“State of Statelessness” is an omnibus that tells the stories of Tibetans in Vietnam, India, and the United States in the Tibetan language. It features four works by Tibetan diaspora artists who live in exile in the aforementioned countries. Each story delves into the profound themes of statelessness and migration, capturing the poignant realities of Tibetans scattered across the globe. The movie had its world premiere at Busan.
The Girl Who Lived in the Loo is screening at Beskop Tshechu Film Festival
The first segment, “Where the River Ends,” focuses on the story of a girl, Pema, and her father, Tenzin, who are living in Vietnam. Tenzin longs for his country and frequently tells his daughter how the Mekong River, which starts in his homeland, flows into the sea in their new country. The girl listens with fascination as the narrative also highlights the natural beauty of the area, in a way that leans toward a road movie. Misconceptions about Tibetans emerge during an interaction with a local, but the most powerful moment comes when Pema begins to question the logic of her father’s claims.
This segment is quite beautiful, with impressive camerawork, particularly in the shots of the river. The themes of longing and displacement are strongly conveyed, while the director, Tsering Tashi Gyalthang, also includes a coming-of-age element that adds emotional depth. The acting, however, could have been stronger, with Tenzin’s character in particular lacking in conviction.
The second part of the omnibus, titled “Bardo: In-Between,” opens with a funeral procession in Tibet, where the matriarch of a family is to be cremated. Her husband, Nyima, an elderly man, takes advice from an astrologer whose guidance is as illogical as it is frustrating. In particular, the demand that the younger sister, Yangchen, not attend the cremation causes tension, although it soon becomes clear this is not the only reason for her resistance. When her sister, Bhuti, returns from France, the true cause of her distress is revealed, further escalating the conflict.
Sonam Tseten directs a story that critiques harmful traditions in Tibetan society, portraying them in as bleak a light as immigration to foreign countries. The commentary on those “left behind” is impactful, and the social drama is skillfully developed. The ending leans into sentimentalism, but for the most part, the director maintains a measured tone, reflected in both the cinematography and the acting. The candle scene, in particular, is a highlight of the whole anthology.
The third segment, “Little Cloud,” revolves around Sonam, who receives a visit in Dharamshala from his friend Jigdal, now living in the United States. Sonam’s wife, Kesang, is not pleased about the visit, and his effort to impress Jigdal, including buying imported whiskey, does not help. Things take a turn when Jigdal turns out to be a creep, which disappoints Sonam but secretly pleases Kesang, who feels vindicated.
Tenzing Sonam and Ritu Sarin direct a sharply observed piece that critiques the pedestal locals often place returnees on simply because they’ve emigrated. Jigdal is portrayed in an unflattering light, and the unraveling of this false perception is satisfying to watch. The performances are grounded and realistic, with the actors maintaining a natural, restrained tone.
The final segment, “At the End the Rain Stops,” follows Tenzin, a young man who returns to his late father’s home in Dharamshala. He is welcomed and supported by Acha, a friend of his mother’s, and her son Norbu. Tenzin begins to uncover details about his father’s life and a possible secret that leaves him torn about confronting his mother about it. The narrative also serves as a kind of tour of the region, highlighting local customs and especially dance traditions.
This might be a misreading, but the relationship between the two young men initially suggests a homosexual subtext, which Tenzin Tsetan Choklay ultimately avoids exploring, clearly dispelling such an interpretation by the end. The story presents a nuanced view of the concept of the “lost home,” counterbalancing the previous segment’s commentary on emigration from the United States. The twist could have been more impactful, but considering the short’s duration, the director’s chosen resolution functions adequately.
As is often the case with anthologies, the quality of the segments varies, with the second and third parts standing out. Taken as a whole, and as a reflection of the current state of Tibetan cinema, including its diaspora voices, “State of Statelessness” is well worth watching. Even more so because it would be interesting to see where its path leads it after the passing of its greatest figure, Pema Tseden.
