her emotional shock in discovering traces of Tashi’s roller-coaster emotions towards her and his doubts about Pema’s feelings for him.
Indeed, Shambhala is a film about Pema and her discovery of her own circumstances and feelings; it’s worthy to note how she starts out the journey with company and ends it alone in quiet meditation of her own life. Aziz Jan Baki’s camerawork plays a significant role in providing imagery that befits her transitions ad transformations. In the first half, long tracking shots of Pema’s life as a wife highlight her dexterity and resilience in tackling different challenges in life. During that epic march, the static shots – cut together by editors Liao Ching-sung and Kiran Shrestha – highlight another mindset dawning on Pema.
Apart from the denouement, in which Bham decides to spell everything out in a loud family row, one that is at gladly heard but not really seen, Shambhala is an immersive affair all the way through its audacious two-hour-plus running time. The film could very well be the first step of the Nepalese filmmaker’s journey to the promised land – if he’s not there already by the time the award ceremony in Berlin comes along.
Director, producer: Min Bahadur Bham
Screenwriters: Min Bahadur Bham, Abinash Bikram Shah
Cast: Thinley Lhamo, Sonam Topden, Tenzin Dalha, Karma Wangyal Gurung
Executive producers: Debaki Rai, Liu Ching-sung, Roger Huang, Ruben Thorkildsen, Can Aygor, Salina Shakya
Director of photography: Aziz Jan Baki
Editors: Liao Ching-sung, Kiran Shrestha
Production designer: Ramlal Khadka
Music composer: Nhyoo Bajracharya
Production companies: Shooney Films, CDP, APE & Bjørn, Aaru Production, ZK Films, Yi Tiao Long Hu Bao, Bangdel and Shakya Production
World sales: Best Friend Forever
Venue: Berlin International Film Festival (Competition)
In Tibetan, Nepalese
150 minutes
