Brad Pitt, David Thewlis, B.D. Wong, Mako, Jamyang
Jamtsho Wangchuk. (PG-13, 136 min.)
Forget the trailers: Seven Years in Tibet is emphatically not another of those sprawling,
inert, beached-whale travelogue movies a la Out of Africa. Nor is it a jerry-rigged
contrivance serving no other purpose than to showcase Brad Pitt's otherworldly pulchritude.
In fact, this adaptation of Austrian mountaineer Heinrich Harrer's autobiographical
book may find even the straightest women and gayest men repelled by Pitt's willingness
to play Harrer as every inch the arrogant, preening shitheel he seems to have been.
The story begins in 1939 when Harrer leaves his pregnant wife to fend for herself
while he indulges himself in a long Himalayan climbing expedition. But shortly after
he reaches the mountains, war breaks out and Harrer, a National Socialist Party member,
is shunted into a British POW camp. After several escape tries, he and expedition
leader Peter Aufschnaiter (Thewlis) succeed and find sanctuary in Llasa, the holiest
city of Tibetan Buddhism and the home of the Dalai Lama. Here, long exposure to the
pacifistic, ego-effacing Tibetan people helps him effect a halting but complete refurbishment
of his blinkered, Nazi-brat soul. Annaud (The Lover, The Name of the Rose, Quest
for Fire) may be, with all due respect to Stanley Kubrick, the most talented adapter
of literary source material in recent film history. Seven Years confirms his mastery
by doling out a perfect ratio of moving interpersonal drama and visual enchantment.
(The images are almost physically overwhelming, and you'll swear you can feel the
icy winds knifing through Llasa's narrow streets.) In the film's classical structure,
a trio of antagonists push Harrer toward his spiritual rebirth. Peter, played with
typical grit and finesse by Thewlis, helps him build from scratch a working concept
of friendship. Debate with a morally pliable young court minister (Wong) crystallizes
his sense of principle. And, most important, the teenaged Dalai Lama (Jamyang, a
remarkable young actor) helps Harrer grasp the sad absurdity of human vanity. In
the past, I've been an irrationally hard sell on Pitt, but his performance here ­
unmannered, wide-ranging, and effortlessly controlled ­ buries any remaining
doubt that he's one of his generation's best actors. Working with Thewlis, who also
belongs on that short list, only enhances the effect of his terrific work. Words
(mine anyway) don't do justice to the rich, knowing, subtly humorous quality of this
film. Though most of its key dramatic turns occur in its characters' minds, the unfolding
story seems to radiate from the screen like sunlight, filling the viewer with a deep,
almost sensual pleasure. This experience is the bedrock foundation of Annaud's film,
and it completely obviates any taint of cheap sentimentality in a conclusion that
yanks unapologetically on the heartstrings. Ready-made blurbage: If you see only
one big, sumptuous, Arthouse Lite movie this year, make it Seven Years in Tibet.
3.5 stars
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