Reflections on Buddhist cinema

A friend of mine once asked me what my views on the idea of a Buddhist cinema were. Admittedly, the concept of Buddhist cinema is a capacious one. It can cover a broad range of films dealing with the life of the Buddha, monks and monasteries to works that seem to reflect Buddhist values and belief systems. The eminent critic Donald Richie, who has over the decades contributed perhaps more than anyone else to popularizing Japanese films in the West, says that Yasujiro Ozu's films can be interpreted within a Buddhist framework. Ozu is one of the most important Japanese filmmakers. He was, of course, avowedly secular. However, Richie says that in terms camera gaze, camera height, shot length and the interplay between the mundane and the transcendent, Yasujiro Ozu's films can be interpreted in terms of a Buddhist imagination and a Buddhist aesthetic..

Some critics have argued that popular Western films such as 'The Matrix' and 'Groundhog Day; can be usefully glossed in relation to the Buddhist world view. Some others have contended that the very concept of cinema with its focus on illusionism and make-believe displays affinities with Buddhist perceptions of the phenomenal world. A number of film critics have asserted that such famous works of cinematic art as Akira Kurosawa's 'Ikiru' (To Live) and Yasujiro Ozu's 'Tokyo Story' can be read in terms of Buddhist thought and aesthetics.

Here, I am using the term Buddhist cinema in a much more restricted sense to denote films dealing with the lives of monks and nuns living in Buddhist monasteries. Such films have been made by directors in Sri Lanka, India, Thailand, Japan, Korea, Vietnam as well as in the West. Eminent filmmakers such as Martin Scorsese and Bernardo Bertolucci have made Buddhist films.

In my judgment, some of the finest Buddhist films have been produced in Korea against the backdrop of Mahayana Buddhist thinking and cultural practices. In this regard, I wish to focus on three outstanding Korean films - 'Manadala,(1981) 'Why Has Bodhidharma Left for the East?'(1989) and 'Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring' (2003). All three films are visually stunning and their visualities become metaphors of the content of the films.

Im Kwon-taek's 'Mandala' deals with the interconnected lives of two Buddhist monks. Pob-un is the younger of the two and he chances to meet the older Chi-san while on the road. The older monk has been struggling against desire all his life; he is also bent on discovering the true social meaning of Buddhism. The interaction of the two monks foregrounds a set of dualities that are central to the meaning of the film: body/mind, self/other, individual/community, desire/pacification, thought /non thought and so on.

'Mandala' is visually a remarkable film. The director makes use of landscape both spectacularly and symbolically. The road, the mountains and the snow, figure in interesting ways focusing on his deft use of space. Im Kwon-taek deploys Buddhist ritual and architecture to good effect. A defining feature of the film is the static shot which direct our attention to motion within stillness - a characteristic trait associated with Korean Buddhist aesthetics.

The second film that I wish to focus on is Bae Yong-kyun's 'Why has Bodhidharma Left for the East?' The title alludes to a famous koan (puzzle). Bodhidharma is, of course, the legendary Indian who is credited with having played a major role in disseminating Buddhism in East Asia. This film focuses on the life of a young man, Kibong, who wrestles with his decision to go to an old Zen master who lives in a dilapidated hermitage in the mountains, leaving behind his blind mother. This is a slow-moving film with very little dialogue. It is the powerful visuality of the film, born of a painterly concentration, which commands our attention.

The story advances by means of a chain of repeated images of rivers, mountains, forests and closely observed human faces. The strength of the film resides in the way that the spectator is forced into a mood of contemplation through the fascinating visual registers. The third film is Kim Ki-duk's 'Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter …and Spring.' Kim is an internationally acclaimed film director who has a reputation for making violent and misogynistic films.

This film, which is his ninth, departs significantly from his other works. It narrates the story of a Buddhist novice seeking to master his passions and become a respected monk. He does so through sensitively constructed images, enticing displays of light and colour and carefully calibrated passage of time.

All three films generate beauty and awe within a Buddhist framework. Hence, I see them as achieving what I term a Buddhist sublime. Another film - a classic of Japanese cinema - that is pervaded by a Buddhist ethos, although it does not deal overtly with a Buddhist theme is Akira Kurosawa's 'Ikiru". This, in my judgment, is one of the finest films made by Kurosawa's. It displays a depth of human understanding and a controlled cinematic artistry that are truly remarkable. The protagonist of the film is Watanabe Kenji, a minor official in the bureaucracy of the municipally; the film narrates his life an existential predicament.

Watanabe learns, much to his dismay, that he has gastric cancer and that he has only a limited period of time to live, probably six months. Understandably, his initial response to this devastating news is one of shock, fear and trepidation.

That night, he cries in bed, overwhelmed by a sense of indescribable helplessness. His next move is to be embroiled in family matters, hoping for a distraction and comfort through that means. However, this proves to be chimerical. His wife is dead, and the only person close to him is his son. He is married, and clearly distanced from him now and somewhat indifferent to his father.

In a curious kind of way, his encroaching and unavoidable death instigates in him a sense of freedom - a freedom and an opportunity to make the best use of the remainder of his life. Initially, his preference is to immerse himself in carnal pleasure and fulfill his physical desires. He withdraws his savings from the bank and makes his way to the city to have fun. He meets a writer of popular fiction who advises him to enjoy life. He visits bars, strip shows, pinball machines parlors and so on. However, very quickly, Watanabe realizes that carnal pleasure does not bring him the kind of contentment he desires. Overcoming with a sense of disappointment, he resoles to dedicate the rest of his life to the achievement of a goal that is both personally and socially fulfilling.

Watanabe ends up deciding to devote the remainder of his life to building a theme park for children. We now begin to see his metamorphosis from a passive bureaucrat who lived a routine-driven life in his office to a social activist and a humanitarian doggedly pursuing his chosen course of action and preferred goal with unflinching dedication. He battles bureaucracy, galvanizes the workers, survives threats and intimidations, re-energizes himself, and achieves his ambition. Watanabe is an ordinary citizen leading an ordinary life until he is informed of his terminal disease.

Facing this dark threat of impending death, he seeks to capture a sense of agency and invest his life with a depth if meaning and significance. In doing so, he lifts himself up to a higher plane. Although I have encapsulated Watanabe' life in a linear sequence, the film itself follows a much more complex narrative strategy, with flashbacks, multiple viewpoints, interplay between word and image. This film, it seems, can be profitably interpreted in terms of the Japanese concept of 'seishin' (spirituality) which the eminent Japanese anthropologist Harumi Befu sees as a cornerstone of Japanese personhood. Clearly, Kurosawa' 'Ikiru' is not an overtly Buddhist film, however, it can be re-described with in Buddhist framework to yield a richer harvest of meaning.

Similarly we can interpret films, which do not have an obvious Buddhist message in terms of Buddhist symbolism. Let us consider the international award-winning film, 'The woman in the dunes' by Teshigahara. It is based on the celebrated novel by Abe Kobo. The film narrates the predicament of a man held captive with a young woman at the bottom of a dangerous sand pit in a remote seaside village, and his desperate attempt to make sense of the strange world into which he has been plunged, much against his will. His attempt to master the situation, acquire a sense of agency, is at the heart of the filmic experience. The two dominant tropes that organize the sequence of events are sand and water. How they make their presence in the film urges us to gloss them as two Buddhist symbols. Such a perspective opens up a more interesting passageway of meaning.

There are, then, different types of Buddhist films. Some deal with clear-cut Buddhist stories, characters and constellations of values. Others are less direct and overt, but can be read in ways that bring them closer to a Buddhist understanding. For example the Sinhala film 'Viragaya (The Way of the Lotus) can not be described as self-avowedly Buddhist film. However the meaning of Aravinda's life and predicament can be fruitfully interpreted in terms of a Buddhist ethos. Indeed, that is how the author of novel, on which the film is based, Martin Wickkremasinghe, wanted readers to interpret his work. As I ponder the various Buddhist films, broadly defined, that have been made in many parts of the world, a fact that strikes me with particular force is that religion and secularism are not polar opposites, as many would have us believe. Indeed, part of the strength of some of these films resides in the complex understanding displayed in them regarding the multi-faceted intersections of religion and secularism and how, very often, one is constituted by the other.