If you love slow cinema, philosophical texts, or simply want to see Shashi Kapoor at his most vulnerable, yes .
Siddhartha is not a movie you "watch." It is a movie you sit with . It asks the same question the novel asks: Can wisdom be taught, or must it be lived?
For those who have only read the book, the idea of a film adaptation might feel daunting. Hesse’s prose is lyrical, philosophical, and introspective—hardly the stuff of blockbuster cinema. Yet, Rooks’ film, starring Shashi Kapoor in a career-defining role, is a hidden gem that deserves to be pulled out of the dusty archives of 70s counterculture cinema. film siddhartha
If Kapoor is the heart of the film, the late composer Hemant Kumar is its soul. The score is sparse, relying heavily on the sitar and flute, evoking the eternal flow of the Ganges. But the film’s most powerful "sound" is silence. Long stretches of the movie are dedicated to watching Siddhartha sit by the river, listening to the ferryman (played by Rooks himself). The audience is forced to slow down, to breathe. It is meditative cinema, demanding patience in an age of TikTok scrolling.
Opposite him, Simi Garewal plays Kamala, the courtesan who teaches Siddhartha the art of physical love. Their chemistry is electric yet melancholic. This isn't a Bollywood romance; it is a transaction of lessons—she teaches him pleasure, he teaches her writing and thinking—that slowly turns into something deeper. If you love slow cinema, philosophical texts, or
It would be remiss not to address the cultural context. A film directed by an American (Conrad Rooks) about an Indian spiritual figure (not the Buddha, but a contemporary) based on a book by a German author (Hesse). There is an inherent layer of Western romanticism here. However, unlike many "Eastern mysticism" films of the era, Siddhartha doesn’t preach. It presents a universal struggle: the search for meaning in a material world. It happens to be dressed in a dhoti rather than a suit.
Shashi Kapoor plays the titular role, and he does so with a rare, weathered grace. Siddhartha is a man of extremes: first an ascetic Samana who starves himself of all pleasure, then a wealthy lover who drowns in it. Kapoor navigates this arc without losing the character’s core dignity. He is neither a saint nor a fool; he is simply a man searching for the "Atman" (the inner self) in a world that refuses to give him a straight answer. For those who have only read the book,
★★★★ (4/5) Best watched alone, late at night, with no distractions. Let the river flow over you. Have you seen the 1972 film adaptation? How do you think it compares to the book? Let me know in the comments below.
By the time Siddhartha finally listens to the river and hears all the voices—the laughing child, the crying lover, the hungry animal—melded into the single sound of "Om," you might find yourself feeling a little quieter, too.
We often talk about "spiritual journeys" as something quiet, internal, and deeply personal. But what does that journey actually look like? In 1972, director Conrad Rooks attempted to answer that question with his luminous adaptation of Hermann Hesse’s cult-classic novel, Siddhartha .
Shot on location in India, the film captures a country that feels suspended between the ancient and the modern. Cinematographer Sven Nykvist (Ingmar Bergman’s legendary collaborator) bathes the screen in golden hour light. The river is always shimmering; the faces are always lined with truth. Unlike Western films that exoticize India, Siddhartha looks at it plainly—dusty, beautiful, and brutally real.
