~Some spoilers~
It stands as a sweet, poignant story of a simple life of hardship, strife, and the necessity of growing up and enduring. Against a backdrop of superstition vs. pragmatism, a village elder's [Tinle's] hatred and need for revenge stem from the death of his first son -- a death he blames on the son [Karma] of another family whose ancestors had bad blood with him and his own. In his stubbornness, he consults the star charts for guidance on when depart on a caravan through the mountains to trade their livelihood (salt), rather than following the urging of Karma, who departs with most of the young men of the village 4 days before him in an effort to avoid late season storms. Tinle asks his second son -- a lama who knows only how to paint and pray -- to help the rest of them voyage over the mountain pass to trade for their livelihood. Initially refusing, the priest later reconsiders, remembering something he was once taught: "when presented with two paths, always choose the harder one". This speaks to me of the value of life as a journey rather than a destination: the value of striving and failure (even it does seem ludicrously impractical as *general* advice).
Though some of the members of the second caravan are too old or too young to make the journey, stubbornness and need drive Tinle onward, even through a treacherous shortcut through a winding trail high above a mountain lake, as well as stormy snowdrifts in a high mountain pass. Tinle's grandson [Passang?], orphaned now and destined to be the chief in the future, learns much from his mother and Tinle before and during the journey. He takes comfort in the knowledge of the afterlife, that lives are ended and reborn in an eternal cycle.
This story, while to me not a tragedy, has a similar fiery cleansing effect because it presents life with such purity and urgency -- that of an ancient legacy. There is need and striving, pain and endurance, and compassion. Most of all, there is reconciliation and epiphany: Tinle breaks his circle of hatred and manages to forgive before he dies, finally coming to terms with his grief and putting the good of the tribe ahead of need to blame someone for his son's death. He is healed. Karma, having never really returned Tinle's spite, learns that there may be more to the superstitious old ways than meets the eye: sometimes there are hidden merits to tradition, even though they seem pointless on the surface.
The most memorable moments are at the end of the film. When Tinle collapses, his life spent, Karma says, "I've sometimes dreamt that you were my father." It's touching that his shield of love never let him be deeply wounded by Tinle's long-standing grudge and unrelenting hatred. And Tinle reconciles, showing that his eyes are open, at last, with true insight: "You're too much like me to be my son. A real chief always starts by disobeying." This speaks to me of the need for a strong will, but more: the need to learn through failure.
Karma says, "We're almost there. We can't part now that we've just met". Indeed, they truly have just met, in a heartfelt, significant way. Finally, Tinle says, "We've always been together. We wanted the same thing": such simple words, but so appropriate and regal.
When Tinle dies, his very young grandson Passang seems to accept it, saying, "Let him go. He's going to find my father in Padmasambhava's paradise." Is this not a powerful testimony to our urgent need to believe in an afterlife? -- if not just to comfort ourselves, but also our children when they confront the reality of death for the first time -- knowing that lives don't just end pointlessly, the valued soul lost forever to oblivion. But rather that the spirit lives on and is treasured by the world, or by someone who cares.
The film's epilogue is symbolic of the main story: The embracing wings of the birds and the sheltering boughs of the trees, which are finally seen for the first time at the end of the journey, symbolize paradise and redemption. And we, the pinnacle of evolution, are left to try to make sense of it all -- to serve the rest of the living world -- perhaps to only rationalize our existence, such as through prayer and painting -- and to mimic and harvest from the land of our birth.
It's a soul-wrenching, beautiful agony to experience this film, with its touching and appropriate music, and its painted fresco at the end that celebrates the tapestry of lives spent in strife, loyalty, and perseverance. It's the story of the most formative journey in a leader's childhood, immortalized and revered.
It stands as a sweet, poignant story of a simple life of hardship, strife, and the necessity of growing up and enduring. Against a backdrop of superstition vs. pragmatism, a village elder's [Tinle's] hatred and need for revenge stem from the death of his first son -- a death he blames on the son [Karma] of another family whose ancestors had bad blood with him and his own. In his stubbornness, he consults the star charts for guidance on when depart on a caravan through the mountains to trade their livelihood (salt), rather than following the urging of Karma, who departs with most of the young men of the village 4 days before him in an effort to avoid late season storms. Tinle asks his second son -- a lama who knows only how to paint and pray -- to help the rest of them voyage over the mountain pass to trade for their livelihood. Initially refusing, the priest later reconsiders, remembering something he was once taught: "when presented with two paths, always choose the harder one". This speaks to me of the value of life as a journey rather than a destination: the value of striving and failure (even it does seem ludicrously impractical as *general* advice).
Though some of the members of the second caravan are too old or too young to make the journey, stubbornness and need drive Tinle onward, even through a treacherous shortcut through a winding trail high above a mountain lake, as well as stormy snowdrifts in a high mountain pass. Tinle's grandson [Passang?], orphaned now and destined to be the chief in the future, learns much from his mother and Tinle before and during the journey. He takes comfort in the knowledge of the afterlife, that lives are ended and reborn in an eternal cycle.
This story, while to me not a tragedy, has a similar fiery cleansing effect because it presents life with such purity and urgency -- that of an ancient legacy. There is need and striving, pain and endurance, and compassion. Most of all, there is reconciliation and epiphany: Tinle breaks his circle of hatred and manages to forgive before he dies, finally coming to terms with his grief and putting the good of the tribe ahead of need to blame someone for his son's death. He is healed. Karma, having never really returned Tinle's spite, learns that there may be more to the superstitious old ways than meets the eye: sometimes there are hidden merits to tradition, even though they seem pointless on the surface.
The most memorable moments are at the end of the film. When Tinle collapses, his life spent, Karma says, "I've sometimes dreamt that you were my father." It's touching that his shield of love never let him be deeply wounded by Tinle's long-standing grudge and unrelenting hatred. And Tinle reconciles, showing that his eyes are open, at last, with true insight: "You're too much like me to be my son. A real chief always starts by disobeying." This speaks to me of the need for a strong will, but more: the need to learn through failure.
Karma says, "We're almost there. We can't part now that we've just met". Indeed, they truly have just met, in a heartfelt, significant way. Finally, Tinle says, "We've always been together. We wanted the same thing": such simple words, but so appropriate and regal.
When Tinle dies, his very young grandson Passang seems to accept it, saying, "Let him go. He's going to find my father in Padmasambhava's paradise." Is this not a powerful testimony to our urgent need to believe in an afterlife? -- if not just to comfort ourselves, but also our children when they confront the reality of death for the first time -- knowing that lives don't just end pointlessly, the valued soul lost forever to oblivion. But rather that the spirit lives on and is treasured by the world, or by someone who cares.
The film's epilogue is symbolic of the main story: The embracing wings of the birds and the sheltering boughs of the trees, which are finally seen for the first time at the end of the journey, symbolize paradise and redemption. And we, the pinnacle of evolution, are left to try to make sense of it all -- to serve the rest of the living world -- perhaps to only rationalize our existence, such as through prayer and painting -- and to mimic and harvest from the land of our birth.
It's a soul-wrenching, beautiful agony to experience this film, with its touching and appropriate music, and its painted fresco at the end that celebrates the tapestry of lives spent in strife, loyalty, and perseverance. It's the story of the most formative journey in a leader's childhood, immortalized and revered.