Filmmaker Pawo Choyning Dorji on The Monk and the Gun, Bhutan's Oscar Journey, and Buddhist Storytelling

The Hindu

4 days ago

Published : Aug 02, 2025 09:00 IST - 11 MINS READ
Pawo Choyning Dorji calls himself a storyteller, not a filmmaker. The distinction matters to the Bhutanese director, whose films emerge from Buddhist philosophy rather than Hollywood formulas. His debut, Lunana: A Yak in the Classroom, brought Bhutan its first Oscar nomination. His next and perhaps the most popular yet, The Monk and the Gun, earned a spot on the 2024 Academy Awards shortlist. The film scans Bhutan's awkward transition to democracy in 2006, when a population steeped in centuries-old traditions suddenly found themselves thrust into the modern world. The 41-year-old filmmaker shoots in remote villages with solar batteries and non-professional actors and finds global audiences for stories rooted in the Himalayan kingdom. In Bhutanese, Dorji explains, people do not ask for stories. They ask others to 'untie a knot.' The filmmaker has built his career around this principle: every narrative must liberate its audience. Every frame must serve a purpose beyond entertainment.
Excerpts from an interview:
Let's start with the very title of your film, The Monk and the Gun. It has a Zen Buddhist trait and simplicity. How did you arrive at it?
There was no deep philosophical intention behind the film's name, as much as I like what you suggested. When I made my first film, Lunana: A Yak in the Classroom, I was thinking—because it was my first film and nobody knew who I was, I had no famous people involved, no distribution, no agents, no famous actors—the only way I could attract the audience was if I gave it a very strange name. The moment people heard it, they'd be like, what is that? I want to watch that. So I decided to name the film A Yak in the Classroom, and that film went on an incredible journey. When we made this film, I thought, okay, I need to do the same thing. A monk and a gun. The moment people say a monk and the gun, it's like, oh, that's very strange. There was some backlash—before watching the film, people thought I was doing something very taboo and against Buddhism.
Also Read | Bhutan: Land of the flaming phallus
Your film is about Bhutan's shift to democracy. Why did you want to tell this story now? What does democracy look like to you through a camera? Because where I'm from—India, Kerala—democracy is a given, taken for granted.
For me, yes, this film is about democracy, but more than anything, it is about Bhutan's journey in becoming a modern country. My country is one of the most unique countries in the world because we are the last Vajrayana Buddhist country. We have a monarch who is beloved by all, and we chose the path of isolationism to safeguard ourselves. We were the last country to connect to television, the last country to connect to the internet.
The reason I made this film is about how in the pursuit of something we thought we needed, we ended up losing what we had. When I refer to that, it's about the quality of innocence. If you ever come to Bhutan, you will see that the quality of innocence is almost synonymous with being Bhutanese—it's a very beautiful aspect of who we are. But when you are coming from that culture that is so rooted in tradition and spirituality, and suddenly you are trying to become a modern country, that innocence can actually be seen as an ignorance.
In the movie, there are symbolic meanings. For example, the phallus. The phallus symbolises that innocence. If you came to Bhutan in the early 1990s, you'd see phalluses everywhere. When you see a phallus, you feel uncomfortable, embarrassed, shy. But as a Buddhist, the culture is constantly reminding you about that—we want you to experience that inhibition so that you can get over it and get closer to enlightenment. That is the purpose of a phallus in Bhutanese culture. But as we became more educated, more Western, more modern, we suddenly became embarrassed. Like, oh, what will these Western people think of us worshipping phalluses? They might think we are so primitive. So the film is about democracy, about election, but at a deeper meaning, it's about this loss of the culture and tradition of Bhutan.
There's a certain sense of humour I enjoyed in the movie—very subtle, very gentle. Some scenes are funny in a surprising way. For instance, one character makes a comment on how crazily democracy functions in India.
Here's something funnier. When Bhutan became a democracy, we had no idea what democracy was. The only idea of democracy was when we turned on television in the border towns—it was Doordarshan with that logo, that round thing. That was our window into the outside world. There we would constantly see Lok Sabha meetings where people are fighting, throwing chairs. That is also the beauty of democracy, right? But for the Bhutanese, that was what democracy was. When the king said he was stepping down and we're going to have democracy, that's what people thought—it's what we saw on Doordarshan.
When I made the film and sent it to BICMA ( Bhutan InfoComm and Media Authority), they had one comment: can you delete that line about what democracy is? I was like, why? They said, well, we feel bad. We don't want to upset our Indian friends. I told them, no, the Indians will not get upset. They will actually laugh with this. They'll find it funny. But they said, no, we are worried. So in the Bhutan version, that part is not there. That is what I mean—Bhutanese culture is that innocent, that considerate to feel we don't want to make our Indian friends upset.
I loved those parts and laughed with them. So were they upset with the references to American gun culture as well?
That's my own inclusion because I grew up in the United States as well. I did my college there and studied political science. Most Bhutanese will not be able to connect with Second Amendment and gun culture.
A lot of the scenes you see in the film are from my own childhood. As a Bhutanese growing up, I could see how Bhutan was transforming. In the villages, the person who had the biggest TV was always the most popular person—usually someone who sold his cows to get a TV. All the villagers would come there, all the shoes outside their house, everyone watching there. As the Bhutanese turned on TV and saw the outside world, things started changing subtly. We were tearing down posters from our walls of religious deities and putting on James Bond, Rambo. What you see in the film are things I noticed as we transformed into a modern country.
Bhutan doesn't have a big film industry yet. What's it like making movies there? What are the joys and challenges?
It is a challenge because our film industry is at its infancy stages. But there is so much flexibility you can do, so much room for experiment. Like my first film, A Yak in the Classroom. I think in professional film industries, no one will want to do that. I created a story about the world's most remote school, and I insisted on shooting it in the world's most remote school. Fourteen-day walk up the mountain, no electricity up there.
When the film industry becomes very professional, there's this reliance on certain aspects that becomes an obstacle. If I'm in Hollywood and tell filmmakers I want to make a film with no electricity, one camera, no lights, put a yak in the classroom and use children who have never seen a light bulb as main actors—their professionalism will get in the way. They'll be like, no, Pawo, you cannot do that. That's not how we do it.
But in Bhutan, because we don't really have this professional film industry, there is room to explore, to push the creative boundary. You can make a film like Yak in the Classroom—one camera, no lights, solar batteries, 45 crew members who didn't take a shower for two months. Sometimes something that may be a negative can be made into a positive.
What do you think of Indian cinema today?
When I was little, some of the first films I watched were Bollywood films—Anil Kapoor, Aamir Khan. Now I'm an Academy member on the committee for International Films in Los Angeles. Last time, Aamir Khan came with Laapataa Ladies and I was able to meet him. For someone I grew up watching, it's a beautiful experience. Indian cinema has so many beautiful films. The Apu Trilogy, Satyajit Ray's short film Postmaster based on Tagore's story. More recent ones, The Lunchbox—I love The Lunchbox. On a trip to New York, I actually met the director, which was quite a fanboy moment.
You studied Buddhism and worked with legends like Khyentse Norbu. How does that background influence how you tell stories?
I studied many things actually, but I never studied film. I think that's the beauty of it—I always have an outsider's perspective. I studied political science, Buddhism in a monastery in Himachal Pradesh. Khyentse Norbu was my spiritual teacher, but also my filmmaking teacher. I worked closely with him on films—Vara: A Blessing about Indian Bharatanatyam dance shot in Sri Lanka, and Hema Hema: Sing Me a Song While I Wait, a very experimental film where all characters wear masks and no one has dialogue.
After that, I told him I want to make my own film. He gave me his blessing and said pursue it. I remember telling him I worry because I feel your films are so spiritually and philosophically deep with so much message and symbolism. I worry that my films will be very cheesy. As any good teacher, he said no, Pawo, cheesy done in the right way will always work. Stick to what you want to do.
Tell us about your next film, Tales of Taipei.
It's released. It's very different—the producers in Taiwan came up and said they're making a film with ten short stories, ten directors. I come from a background where I make films in Bhutan, so I wanted to see how it is working on a film set in Taiwan. Instead of jumping onto a feature-length film, I thought it's a good idea to make a short film. It was a good experience, very different from working in Bhutan.
You're coming from a very innocent market for filmmakers, and your industry is only taking off now. But outside Bhutan, there are changes including artificial intelligence. How do you look at these technological advancements as a filmmaker from Bhutan?
In my country, in my culture, more than the action itself, the purpose and the motivation for the action is more important. I don't tell people I'm a filmmaker. I tell people I'm a storyteller. In Bhutan there is no word for storytelling. In English I'd be like, Jinoy, please tell me a story. In Bhutanese, I'd be like Jinoy, please untie a knot for me. Because the purpose of telling a story is to untie a knot, to free, to liberate. That is the purpose.
From a Buddhist perspective, they say creativity and art is the creation of illusion. That illusion can serve the purpose to connect the audience to the reality, to the truth. So motivation—the reason why, the aspiration of why you want to do something—is more important.
Before, because Bhutan was the last to join the internet, to Google something was already mind-boggling for us. Now to have deep conversations with artificial intelligence is just unheard of. When these changes come through, if all of us—whether filmmakers or journalists—as long as we remind ourselves why we do something, what is our motivation, if we are always in touch with that, then we can use artificial intelligence as an asset.
Also Read | Happily unhurried in Bhutan
So the purpose determines everything. What's next for you and for Bhutanese cinema?
I hope to make a documentary film next about global warming and the world's melting glaciers, but told through an inspiration of folktales. In India, you are told stories of Ramayana, Mahabharata—you go to Kerala and watch these beautiful Kathakali dances about Mahabharata. The Mahabharata story is so beautiful because the real battle is within. The five Pandava brothers are actually your five aggregates, and the inner battle is the Kurukshetra.
Likewise, in Bhutan we have many folktales like the Mahabharata that have symbolic meanings teaching us about the world we live in, about the importance of protecting our world, our environment. But we are quickly going into a world where there's reluctance to believe in folktales passed down from grandparents to grandchildren. I want to make a film to remind the world that it is important to listen to the folktales of your elders. It is important to listen to the Mahabharatas and the Ramayanas.
The monk and the gun is streaming on MUBI. This interview was arranged by the streaming platform.