Local Ladakhi films trump India's Bollywood in Himalayas

Like most actors in Ladakhi films, Spaldon has no experience.

"She's got a pretty face, and she's interested in acting, and if someone is interested in something, we have to get them involved," says Dorjay.

The plot of this yet-untitled film involves an orphan girl who has inherited both a lot of property and a scheming aunt as her guardian. The aunt tries to marry off the girl to a bad man in order to steal her property, but the girl instead breaks taboos by falling for a poor Tibetan boy instead.

"This kind of story is happening in many places," says Rigzin Dhondup, the actor who plays opposite Spaldon. "Some of the parents watching the film – maybe they will change their mind and be better toward their children."

Such romantic taboos are receding somewhat from Bollywood scripts about India's dizzying urban liberalization and its quest for riches. But such themes remain central in rural Indian life.

"Bollywood now is increasingly about urban India," says Hassanwalia, the documentary filmmaker. "In fact, it is almost entirely about urban India because we have multiplexes and that's where the paying audience is."

But there's some money in the makeshift theaters here to support an indigenous industry. Tickets run about a dollar, depending on the venue. Popular movies might run for a month in the 250-seat capacity Leh theater, then continue in the countryside. Then there are CD and DVD sales in the local markets several years after the film's release.

Out of the roughly 28 films made since the industry began in 2003, about six or seven made money, figures Dawa.

It cost Ladakh Vision Group $30,000 to produce "Las-Del." It will make a "good profit," the group says, thanks to its being dubbed into Tibetan – that will broaden its audience. But any profits will be plowed back into equipment upgrades and charity, they say.

"We cannot make a big-budget film here. If we make a really good film, it is likely to go over budget," says Tsering Angdus, a cofounder of Ladakh Vision Group whose day job is public relations for the government. "If we have a good budget and new equipment, we could go for a film of international standards."

The perception of big profits is making it harder to stay under budget.

Dawa recounts a recent run-in with a farmer midway through a shoot in the farmer's field. He demanded $20 for the time the crew spent on his land – then insisted they finish shooting and pay him another $20. And while the actors at Dorjay's shoot all worked free of charge, some actors now ask for thousands of dollars – despite having zero experience.

The creeping commercialization does provide new jobs for local youths – and encouragement to aspiring filmmakers worldwide.

Hassanwalia says that it was at once exciting and humbling to have just graduated from film school, only to see a group of untrained amateurs making technically advanced films with an old PC and some manuals downloaded from the Internet.

"We were very inspired by them," says Hassanwalia. "And now people who watch [our] film say, 'If they can do it, we can do it.' "

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