The opening scene, the only moment with extradiegetic music, establishes a spectral strangeness that shrouds the film. It’s a photographic gaze. Can you talk about it? And the construction of this picture with the three main characters as an opening?
The opening scene of the film was the first thing we filmed on the first day of production. I believe it played a crucial role in setting the tone and ambiance for the rest of the film. My vision for the opening was to create an image with a certain detachment from reality. It was essential for me to frame the family together in a portrait-like gaze. When the bodies are framed in this manner, the camera moves through space as if time has stopped, allowing us to re-enter a memory of a family and a memory of a house. This moment is revisited throughout the film, and I imagined it as a moment the family might return to as well.
Regarding the sound you mentioned, I included a piece of audio in the final hour taken from my mother’s personal phone messages exchanged with her sister in Tibet. Although the sound quality of the recording was quite lo-fi, we managed to enhance it to evoke the feeling of a Tibetan folk song echoing across the mountainsides or grasslands of Tibet.
The film moves forward patiently, mainly through still shots. What did they allow you to do? Was this visual writing present from the start? Can you tell us about fixity as a motif in the film?
The approach I took was very much informed by the quality of film I was searching for. What I can say is that I was very interested in seeing bodies in the frame, and I was very interested in the gaze of the camera, specifically how it felt, or the empathy of the camera. For me this feeling of the gaze is something that I felt my way through the shoot intuitively based on the moment and the effect of the frame. What I can say is that I was after a very nuanced gaze but always a gaze that loved the family but would not intervene in the cruelty of the world.
Next Life is your first feature film. Can you tell us about the genesis of the project and the different stages of the work? Why did you choose the existential sequence of death (not the mourning) as the narrative driving force?
Next Life aims to express abstract qualities and feelings. In this film, we encounter people who embrace a belief in reincarnation within a suburban landscape, which might initially seem devoid of spirit. I find this contradiction fascinating. The belief in the next life, or reincarnation, is central to the Tibetan worldview, expressed in the term ཚེ་ཕྱི་མ “Tse Chema” (phonetic transliteration). It’s a word commonly used in everyday conversations, and the way it’s used in language inspired me.
The film plays on the encounter between two cultures, Tibetan and U.S., which structure a relationship to the body, illness and death and its representation. This encounter is not conflictual, but part of the natural order of things. In what way did your own relationship to these cultures influence your approach? How did you go about staging the film?
Continuing from my previous response, the balance you’re referring to, I would describe it as a stream of water flowing. This stream embodies a kind of “tender faith” that is undeniable. I’ve seen it reflected in my parents’ eyes and felt it reflected in the stories of my grandparents. As I grew older, I stopped questioning it and instead grew to appreciate its actuality. When people have the courage to hold onto hope, despite experiencing deep suffering, it’s one of the most beautiful qualities we possess as human beings. And I tried to render this quality in the film. Ultimately, it circles back to a very universal question: What is happiness?
In a very concrete and surprising way, you integrate technology as elements that can accompany the spiritual and painful journey that is the loss of a loved one. Could you elaborate on this? Why was this element important?
The technological element in the film emerged organically as I observed the progress and development of virtual reality technology. At some point, I realized that this technology might become so advanced that we could enter a representation of Tibet that feels convincingly real. This led me to ponder how such an experience might affect those who miss their homeland but cannot return to Tibet due to political restrictions. It became an opportunity to express this longing in a contemporary way, allowing the son—born in exile and never having seen Tibet with his own eyes—to connect with his father and explore his own unrealized questions.
A stripped-down style without emphasis prevails in the film. However, you chose to stage the very moment of death, filmed in close-up. Why did you make this choice? What were the challenges?
To me, the film is not about death per se, but rather about how we live. For a Tibetan, preparing for the next life informs how one should live. This perspective, along with moments involving Tibetan medicine and illness, offers windows into something beyond the physical realm. I believe these moments evoke such an effect. In our modern world, there seem to be fewer opportunities and places to connect with the beauty of our human existence, which to me is something ephemeral. In these instances, we oscillate between the sacred and the profane. Through cinema, I aimed to craft moments that connect us to something more elusive. A very popular text is the Tibetan Book of the Dead which has been adapted into many contemporary works from literature to film. To me the text serves as a meaningful reminder to live and how we should live.
Interview by Claire Lasolle
