Published by: World Tibet Network News Monday - October - 6, 1997

Time Magazine

October 13, 1997

In Seven Years in Tibet, western filmmakers turn east (and south to Argentina) to tell a story of personal enlightenment

By RICHARD CORLISS

A young Austrian, his country's most revered athlete, climbs mountains to escape from himself. Leaving his wife, he treks to a remote kingdom to find a new truth. An ideal Aryan who befriends a boy of the yellow race, he dumps Hitler for the Dalai Lama. A man bred on competition, he becomes a missionary for peace and enlightenment. Sounds as though there's a movie in Heinrich Harrer's life.

A middle-aged Frenchman, his country's most successful director, has not made a "French" movie in 20 years. Instead, he roams the world, immersing himself in far-off cultures and eras, testing his curiosity, artistry, endurance. The films that emerge from his researches are quests (Quest for fire, The Bear, The Name of the Rose); their creation is always an adventure and often dangerous. "The rougher the situation," says Brad Pitt, who stars in the director's latest epic, "the happier he is. The wind's blowing at 90 m.p.h., there's dust in your eyes, bombs going off, and he's shouting in this wild French accent, 'We must shoot. We must shoot now!' He's like Robert Duvall in Apocalypse Now." Sounds as though Jean-Jacques Annaud is just the fellow to film Harrer's life.

Annaud's version of the Harrer memoir, Seven Years in Tibet, is true to the compulsions and contradictions in each man. It has exciting, boy's-life-perils footage of men risking their necks (and breaking a leg) for the suicidal glory of getting to the top of something they can only come down from--the high before the depression. It documents the stubborn spirit of a fellow contemptuous of compromise, almost of humanity, and his rebirth in a land where each desolation dissolves in beatific smiles. It is about a solitary star, trussed in celebrity, who learns how to be a team player. This motif, of fame as a badge and as a burden, struck a chord in Annaud's lead player. "I loved," the director says, "that Brad understood what it was really about." The film, then, is the partial autobiography of its begetters: Harrer, Annaud and Pitt.

In 1939, Heinrich (Pitt), glamour boy of an empire mad for mountain climbing, joins an expedition to scale Nanga Parbat in eastern India. The troupe is led by Peter Aufschnaiter (David Thewlis), but Heinrich will say sir to no man. He pays no attention to his own severe pain, little more to the safety of his comrades. Failing to reach the summit, they are taken as prisoners of war by His Majesty's Government in India. Four times Heinrich tries to escape; each time security is increased. When Peter determines to get out, Heinrich thumbs a ride on the jail break.

Arriving in Tibet--among a tiny handful of Westerners in that cloistered, nearly three-mile-high kingdom--the two wrestle for the love of a beautiful tailor (Lhakpa Tsamchoe). Then Heinrich is summoned by the Dalai Lama (Jamyang Wangchuk, a radiant 14-year-old from Bhutan). The boy-god of Tibetan Buddhism wants to meet this "yellowhead" who can shed light on a world that is to him only a picture-book fantasy. "For example, where is Paris, France? And what is a Molotov cocktail? And who is Jack the Ripper?" The Dalai Lama becomes the most avid student of a man who never knew he was a teacher. And Heinrich, who has been renounced by the son he never met, sees in the Dalai Lama a boy so beautiful and curious he could be any wandering father's perfect child. But it is now 1949, and the Chinese communists have plans to abort this theocratic fairy tale. Tibet, they declare, is theirs.

War and peace, Gulliver and The King and I; Ice Age meets New Age--Seven Years in Tibet cannily has it all. Screenwriter Becky Johnston (The Prince of Tides) was drawn to the subject because "like most baby boomers, I went through a period of spiritual crisis, examining other faiths. I was always interested in studying Buddhism because it's more than a religion, it's a philosophy." Her script is torn neatly in two, between the notion of conflict, which drives Hollywood movies, and the Buddhist sense of reconciliation and liberation. It is a Western film that goes East for answers. Its aim is to give the viewer, in images of rhapsodic beauty, a radical message: not fight and win but accept and give.

There were battles aplenty, though, to get the thing made. Annaud insisted that the film would not be hostile to China. But the Maoist bureaucrats must have noticed that he had his fingers crossed; they opposed his efforts to film in several nearby Himalayan nations. He set his location sites on India, but the government there dawdled endlessly. "I could see something was terribly wrong," he says. "They kept telling us we'd get permission, yet nothing was happening."

So he went to the diagonally opposite side of the world, Argentina, where the Andes would stunt-double for the Himalayas. This time, says Annaud, the Chinese tried pressuring the governor of the Argentine province of Mendoza. When he refused to cave, Annaud says, China put pressure on the Argentine government, which said thanks, but we can make our own policy on lucrative location shoots. The film was finally shot in Argentina, Chile, England, Austria and British Columbia. But the ruckus made Annaud a semiofficial Enemy of the People's Republic. "I am supposedly banned from China," he notes. Friends have seen his picture hanging in a consulate like a 10 Most Wanted poster.

An Annaud film, remember, must be an adventure. "We had to helicopter the entire crew and gear up every day," says Pitt of the mountain scenes. "It was a limited crew because it was so precarious; we could have been snowed in for 30 days. If the safety guys told us we had to evacuate, we'd do it like that." But like the last U.S. officer in Saigon, Annaud would be the last to leave. "He would assemble the crew," Pitt says, "and it was women and children first. He'd get the entire crew off and then take the last helicopter out, through the heavy snow."

For its first hour the movie treats Harrer almost as suspiciously as the Chinese did Annaud. Seven Years in Tibet was an international best seller when published in 1953 (the year Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay conquered Everest), and Harrer subsequently made a career proselytizing for the Dalai Lama's return from exile to his rightful throne. The book has thrills and uplift, but omitted Harrer's membership in the Nazi Party, which was revealed in the German magazine Stern after shooting was completed. The filmmakers also believe that Harrer knowingly left his pregnant wife when he went to India, although he has said he did not know she was pregnant. Both elements are worked into the story line. "Here was a man," says Annaud, "who on two levels was unwilling to reveal the previous life he was ashamed of. That was the centerpiece of the movie." Annaud and Pitt try way too hard to make Heinrich disagreeable. He's a spoiled brat, a nasty Nazi. Only when he meets the Dalai Lama does Pitt get to unleash hi

s birthday-boy grin.

From his home in Austria, Harrer, 85, elaborates vigorously on his life in '30s Germany. "I was an ideal case for the Nazis," he says. "I was blond and young and successful. I was a great skier. I had climbed the Eiger north face. They wanted to have me, and they exploited me. I didn't mind becoming a member, I admit this. I made ideological errors. So did Neville Chamberlain. I wasn't farsighted or a magician to know what would happen later."

Harrer, who hasn't seen Seven Years in Tibet, has apparently achieved inner peace. He doesn't criticize the filmmakers for turning his autobiography into an expose of its author. "I don't grudge anybody," he says. He is still close to the Dalai Lama, whom he met late last month in Trieste, Italy. "We had a wonderful talk, and he blessed some of the images I took of him years ago. He emphasized that the older we grow the deeper our friendship grows."

That is the path a viewer may take watching the film. It can be gorgeous and crude in the same breath, but as it settles into its real story--"of two lonely people who found each other," as screenwriter Johnston defines it--Annaud and especially Pitt relax into a sweet benignity. The smiles of those serene Tibetans are contagious; to be in the presence of young Wangchuk is to bathe in the aura of the most appealing goodness. Seven Years in Tibet may not convert anyone to Buddhism, but its aura lingers like the afterglow of revelation.

--With reporting by Jeanne McDowell and Jeffrey Ressner/Los Angeles and David E. Thigpen/New York

A conversation runs through it

Brad Pitt on Buddhism, fame and Argentine girls

By Bruce Handy/Warwick, R.I.

Brad Pitt. Tab Hunter's agent couldn't have come up with a better name for a movie star, although maybe Brad Stone would have implied more gravitas. At any rate, the actor has taken time off from the Rhode Island set of his next movie, Meet Joe Black (the film is "inspired by"--and not, a chorus of publicists insists, "a remake of"--Death Takes a Holiday), to talk about his new release, Seven Years in Tibet. Just down the lawn from a Newport-style mansion, we are sitting in the estate's opulent boathouse, itself a minimansion slung over a bay so ludicrously sun-dappled it could double for Golden Pond.

Pitt, 33, is dressed casually but expensively, his well-tailored shirt an odd hybrid, country-and-western in style, but with extra long cuffs that the actor has chosen to leave unbuttoned so that they flap modishly about his wrists. It's a look that suggests sartorial d=E9tente between Garth Brooks and Austin Powers. Which, when you think about it--if, like me, it's your job to think about it--is pretty much where Pitt would fall on the spectrum of masculine iconography, his fidgety Midwestern guyness touched with just a hint of dandified self-regard. This isn't always the case with stars, but the charisma that works for him on screen is readily apparent in person too. It's that smile, the one that detonates in quick stages across his face, starting with just a shy quiver of amusement, then a wry grin, and then bursting into sheer amazement at--what? Its own infectiousness? You can't help being drawn to it, and neither, you feel, can he.

The first thing anyone would want to ask Pitt is, What really happened between you and Gwyneth? Gwyneth, of course, being Gwyneth Paltrow, the long drink of water whom Pitt met on the set of Seven three years ago, where she played his wife, and with whom he ended a well-publicized real-life engagement last summer. But Pitt will not discuss his private life. (Well, almost. "I keep hearing I'm a crazy party guy," he says. "I'm not. I'm boring ... At least by party standards.") And so we are forced to turn to the more enlightening but less sexy topic--Richard Gere notwithstanding--of Tibetan Buddhism.

Tibet, as viewers of awards shows well know, has been the subject of some interest in the celebrity community, but Pitt says he received no phone calls from colleagues like Gere or Steven Seagal--recently revealed to be the reincarnation of a particularly revered lama--worrying about how his film would portray key moments in the Dalai Lama's life. Pitt himself is not a particularly spiritual person. "I've always paid attention to religion," he says, "because I grew up in a religious background, but I've never felt a part of any of them. I think there's something to be drawn from most of them--other than goat sacrificing." He adds that last part with a minor-key smile that doesn't quite make it through all the paces. (Jackpot! A slipup in front of a reporter! Pitt's movies will now be boycotted by Satanists and practitioners of Santer=EDa!)

Before Seven Years in Tibet, Pitt didn't know much about the country's predominant religion. He picked up a copy of Sogyal Rinpoche's The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, an introduction to the subject, but never cracked it, preferring in the end to enter the project as ignorant as was the character he plays, Austrian mountain climber Heinrich Harrer, when he stumbled across the Tibetan border in 1944. But on a movie set stocked with actual monks working as extras, the actor picked up a thing or two. "Their idea of a civilization that rejects violence on principle--I mean, what?" he ejaculates with Jackie Gleasonesque incredulity, feigning the shock of someone raised in a society, like ours, with a less diffident regard for force. "The Tibetans say, 'Don't look at this as our weakness but as our strength. If we bless our enemies, we become stronger.' They say, basically, 'Thank you for allowing me to become a stronger person by taking all the s--- you're giving me.' On the streets we'd look at someone like

that as a wimp. Tibetans go beyond that. It's not fear. It's just, 'I'm sorry you feel that way [about me being a wimp]. I'm sorry you're spinning in that little mudhole.'" Seagal probably couldn't have said it better.

Pitt brushes off the controversy about Harrer's recently discovered SS past and the resulting news stories that suggested Pitt and director Jean-Jacques Annaud were making some kind of glam hero out of a Nazi scuzzbag. "That's a slant people took before they knew all the information," Pitt complains. "You shouldn't speak until you know what you're talking about. That's why I get uncomfortable with interviews. Reporters ask me what I feel China should do about Tibet. Who cares what I think China should do? I'm a f------ actor! They hand me a script. I act. I'm here for entertainment, basically, when you whittle everything away. I'm a grown man who puts on makeup."

That stark reality didn't protect him from overeager Argentine admirers while shooting Seven Years in Tibet on location in the Andes, which doubled for the Himalayas. By one account, Pitt's living quarters were ringed by young girls chanting, "Brad Peeeeet!" "Yeah, yeah, there was that stuff," he says, embarrassed. "Argentina is a place where not many movies come through, so I could have been New Kids on the Block for all they cared. And that stuff never did much for my ego. I mean, when we were kids, my sister had Andy Gibb up on her wall, so that kind of puts it in perspective." Which, when you think about it--if you think about it--is a not un-Buddhist-like take on the burdens of Brad Pittitude.