Shambhala: Filming on the Roof of the World

Six years after his participation in Locarno’s Open Doors Hub, in 2018, Min Bahadur Bham is back on the Ticino Riviera to present his latest feature, at the Piazza Grande. The sumptuous Shambhala is set in a village perched high in the Himalayas where polyandry – wherein a woman takes multiple husbands – is the norm. When Tashi (Tenzin Dalha), husband to Pema (Thinley Lhamo), disappears on a trip to Lhasa, Pema sets out to find him. Though she is not alone – she’s accompanied by the monk Karma (Sonam Topden), Tashi’s brother and another of Pema’s husbands, her journey becomes one of self-discovery.

In what became a two-hour conversation, Bham delved into how making a film can be a process of intense introspection, detailed the treacherous shooting conditions at 6,000 meters, expounded on why polyandry can be a practical necessity rather than a choice, and even shared a beginners’ guide to knitting a jumper.

Laurine Chiarini: You hold a Master’s degree in Buddhist Philosophy and Political Science, and are currently pursuing a PhD in Anthropology. What brought you to making movies?

Min Bahadur Bham: Studying these different disciplines all came out of curiosity. But there’s also a correlation with filming. The story of The Black Hen [Kalo Pothi, his first feature film, released in 2015] was related to politics, which led me to study political science. Post-production was finished while I was writing Shambhala. As for my PhD, anthropology was on my bucket list: it was a subject I always wanted to study. I wanted stories that would give me something to write about in my own country, have a better understanding of sociocultural aspects and cultural meanings. It really helped me a lot, especially when it came to making films. Timewise, of course, it is quite difficult to manage, but so far, so good – I’ve been lucky until now.

LC: How does your background as a scholar inform your work as a director? And vice versa – does your artistic career nourish your academic one in any way?

MBB: The artistic side does help with my academic career. Most of the professors at my university have seen my previous film The Black Hen, so they would excuse me if I didn’t attend class every day. And as a screenwriter, my studies have definitely been beneficial, too. I look at a lot of visuals in the writing process, read numerous books, and do translation, all of which contribute to both of my careers. I also have to do a lot of research when writing scripts, which is much like the process of putting together an academic paper. Conducting my own research for Shambhala and knowing the local language made my PhD journey much easier compared to my classmates. I was familiar with the landscape and the community, and I already knew the people and the terrain well.

LC: Your debut feature, The Black Hen was Nepal’s official entry for the Oscars; Shambhala is the first Nepalese film to be selected for the Berlinale Competition. Do you feel like a pioneer?

MBB: I feel like it’s a big responsibility, and it was so from the very beginning of my career. The Black Hen was also the first Nepalese film to be screened at the Venice Film Festival. From then on, I felt like I had to do more. I also started producing more than directing, even though I wanted to be a writer, not a producer. I started producing my friends’ films because I wanted to support and guide them. But I couldn’t go far on my own and needed help – wanting to improve the industry requires a group effort. So, while it is a big responsibility, all these experiences give me confidence, motivation, and encouragement for the future.

LC: What was the driving force behind Shambhala?

MBB: The very first idea came to my mind when I was about 12 or 13. At the time, I was at school. That’s also when I started studying meditation with my father. I was always imagining my previous life, something that was coming from my dreams, my imagination. Maybe I was a monk in a past life: I would visualize the monastery where I used to live, my friends, the landscape… it was almost scary, the way it wouldn’t go out of my mind. From that time, I always dreamed I would visit this place one day. I never had the opportunity, though, because it was far away from my village. Then I came to the city, trying to be a writer and a filmmaker. While filming The Black Hen, I was also writing a story about Shambhala [a spiritual kingdom in Tibetan Buddhist Tradition], though I had no intention of turning it into a film initially. After The Black Hen was released, I had a bit of money from it. It was the time to go there, to the Upper Dolpo region. Hundreds of questions were racing through my mind as I wanted to confirm whether my dreams were true or not. What I found there was exactly the same monastery, the same landscape that I had visualized! It was amazing and made me so happy, but also a bit afraid, because such feelings are not easy to handle. I immediately started writing the script for Shambhala, thinking this would be my next film – it had haunted me for so long. If I couldn’t make a film, it could still be part of my academic research and be useful anyway. Every time I visited the village, I would feel more connected emotionally with my past life, with the people there.

LC: Seeing a polyandrous village might seem exotic to a Western audience. In societies with scarce environmental resources, however, polyandry becomes more of a practical necessity than a mere choice, no? It can limit human population growth, help to decrease mortality rates, prevent the division of family assets, and ensure continuous support with at least one husband always present on the land.

MBB: I don’t have much experience with Western audiences nor particular expectations around them, as I hardly met the viewers in Berlin [where Shambhala premiered]. It might seem exotic to them, but it is similar for Nepalese from Kathmandu, too. I didn’t want to romanticize this tradition; I simply wanted to build upon this unique culture that is still alive in the 21st century. These people have many valid reasons for maintaining such practices, primarily to avoid dividing property, which has numerous practical benefits. They never aim for a large population, because in the mountains, farming and agriculture are the only ways to sustain life, and the land for growing food is very limited. They also lack sufficient space to build additional houses, which at the same time helps preserve the natural environment. Life in the mountains is very hard, and families couldn’t survive without men, making it unimaginable for women to be widows, although there are also religious reasons behind this tradition too. From their perspective, it makes complete sense to follow this unique custom. Nowadays, people have many choices: they can become porter guides, move to the city, or even emigrate. From a gender equality perspective, it might be uncomfortable, but as an author, I try to stay neutral. I wanted to use this custom as the setting for my story, not the main focus of the film. My goal was to be anthropologically accurate, especially given my academic background, rather than politically correct.

LC: The film was shot in the Himalayas between Nepal and Tibet, at altitudes between 4,000 and 6,200 meters – in one of the highest human settlements on the planet. How was it to film in such harsh conditions?

MBB: We had several incidents. The first village where we stayed for three months during preproduction is actually the highest settlement on the planet, though a newer one exists now in Peru. Day-to-day life was manageable for me and most of my crew, who had experience through my previous films or were familiar with such environments. For those from Kathmandu, it was a different story: it was a one-hour flight from the capital, followed by two days and nights in a Jeep, and then four days of walking. There was no internet and only a bad phone connection – we needed to use satellite phones. The weather was pretty bad too. Altitude sickness was a major issue for the international crew, who mostly live at sea level. Every day, someone needed oxygen, and there were many helicopter rescues. Everyone felt dizzy and sick. We slept 20 people in a 5-square-meter room to stay warm. It was very hard, but many good friendships were born. We were morally aligned, isolated without our families, which brought us closer. Going to the mountains with other people increases the chances of forming strong bonds. In the mountains, it’s survival of the fittest. You don’t think about the future, your career, or your family. People become more friendly and generous. That kind of energy is healing. You feel insignificant and grounded, almost like your own doctor. That’s why we survived. Going through this process, many of the crew experienced an epiphany. Some quit alcohol, started self-reflecting, and stopped chasing after money. For me and those closest to me, it was a profound life lesson.

LC: The actors are mostly non-professionals from the region. Older members of native groups in rural communities often refuse to have their picture taken, for fear that their “soul will be stolen”. How was the casting process, and how do they feel about seeing themselves on film?

MBB: Many people I wanted to work with were very shy and didn’t want to communicate in Nepalese, so I tried to learn some Tibetan. The older ones couldn’t communicate in Nepalese at all. During the casting process, an elder mentioned that filming was against the meditative movement – although not directly against Buddhism. They felt it was distracting and greedy to seek popularity and fame. It’s better to be grounded, hidden in a cave. That’s why people used to meditate in houses or caves, away from the outside world and communication. The casting took five or six years to finalize. Most actors were from the region and acting for the first time, while many of the actresses were also singers. The main actress, Thinley Lhamo, is actually an opera singer. The actor who plays Rinpoche, Loten Namling, also a singer, actually lives in Zurich – he travelled to Nepal for the film. Casting the female lead was particularly challenging. One option was a woman from China, but passport issues and then COVID-19 prevented her from travelling. I travelled to several countries to visit Tibetan communities abroad. But the problem is that younger generations living in the West struggle to maintain the Tibetan language. I wanted the actors to speak the local dialect, so non-locals had to learn the different pronunciations. To play Pema, Thinley, who grew up in Kathmandu, had to learn both the local dialect and how to knit simultaneously, so we teamed her up with a crew member who knew how to knit. In our community, men used to knit their own clothes, and I had learned a bit from my father. We taught her to knit a sweater, which took two or three months.

LC: In the film, doors and windows are frequently used as framing elements. The camera is mostly at eye level. For the outdoors scenes, the sumptuous snow-covered landscapes seem to stretch endlessly. How did you manage to fit them on the screen?

MBB: As the film is not a love story, my primary effort was to deconstruct beauty. I didn’t want to romanticize the mountains. For locals, living there is tough and dangerous, while outsiders just see them as beautiful. My goal was to make the mountains a main character in the story, avoiding a documentary or National Geographic approach. For scenes shot in the village, from the beginning, the idea was to use tiny frames or windows because most mountain houses have very small windows for fresh air and views. Due to the cold, these houses often have only one window or none at all. People use them as a lens to the outside world and to observe others. We used these small openings as a link to transition between reality and the sepia-toned dream sequences. As surprising as it might sound, we incorporated many drone shots. We flew them strictly at eye level, making them unnoticeable. We wanted to make the viewers feel like they’re witnessing the story firsthand, using frontal, eye-level camera angles. As a filmmaker, I also wanted to balance technical aspects with local traditions, placing the audience in the middle of the experience.

LC: Can we talk about the jumper Pema can be seen knitting for Tashi throughout the movie? Also, the local characters mostly wear handcrafted clothing, while Ram Sir [Karma Shakya], the teacher from Kathmandu who tutors Tashi’s teenage brother Dawa, wears manufactured clothes. How did you choose and source the costumes?

MBB: We didn’t have a costume designer on set. With a cast and crew of 22 people, everyone had to multitask, and I handled the costumes myself. To highlight the contrast between the villagers and Ram Sir, who is an outsider, I asked the actor to bring his own clothes. He comes from a wealthy family, and his outfits reflected his background. I opted for used clothes to fit his character, who has been living in the mountains for a few years. He sent me a lot of clothes, plain and not, which we selected with the production designer. For a fire-lit scene, the original costume didn’t work, so the green jacket Ram Sir is wearing is actually my cinematographer’s!

LC: The idea of mutual support and cooperation makes it easy to idealize life in smaller communities. However, it’s Pema’s own community members who spread the rumor about her, which is part of what sets her off on her perilous journey. Even on the other side of the world, human behavior doesn’t change.

MBB: Exactly. It can feel so good to be in small communities like the remote ones in the mountains. People help each other, but at the same time, it can be toxic – everybody knows each other’s dirty secrets. In the city, no one asks how you are or takes care of you. Everyone is busy, and everything is crowded, but your life remains private. There are good and bad things to both sides.

LC: There’s also the crucial question of education. Pema’s brother misses her wedding due to his studies, and Dawa [Karma Wangyal Gurung], the youngest of the three husband-brothers, is laughed at for wanting to be a pilot instead of a farmer. The scandal involving Dawa’s private tutor highlights the challenges of getting an education in these conditions. Does this reflect the current situation in mountain villages?

MBB: It is a true reflection of my childhood. I wanted to be a filmmaker from age six, but my second dream was to be a pilot, like Dawa. The idea fascinated me as a child because of the helicopters that came when the king was visiting. All the mountain children admired the pilots. I wanted to know what was beyond the peaks, dreamed of crossing them and exploring the world, but I felt trapped. I was like Dawa, then Tashi – I even ran away from home. Now, at this point in my life, I see myself in Pema, trying to find myself and be more compassionate. But getting a good education in the mountains is still challenging. While most kids go to school, the lack of good English teachers is a big problem. Many of my classmates dropped out of school because they couldn’t pass English. Learning the language is daunting for mountain students. Parents often pool resources to hire an English teacher from the city, but things are improving now.

My father was a government official who wore many hats: for one, he ran a movie theater. He brought me there when I was five or six. He was also a photographer and took me along when he had to move for work. I was bullied because I changed schools every six months. As a result, my friends all come from my village, not school. When I was shooting The Black Hen, I asked my nephew to be a production assistant. He later went to Berlin and won an award in 2018 with his own short film [Songs of Love and Hate], despite having no previous experience. A set runner from my village who worked with me is now the most prominent production designer in the country; many of my relatives have become directors, cinematographers, production designers… My whole village has turned to film! Many young people aspire to make films. When they have good ideas, I feel compelled to guide and produce their films.

LC: Pema’s adventure is also an inner quest and an initiatory journey. It’s a path towards simplicity, which may be the most challenging thing to achieve. Once she’s alone, she realizes she already has all the resources she needs within herself. Could this perspective help us slow down our hectic lives?

MBB: I can speak from my own experience. In daily life, even during meditation and retreats, when we are surrounded by people we often look outward. We need to close our doors and windows to look inward and recognize our inner qualities. I believe every human being has good and bad sides. Anyone can find compassion and meditate, but we rarely look inside ourselves. The only way to do this is to be alone. It can be anywhere in nature, not necessarily in the mountains. Your doors to an inner journey will automatically open. You’ll start to see your inner strengths: how far you can go, how wise you can be. For Pema, it’s not just about discovering her own sensibility. My main motivation for having a female protagonist was to explore my own feminine energy. Journalists have often asked if it was hard to make this film as a male director, but it was my choice. For example, if a woman acts boldly, people might call her a tomboy, but that strength was always within her. Men can be kind and compassionate, which are qualities of the feminine energy. I also wanted to discover myself as a human being, like a scientist running tests in a lab. It was fascinating. I want to have my own internal experience, beyond making a film.

LC: How is the promotion of your film going, and what academic and cinematic adventures are you planning to pursue next?

MBB: I’ve already enjoyed the process and done the work; what happens next is out of my hands. When I was in Berlin for the Berlinale, I chose not to attend parties or meetings. Even though I got requests to meet producers and investors, I went the opposite direction. Instead, I meditate, trek, and read books for days on end. In that sense, I am lucky not to feel too much pressure regarding failure or success. Not everything needs a result; sometimes, it’s better to have fewer expectations. I am already happy and found what I was looking for in this film: my internal growth.