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The risk-aversion and timidity displayed in *Tenzing* make it the polar opposite of the men it seeks to honor—a fact that, ultimately, does them a disservice.
A brief look at Jennifer Peedom’s filmography reveals that she has directed several documentaries about mountains, Sherpas, and rivers. Given that two of her previous films are titled *Sherpa* and *Miracle on Everest*, this is by no means her first time tackling the subject of Mount Everest. What sets *Tenzing* apart is that it is a work of fiction: a dramatized account of the successful 1953 ascent of Mount Everest by Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary.
This appears to be Peedom’s first foray into conventional narrative filmmaking, and her struggle to breathe freshness or excitement into well-worn storytelling tropes is palpable. Working from a screenplay by Luke Davies, the director leans in completely—embracing the clichés and filming them with a clear lack of originality. Characters who harbor resentment toward Ed (Tom Hiddleston) and Tenzing (Genden Phuntsok) display the standard, cinematic expressions of envy, while the two heroes are defined by their soft, warm gazes.
In one flashback, a woman appears briefly—only to die shortly thereafter, clutching her stomach in agony. When the Everest expedition team, led by John Hunt (Willem Dafoe), encounters an obstacle that requires crossing a wide crevasse, Tenzing navigates it on his own, to the applause of his companions. Later, as Ed and Tenzing return to camp after resolving a dispute with the Sherpas—who had refused to continue working for the British team—the ground gives way beneath Ed’s feet, leaving him hanging precariously. It is no spoiler to reveal that Tenzing rescues Ed, preventing him from falling into the abyss. What is curious, however, is how little impact the scene actually has.
This is likely because Peedom uses the camera with excessive deference to the screenplay, sticking faithfully to Davies’s text rather than developing a cinematic language of her own. The director merely shows what the script demands, failing to contribute any dramatic invention, personal style, or compelling subjective perspective. The only tone the film adopts is one of deference; the filmmaker views her protagonists with such admiration that she keeps them at a distance. All she offers is a limited portrait of two underprivileged figures who share the same dream. The real Tenzing led a life that extended far beyond his eventual ascent of Everest.
As a teenager, he left home and traveled to Kathmandu and Darjeeling; he was also sent to Tengboche Monastery to train as a monk, before realizing that such a life was not for him. Edmund Hillary, for his part, served as a navigator in the Royal New Zealand Air Force during the Second World War. Stationed in Fiji and, later, the Solomon Islands, he suffered severe burns in a boating accident in 1945. Both men had experiences that shaped them long before they became famous mountaineers, and their lives continued to evolve after their historic climb to the world’s highest peak.
While the film is under no obligation to recount every detail of their lives, these particulars serve as a reminder that Ed and Tenzing had already lived full lives before they first met. Their conversations, therefore, could have spanned a wide range of topics; their personal experiences and accumulated knowledge would have provided ample material to craft characters with greater depth. Unfortunately, Peedom and Davies seem little interested in observing their protagonists as human beings with a life story behind them. This is particularly surprising given Peedom’s background in documentary filmmaking—a genre that, at its best, allows for intimate observation and yields unexpected revelations. Norbu Tenzing, the eldest son of Tenzing Norgay, serves as an executive producer, which might explain the film’s reverential approach. Whatever the reason, *Tenzing* chooses the safe route. Its reverential gaze imbues Ed and Tenzing with a heroic aura, presenting them as individuals who, even from childhood, were destined to accomplish great feats.
For this reason, "Tenzing" uses the historic 1953 achievement as its starting point. The filmmakers begin with the certainty of the eventual ascent and work backward in time, framing the protagonists' earlier lives around the summit they would ultimately reach. It is no surprise that the film includes shots of a young Tenzing (Samdrup Dorje Lama) gazing at Everest in a way that suggests he was not only born to climb the mountain, but that, in some sense, he knew from childhood he had been chosen to reach its peak. I do not find such narratives inspiring; they perpetuate the notion that greatness is a matter of destiny—that an extraordinary person is born with a predetermined purpose, rather than developing the necessary skills and determination through experience and practice. Why does Tenzing succeed in climbing Everest? Because, as a child, he admired the mountain’s majestic beauty from a vantage point. Surely, other children must have gazed upon that same mountain with equal wonder. Its beauty alone does not explain what set Tenzing apart from those around him. The film also portrays Everest as a goddess to be worshipped; yet, this spiritual connection—while significant—does not, in itself, account for Tenzing’s exceptional abilities as a mountaineer. He possessed practical experience, having taken part in several expeditions prior to his successful ascent of Everest. "Tenzing," however, mentions these earlier expeditions only in passing, rather than dramatizing what he learned from them and how he applied that knowledge to his subsequent climbs.
At times, the film suggests a link between Tenzing’s social standing and his ambitions. Identified as a "Bhotia," he is treated as an outsider from the very beginning. The father of his first wife, Dawa (Thinley Lhamo), refuses to allow his daughter to marry him; furthermore, Tenzing—being a Sherpa—is initially denied a spot on the expedition. We are presented with a man who must overcome social prejudices and prove his worth through his own abilities. Could Everest represent the final obstacle he must clear to secure a place in a society that has long treated him as an outsider? His ascent might have served as a way to assert that being "Bhotia" does not diminish his value or make him any less worthy. This would have imbued the climb with a deeper emotional significance, transforming a physical challenge into a struggle for recognition and dignity.
However, Peedom fails to imbue this possibility with any great emotional resonance, burying it instead under crowd-pleasing clichés that lack both surprise and vitality. The filmmakers seem content to stage a sentimental celebration. The film admires its protagonists, yet its reverence is tinged with an elegiac tone—as if inviting us to mourn the loss of Norgay and Hillary. While *Tenzing* does show its protagonist displaying a touch of modest bravado, it functions, in reality, more like a shrine. It is a pity that the film grants Ed and Tenzing so little space to explore what is going on in their minds.
They barely even discuss practical matters—such as how climbers manage their physiological needs during an expedition. What does reaching the summit mean to each of them on a personal level? Peedom makes little effort to find out. Instead, she settles for a conventional "underdog" story that unfolds through well-worn dramatic tropes. Peedom’s camera is so captivated by the beauty of the Himalayas that it seems unable to see the people climbing them. The landscape dominates the frame, while the characters remain underdeveloped. The film relies on the charisma of its actors and the inherent drama of this historic feat to craft a prestige picture—one seemingly designed to win over both audiences and critics. The real-life Hillary and Norgay endured extreme conditions to achieve something extraordinary; Peedom’s film, by contrast, resorts to melodramatic shortcuts to secure an easy victory. Its risk-aversion and timidity make it the very antithesis of the men it purports to honor, ultimately doing them a disservice.
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