Martin Scorsese recounts the official version of the Dalai Lama's biography from his birth until the onset of his exile in India in 1959. In stunning images. That's it. And that's not enough. None of Marty's extraordinary narrative style is apparent here (although the movie is a showcase for cameraman Roger Deakins, who has since become the cinematographer of choice for the Coen brothers). Since the Dalai Lama is a real, and really ambivalent, political as well as religious figure, offering up a glossy 2-hours commercial on him simply isn't enough. The most egregious example of the movie's intentional superficiality is when the deposed Tibetan regent Reting Rinpoche perishes in the dungeons of the Potala palace and the Dalai Lama reacts to this by ... erm, performing a noble blessing gesture and then doing feck all. Was he in on it himself, or at least aware that there was a conspiracy, which he chose to ignore? But for what reasons? This movie won't tell you. It just wallows on in beautiful images.
