Interview: Lonely Summer

CiLENS: The film begins with the idea of Linka, and the protagonist’s motivation also stems from this tradition. Could you tell us more about what Linka is and why it plays such an important role in Tibetan culture?

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Kangdrun: Linka is one of the most representative cultural activities in the Ü-Tsang region. It’s somewhat similar to a picnic but more than that. People gather on the grass, sing songs, and play the dranyen, a traditional Tibetan lute. The type of music associated with Linka is called Langma Duixie, one of Tibet’s most traditional musical forms. It’s quite distinct from the more commonly known Tibetan circle dances like Guozhuang. Langma Duixie is more refined in composition because many of its lyrics are drawn from poetry.

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For instance, my graduation film Short Summer in Lhasa takes its title from a piece of Langma Duixie song, which means “summer is as fleeting as water.” I spent my childhood in Lhasa until the age of twelve before going inland for school. For me, Linka represents a kind of childhood paradise—a space filled with distant memories. So I really wanted to make a short film about it. Although Lonely Summer revolves around a man trying to find someone to share Linka with, at its core, it’s a story about loneliness.

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CiLENS: How often do people usually take part in Linka?

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Kangdrun: Quite frequently, especially in summer. Lhasa’s summers are short—historically, they were even cooler than now, with temperatures rarely above 30°C. People usually go for Linka in the summer forests. It’s also closely tied to the Sho Dun Festival, a very distinctive local celebration. During the festival, everyone goes to Norbulingka—the summer palace of the Dalai Lama—to enjoy yogurt and watch the eight major Tibetan operas. Since the festival takes place in summer, it overlaps with the Linka season.

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In my memory, every summer of my childhood was spent at Linka. We’d go at least once a week, especially on weekends. During Sho Dun, which used to be a week-long holiday, people practically lived at Linka the entire time.

 

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CiLENS: In the film, we see many details of Lhasa’s everyday life, like milk tea in the opening scene, Lhasa beer, dogs, and even dice slang that non-Tibetan audiences might not understand. Were these drawn from your childhood memories?

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Kangdrun: Not only memories, but also what’s still happening now. The sound of dice rolling, for example, is a defining sound of summer gatherings. Men in Ü-Tsang love to play the dice board game called Sho—on the roadside, in teahouses, or at Linka. You can often hear the sharp, bouncing sound from afar.

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There’s an interesting custom too: when playing dice, people recite dice incantations, speaking to unseen spirits. If your words please them, they help you win. I once studied these sayings, but they’re often coarse, sometimes even erotic, since Sho was traditionally for men. Women were once said to be forbidden to play, though nowadays in places like Shigatse, women do play. I don’t, though.

 

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CiLENS: It sounds almost supernatural! On this bright, sunny afternoon, people are conversing with spirits around them.

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Kangdrun: It’s not really spooky. In Tibetan culture, humans, gods, and unseen beings all exist on equal terms. There are many things invisible to the eye, but speaking to nearby spirits is simply part of daily life. They won’t harm you without reason. They coexist with us in a parallel dimension.

 

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CiLENS: The film emphasizes this everyday realism through natural light and sound, with handheld or static long takes. Why did you choose this approach?

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Kangdrun: The film was shot in just two days, entirely outdoors. I’ve always been drawn to everyday details. Also, our crew was tiny, only around ten people, and we didn’t have large lighting setups, so it was filmed under simple conditions.

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We had no script either. It was my final project at Li Xianting Film School. While my previous short Short Summer in Lhasa followed a more strict storyboard, our tutor, director Zhang Lü, encouraged us to “discover things through space.” Naturally, I thought of Linka as an outdoor space to explore. The only written idea was a one-line synopsis: “A boy wants to go for Linka but can’t find anyone to go with.” The film grew from that. I wanted to see what would happen if I created more freely.

 

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CiLENS: Between such free improvisation and structured filmmaking, which process do you feel suits you better?

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Kangdrun: They offer very different experiences. Films like Short Summer in Lhasa and Linka, Linka were made with larger crews, mostly forty or fifty people. There’s a lot of pressure because everything has to be predetermined, and that can be less enjoyable.

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But Lonely Summer and Orlo with Karma were shot much more freely. The experience was relaxed, joyful, and pure. I could truly enjoy the creative process.

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I’d say both suit me. I’m an ENFP—sometimes I need freedom, but I can also work under strict plans. Ideally, I’d like to balance both: follow structured processes for commissioned projects, but between them, make smaller, self-driven works that preserve that sense of creative purity.

 

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CiLENS: You mentioned Zhang Lü’s emphasis on spatial storytelling. After the protagonist gets drunk, he enters a dreamlike sequence: first encountering people singing folk songs, then his female friend, then realizing the singers have vanished. You used a long take here. Without a script, how did you pull it off? Any challenges?

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Kangdrun: Honestly, that shot didn’t turn out as well as I hoped. I wanted to blur the line between the real and the unreal. We decided in advance to use a long take, but it was filmed quite spontaneously.

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In my childhood, whenever people gathered for Linka, there was always a distant voice singing Langma Duixie, court-like music whose source you could never locate. It wasn’t frightening, but mysterious. That sound is deeply connected to the Linka space, so I wanted the protagonist to encounter a group of people dressed in ancient clothes, embodying this timeless tradition, sung by both past and present generations.

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We only had one day to shoot in the forest, so I couldn’t reach the ideal result. When a scene is too improvised, flaws are inevitable, as you don’t have time for rehearsals or careful staging. Everything was arranged on location. Still, I see it as a valuable experiment.

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CiLENS: What was the song they sang?

 

Kangdrun: It’s called Hao Yue Shao Nian. The lyrics are poetic. It is about a boy and the moon. I found it particularly beautiful.

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CiLENS: At the end, the protagonist is left to pay the bill after everyone leaves, even though they invited him in the first place. It deepens his loneliness. What emotion did you hope to convey?

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Kangdrun: I wanted to question what’s real. He naps, meets a group of people, steps away, meets others dressed like people from the past, sees the girl who refused him earlier, then returns to find everyone gone. If they all vanished mysteriously, the audience might think it’s a dream, but then the shopkeeper asks him to pay.

That ambiguity between illusion and reality is what I wanted. I once heard writer Tashi Dawa say that the spiritual state of people on the plateau also oscillates between dream and reality. The thin air gives rise to a kind of “magical realism.” I like that idea: between dream and reality, which time and space do we truly inhabit?

 

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CiLENS: From Short Summer in Lhasa to Lonely Summer, as well as your later shorts, you’ve consistently portrayed Tibetan life through simple stories. Why has this become your central focus?

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Kangdrun: It’s obviously instinctive. I grew up on this land, left it, and came back. That journey gave me many emotions I hadn’t seen expressed in Tibetan films, such as urban Tibetan life, and practices like Linka that blend personal and cultural experience.

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In Linka, Linka, I explored people’s movement about how they leave and return. My upbringing was shaped not only by Tibetan but also Han and foreign cultures, so I exist in a hybrid state. I want my films to explore hybridity, a theme not just for Tibetans, but for young people everywhere. Those living abroad also navigate between multiple cultural identities.

 

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CiLENS: That reminds me of the nomadic lifestyle rooted in Tibetan culture. I think it denotes that our identities and geographies are fluid, changing constantly.

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Kangdrun: Exactly. I’m more interested in how we, after all this movement, re-encounter the ancient and spiritual aspects within us, like Tibetan Buddhism. Mobility is something everyone can relate to. I don’t want my films to be labeled “minority cinema.” I’m looking for a universal emotional connection, something both personal and regionally grounded.

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CiLENS: That’s crucial. As Tibetan cinema has gained visibility in mainland China, more minority filmmakers are creating from local culture. But some audiences now feel fatigue, saying these films all look alike.

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Kangdrun: I’ve felt that too. Once, at the short film funding project of ONE Women’s International Film Festival, an organizer told me they initially dismissed Orlo with Karma just from its title, assuming it was another typical “ethnic” film. But after watching the sample, they realized it was quite different. I think that shows how audiences have grown tired of formulaic “Tibetan” storytelling. Nevertheless, from the feedback I’ve received, my films seem to differ from earlier Tibetan cinema, and I want to keep pushing in that direction.

 

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CiLENS: We just heard the news that Linka, Linka was shortlisted for the Asian Future section at the 38th Tokyo International Film Festival. Congratulations! I noticed that its English title, Linka, seems to echo this short. Is there a connection?

 

Kangdrun: They’re connected but not identical. In the feature, the girl’s three life turning points are all tied to Linka, especially her childhood and adolescence. Linka there represents a distant paradise, tied to memory and growth.

For this short, we chose “Lonely Summer” as the English title. One of our producers with overseas experience loved the Chinese title “Linka, Linka” as it’s memorable and rhythmic. Since Linka also plays a key spatial and emotional role in the feature, we decided to keep it as the English title too.

 

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CiLENS: From your early short screened at Jia Village to an A-list international premiere, what’s been your biggest growth?

 

Kangdrun: Staying in a state of creation. Many filmmakers make a graduation film, do a few festivals, then stop to work or take on something more practical. I never stopped creating. I keep making shorts while waiting for an opportunity to make a feature. One must keep experimenting and reflecting.

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Through the feature-making process, I also gained invaluable experience, especially in editing, which is so different from short films. It’s longer, more procedural, but it forces deeper thought about cinematic language and expression.

That reflection will feed into my next film - a feature-length length of Orlo with Karma, which I plan to start shooting next year. To me, what matters most is to keep thinking, creating, and moving forward, never becoming complacent.

 

CiLENS: Thank you for sharing your insights. We wish Linka, Linka every success at this year’s Tokyo International Film Festival.

 

Kangdrun: Thank you.