It’s easy to understand why Ahsen Nadeem’s Crows Are White is in the “future cult classic” Nightvision section of Hot Docs 2022. This is a surprising film that delivers on its promised exploration of faith and love, but not in the way you expect it to. Its story has monks, Slayer, ice cream, self-discovery, religion, and truth, as well as twists and turns that somewhat mirror the personal transformation of the director, who also happens to be the true main subject of the film.
Crows Are White starts as an attempt to study the life and rituals of the Tendai Buddhist monks living and training in the sacred Mount Hiei. These practitioners, often called “marathon monks,” attempt to find enlightenment by enduring the kaihōgyō, a 7-year-long spiritual challenge that consists in walking 1,000 meditation marathons in 1,000 days. If the monk attempting kaihōgyō fails, he must commit suicide. Nadeem’s main focus is Kamahori, a monk in the midst of completing this grueling training.
However, not long after starting to film life in Mt. Hiei, Nadeem is expelled from the temple after being incredibly disrespectful during a sacred and highly important Tendai ritual: he forgot to turn off his phone and the sound interrupts the prayer. “What kind of filmmaker commits this sort of mistake during what could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?” I asked myself after watching this embarrassing development. I couldn’t believe it. Not soon after, the director befriends an amusing low-level monk called Ryushin, as some sort of manipulative measure to try to sneak his way inside the temple again. “Right now, he’s my only chance to get back to the monastery,” Nadeem says. He eventually achieves his goal, but the first thing he does is mock the monks’ customs and arrogantly complain about all the obstacles they put in his way before allowing him to film Kamahori. He eventually is kicked out of the temple again.
By this point, Crows Are White seemed like a tremendous example of irresponsible filmmaking. Despite how entertaining the film had been, I was appalled at how disrespectful Nadeem was toward the faith of these men. This, however, is when things start to click and the documentary flourishes. It turns out that trying to film these religious rites was an excuse for the director to try to find peace — at least, that’s what he thinks.
We gradually learn about the director’s secrets, family, and Muslim life; he’s a mess, and his irresponsible actions while trying to shoot the film are a reflection of his emotional state. The weight of religious fear sits heavy on his shoulders, and the possibility of losing the love of his parents is slowly destroying his personal life. These elements lead Crows Are White into unforeseen yet rich directions that provide not only food for thought regarding fanatical faith, but also a beautiful example of creative nonfiction filmmaking as a self-discovery tool.
While using the documentary as an excuse to pursue his own peace and unconsciously try to escape from his personal life, Nadeem finds a true friend and an unexpected master in Ryushin, the low-level monk who turns out to be a funny, dessert-loving metalhead with a lax attitude for his chores in the temple and, just like the director, a hint of depression. From going to a Slayer concert to an emotional video call where the Japanese monk shares great wisdom, their relationship gives yet another dimension to a film full of surprises. Ryushin’s life is not that different from Nadeem’s. He, too, is afraid of betraying his religion and losing his family’s love. Despite their different ideological approaches, the two are victims of the fear that religious figures and systems use to control society.
Crows Are White is a documentary that continually evolves along with its creator. It charms through Nadeem and Ryushin’s dry humor and personalities, but it transcends through a sincere quest of self-discovery that delves into profound questions of faith.
