Bhutan's New Wave

Like a delicate mandala emerging from meditative silence, a new wave of spiritual cinema has been gently transforming Bhutan’s cinematic horizon.

It is a renaissance that represents more than just an artistic movement, it is a dialogue between cultural memory and contemporary expression.

The filmmaking style feels closer to what Paul Schrader in his book Transcendental Style in Film. Unlike psychological realism that characterises much of contemporary cinema, this transcendental approach expresses spiritual states through austere camerawork, performances stripped of self-consciousness, and editing that resists narrative manipulation. 

Like the Buddhist practice of meditation, these films ask viewers to witness life's complexities with gentle awareness, to see beyond surface narratives and touch the underlying currents of human experience.

At the centre of this movement stands Khyentse Norbu — a figure with delicate crossing of spiritual wisdom and art. Norbu is not just a director but a Buddhist lama who is said to be the incarnation of the 19th-century saint, Jamyang Khyentse Wangpo. 

His debut feature, The Cup (1999), is about young monks in a Himalayan monastery who are passionate about soccer, showing that spirituality can harmoniously coexist with worldly interests. This film marked a pivotal moment in Bhutan’s cinema, emerging from Norbu's experience assisting Bernardo Bertolucci during the filming of Little Buddha.

In his latest film, Pig at the Crossing, Norbu works with the Buddhist concept of Bardo, the liminal space between death and rebirth, where consciousness navigates the terrain between dissolution and transformation. 

The film's protagonist, Dolom, becomes a metaphorical pig at a metaphysical crossroad, his journey representing deep-seated attachments and the potential for spiritual liberation. Buddhism views this transition as a unique opportunity for consciousness to release its entanglements of guilt, shame, ignorance, and glimpse a more expansive understanding of reality. 

The movie treats death not as an end, but as a chance for understanding. It shows life as a kind of dream where people can find freedom through their struggles. When the film suddenly cuts to black, it leaves Dolom's fate unclear. This ending invites viewers to think about their own experiences, much like life’s open-endedness.

Pig at the Crossing carries deep spiritual insights, but falls short technically compared to Norbu's previous works like Travellers and Magicians and Hema Hema. The film feels less polished, with editing that sometimes loses its rhythm and visuals that do not quite match the profound ideas it tries to explain. 

Yet, this very imperfection might be intentional — a reflection of the film's central theme about life’s inherent unpredictability. 

Along with his mentor Khyentse Norbu, Pawo Choyning Dorji emerged as a compelling new voice in Bhutan’s film industry. He was an assistant director to  Norbu in his film Vara: A Blessing, and later produced Hema Hema: Sing Me a Song While I Wait. 

Dorji’s first film as director, Lunana: A Yak in the Classroom, brought international attention to Bhutan’s cinema. His latest film, The Monk and the Gun, continues to showcase his directorial talent. Set in 2006 during the kingdom's transition to democracy, the film presents the tableau of a society navigating the delicate balance between traditional values and modern political processes. 

Through a narrative that follows a rural monk, an election official, and various villagers, Dorji crafts a subtle critique of democratic implementation that goes far beyond the political process. The film introduces Ronald Coleman, a not-so-subtle homage to the actor Ronald Colman from Lost Horizon, who serves as a stand-in for America. 

The film's true brilliance lies in its ability to reveal cultural complexities through seemingly mundane interactions. Dorji uses Bhutan’s mock elections as a test to examine how external political influence can disrupt communal harmony, highlighting the tension between imposed democratic ideals and indigenous social structures. 

The motifs of guns, television, and international media serve as metaphors for cultural penetration, suggesting that true progress is not about external prompts, but about maintaining fundamental human connections and collective happiness. The film offers a subtle message, especially in the context of what is happening in  America.

The Monk and the Gun offers a watchable but tepid satire that lacks real bite. Dorji's approach feels overly cautious, rendering what could have been a sharp cultural critique into a forgettable narrative. The result is a film that is neither bad nor particularly memorable.

Bhutan's film industry has long been influenced by Indian cinema, with many early films closely following Bollywood trends. But there has been a significant change in the past two decades, filmmakers started to develop their own unique approach.

The future of Bhutan’s cinema is bright, as if the filmmakers have found their original voice. Perhaps this movement can be called ‘Cinéma du Dharma’, a term one could easily imagine being on the pages of Cahiers du Cinéma. 

Beyond Norbu and Dorji, there are other talented directors in Bhutan’s new wave:  Dechen Roder, Tashi Gyeltshen, Karma Takapa, and Ugyen Wangdi. Then there is Arun Bhattarai, whose feature-length documentary Agent of Happiness follows a surveyor who measures happiness, and in the process gently ribs Gross National Happiness.

Read also: Min Bahadur Bham’s cinematic quest, Abishek Budhathoki

Like the transformative cinema movements that have emerged across the globe, Bhutan’s filmmakers are redefining storytelling that is uniquely rooted in their cultural context. Their approach transcends geographical representation, offering a meditation that melds spiritual insight with artistic dialogue. 

Through films that resist traditional narrative constraints and Western cinematographic conventions, they are crafting a distinctive new language of cinema.